Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 65
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Constipation? Drink Ginsu JoeÕs Enlightened Tea
Call 1-800-diarhea (Makes your pecker longer too!)
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Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Desire Isle
Chapter Eight
"Go to your room!" John ordered Melanie. The blonde stared back at
her father. Her crying lessened to sniffles. Her eyes were wide.
"You're going to fuck her!" Melanie said suddenly in a shrill voice.
John leapt at Melanie and raised his palm to slap her. Melanie cringed. At
the last moment John thought better of himself, dropping his hand
harmlessly away.
"Yes," John said. "She's not a retired whore. She's very much still in
the business, and I see her on a regular basis." His face stiffened. "And I
don't want you following in her footsteps!" Melanie turned and ran to the
study door. Crying, she opened it, and ran to the stairs that led up to her
room.
Melanie woke to find her father sitting on her bed. She had fallen
asleep upon it after her whipping, still in her clothes. Melanie lifted her
face, her tears dried to barely visible streaks now. Her step father looked
down at her. For a long moment they just stared at each other. Then
Melanie dropped her face into her arms, which lay crossed beneath her tear
stained cheeks.
"How's your bottom?" Melanie's father asked.
"Hurts," Melanie whined.
"That and much more will be done to you if you take up whoring,"
Melanie's father said. "Especially while you're still young. Whores exist
for men's pleasure, not their own."
"Do men like beating girl's bottoms?" Melanie asked in a small voice.
"Some men like having their own bottoms beaten," John replied. He
patted his daughter on the head and rose. Then he lifted the tail of her
skirt. Her panties were still round her thighs. Much of the blush on her
cheeks had already faded. Only a light texture of pink lines from the pony-
lash remained. "It is best," John said, seeming to console himself aloud
for his actions. His next words surprised his daughter: "You would make a
delightful little whore, and that's why I don't want you to fall into it. Be
an engineer or doctor instead." Melanie snuffled in the cradle of her
enfolded arms. She heard her father's footfalls on the carpet as he left
her room.
Chapter Nine
In the days following her beating in her father's study Melanie's
desire to leave home grew ever greater. It was as if she had been poised
between two worlds upon coming home from aspen; one the safe, secure
world of Appleton, the other the big, wide world beyond. In one there was
homework and social obligations, and the duties required of any child by
its parents. In the other lay freedom and, potentially, more money than
Melanie had ever dreamed of. And with money came power, the power to
do as she pleased. Another letter arrived from Candy, saying she had gone
ahead with the client she had spoken of earlier. Candy gushed of being
treated like a woman, of an expensive dinner and a night's stay at a lavish
resort. She spoke of more "clients" and more money to come.
One morning found Melanie, ever the good girl, facing a large
homework assignment for her French class. She had gone out dancing the
night before, then straggled home in the wee hours, leaving her friends
behind, to attempt to complete the assignment. Six a.m. found the work
still far from completion and the school bus due in only an hour. Melanie's
French teacher was a bitch, and the entire class, except for a few cocky
boys, went in mortal fear of her. Certainly all the students who cared
about their GPA made certain they didn't cross Miss Crick. Melanie's mind
suddenly woke from the depths of drowsiness. If she hurried, she could
just make it out of the house before her family woke.
Eight a.m. found Melanie the first one at the auto dealership. She had
never bought a car before, but in her purse was her bank savings book,
with a grand total of $2,758, the $758 being from odd jobs and
babysitting. Melanie marched boldly in, bowling over the delighted
salesmen as she knew she would. Certainly no customer in recent memory
had gotten as much attention at the dealership as Melanie. She let them
lead her around for a bit, showing her the cars, and eventually the
conversation got down to the specifics of making a purchase.
Everything went well, even the verification by telephone by the bank
of the sum in Melanie's savings account. Then the salesmen brought up the
need for Melanie to get her father ("or some other responsible person") to
co-sign her car loan for her. For awhile the conversation ambled about,
the men delighted to have Melanie in their presence but seemingly
unflinching in their demand that she get someone to co-sign. It was then
that an idea popped into Melanie's head.
"Why don't you co-sign the loan for me?" Melanie said smartly to the
dealership's supervisor.
"Honey, that's not possible," the supervisor replied sweetly, saying
the words almost by rote.
"Anything is possible," Melanie said. She wet her upper lip with her
tongue. A shudder ran through the men assembled around her. It was as if
that of which they had dreamed seemingly futile dreams was suddenly
within their grasp.
"What do you mean?" the supervisor asked. He sounded like a sly fox
that had just been offered the proposal of a lifetime.
"What I mean," Melanie said, drawing her words out, wondering if she
should say them even as she spoke, "is that I like to suck."
"Suck?" the supervisor asked. Suddenly his voice was trembling.
"Yes," Melanie said, her voice growing bolder. "Suck. But only with
nice men, who let me do it at my own pace. Are you a nice man?"
"Oh, nice! Very nice!" the supervisor said.
"We're all nice!" a salesman chimed in. The men drew closer around
her. Melanie sensed their urgency, their quickly disconnecting
consciences. She felt fear and stepped back. Just barely, she passed
through the ring of men and out a doorway into the main showroom.
"We'll do this my way, or not at all," Melanie said, hoping desperately
the men would obey her. An elderly woman passed by, looking at the cars.
The salesmen seemed to regain their consciences. Their looks became
more humble, entreating once more. Melanie breathed a sigh of relief.
The supervisor sensed the opportunity of a lifetime slipping from
his grasp as quickly as it had come. "We'll--I'll draw up the paperwork,"
the supervisor said. "Forget the $2, 578, or whatever it was. I can write
the whole thing off as a business expense."
"That's right, I'm a business woman," Melanie said, feeling the power
in the words as they rolled over her tongue.
"Er, which car would you like?" the supervisor asked.
"One that looks as good as I do," Melanie said, turning. She pointed at
a red Corvette. "That one."
With some coaxing Melanie ventured back inside the supervisor's
office. She felt herself in control now. The men had been tamed. To
assure her ability to keep the situation firmly within her hands, she had
the supervisor order the rest of the salesmen out.
"I feel nervous with them all standing in front of the door like that,"
Melanie said a moment later, looking over her shoulder at the salesmen,
who now stood gawking just outside the supervisor's office.
"Get to work!" the supervisor hollered at his men.
"We want our share," a salesman called back. The supervisor looked
at Melanie.
"You've got to, er, do all of them," the salesman said with a voice
torn by desire. "I can't put the deal through otherwise. They'd spill the
beans before you even got out of the lot."
"They make me frightened," Melanie protested.
"I'll keep them under control!" the supervisor cried. "They'll be
gentlemen, every one of them!"
"Okay," Melanie said in a quiet voice. The supervisor beckoned the
men back in. The filed in, crotches bulging.
"If you manhandle this girl she'll have you all in jail!" the supervisor
said sternly. "She's only 16." Melanie gave a start. There was a twinkle
in the supervisor's eyes. A gasp went up from the salesmen.
Melanie sat demurely watching the supervisor as he drew up the last
of the paperwork. "Pity you don't have any European cars," Melanie purred.
The supervisor looked up at her, his brow sweaty with tension.
"Yeah, right," the supervisor said in a shaky voice. "No Rolls, either.
Try covering that up as a business expense."
"I rather fancy Rolls," Melanie said quietly, relishing her power over
the men. "But a 'Vette will have to do, I suppose. Of course I could always
try the Jaguar dealer down the street."
"Oh, no! No!" the supervisor said in a panic, looking up once more
from all the paperwork. "We'll take real good care of you here, won't we
men?" The salesmen nodded their heads vigorously. "The guys down the
streets are real assholes, totally sleazy! You're in good, er, hands with us!
We're upstanding auto salesmen!" A few final strokes of the supervisor's
pen were then rendered across the paperwork, and it was done. He handed
it to Melanie and she signed it. When the supervisor took the paperwork
back from her he stared at her lovely, flourished signature as if a goddess
had signed it.
When the keys had been handed over Melanie cocked her head and
regarded the lineup of crotches circling round her right side. "Well, men?"
she said. "No sale is complete without a deposit, is it?" At once the men
unzipped themselves. A moment later Melanie was surrounded by a forest
of very long-stemmed toadstools. Several of the cocks already had
droplets of pre-cum on their tips. The supervisor's office door had already
been shut, the shades drawn. Now all that remained was for Melanie to
open her mouth.
Melanie leaned forward and took the first of the pricks twixt her
slender fingers. She parted her pink lips. She extended her tongue. She
flicked off the droplet of pre-cum that glistened at the cock's tip. Then
she swirled her tongue around the cock's flange. "Mmm, this is quite a big
one," Melanie purred.
Some time later, her hair slightly mussed, her tummy feeling rather
full, Melanie drove out of the car lot in her new Corvette. For the most
part the men had obeyed, though a few had practically gagged her trying to
deep throat her. Melanie had no experience with sucking a cock all the way
down her throat, but she knew she must learn. Except for a few drying
droplets of sperm on her white blouse, she looked as neat and wholesome
as she had when she walked into the place. But now, at least, she had
become a bit more of a woman. She had actual whoring experience under
her belt. Real experience, beyond the protective tutelage of Gwen. And
she hadn't been whipped. Eight men's cocks in one job! Let Candy top that!
Chapter Ten
"Ick! What's this?" Melanie asked.
"It's caviar, silly," Candy replied.
"I suppose you're only used to your boyfriends buying you a
cheeseburger?" Renoir asked smoothly.
"Well, yes," Melanie replied. Delicately she spooned a bit of the fish
eggs into her mouth. "Not bad," she said, but her face told a different tale.
"You'll acquire a taste for them, just like everything else in life,"
Candy said, eagerly spooning down her own portion.
"Yes, like coffee, cigarettes, whiskey, suppositories," Renoir said.
The girls looked up at him at the mention of the last item. Their eyes
bulged slightly.
"Men," Candy said under her breath, rolling her eyes as she turned her
attention back to her caviar. Meekly Melanie looked back down at her own
plate and hoped Candy's bottom proved prettier than her own.
Candy and Melanie had gotten back in touch with one another. They
met in New York City, but found themselves still a little afraid of the idea
of whoring. So, perhaps in an attempt to escape the inevitable, they took
off down the coast in Melanie's red Corvette for Florida. Soon they
alighted in Miami, where it didn't take long for them to bump into a man
who took a great interest in them. They had met Renoir while shopping in
a beachfront clothing store. He was a mysterious European, about 6' 2".
He seemed to have loads of money.
"So what brings you to Miami?" Renoir asked casually as he strolled
down the sidewalk with the girls, after insisting on paying for their
beachwear in the store.
"Well, um, we actually came here to make some money," Melanie said
with a little gulp. Candy nudged her in her ribs.
"Money?" Renoir asked with a smile. "Well, I hope you're interested
in an occupation which I have a need for. I'm sure I could pay you more
than a decent salary."
"What she means is, we're hoping to be, well," Candy seemed torn
about whether or not she should tell Renoir they were planning to be
whores. Melanie did to. If they girls told him what they intended, there
was little doubt Renoir would be able to pay. And judging from his
interest in them, there was even less doubt that he would eagerly snap up
their offer.
"Lots of men like us," Melanie tried to explain.
"I'm sure they do," Renoir replied with a broad smile. At the moment
he was wearing a straw Hawaiian hat atop his head, which looked out of
place on his otherwise Continental frame. It added to his aura of
decadence, of a life spent pursuing the more forbidden fruits of the world.
"And, well, we can't be friends with them all," Candy continued. "So
we've tried to find some way we can separate them out. They're all
handsome and everything, and well..." Renoir tapped his pants pocket.
"How about a man's assets?" Renoir asked. "All other assets being
equal, as you say, I'm sure there must be some variation in the men's
financial assets." The girls were both looking at him now, soaking up his
words. He had such an excellent way of stating things without being
unnecessarily explicit. "Now, for a pair of girls as beautiful as you, I'd be
more than happy to wake up in the morning and find I'd parted with
$10,000." The girls' eyes gaped wide.
HOT OFF THE PRESS
by holy joe
PlayboyÕs Pocket Playmates, Vol. 1, No. 4, $4.95.
Review: The price has gone up and the quality has gone down. Except
for page 2 and one or two other photos, all the women in this magazine
look shitty. They look like Cro-Magnon women, or Proto-Women, or
something. During this time period (1971-1976) I used to lust after
Playboy every day. All the time I would think about
Playboy...Playboy...Playboy. (Of course, I was too young to buy it.) Now I
can actually see what I missed and, let me tell you, I missed nothing!
These women look like shit! I guess we must conclude from this that
there were no good-looking women prior to 1977. God knows what Helen
of Troy looked like. Unless you really, really like Playboy you can skip
this issue. Oh, yeah. Attention, Playboy: the series can end now. You
donÕt need to take us all the way back to 1955. I donÕt have enough vomit
bags for that issue.
PlayboyÕs Playmate Review, $6.95.
Review: I remember when I used to buy this magazine, in previous
years, and it would be utterly worthless. In recent years, however, it has
been utterly great. This issue is no exception. On the cover it says,
ÒDisplay Until July 15, 1996.Ó Let me tell you, it wonÕt be around that
long.
There are lots of good shots of the female bottom in this issue. At
one time Playboy was just tits and cunt. Now it is tits, cunt, and bottom.
This is a major improvement, in my opinion. I had thought that this past
yearÕs Playmates were sort of lousy compared to the previous year or two,
but (take note, feminists) I was WRONG! This happens sometimes. All of
these girls are very, very nice to look at. Whatever their deficiencies
might be, Playboy photographs them so well in this issue that each page
becomes a joyous celebration of ejaculatory pleasure. We need to find
some way to put wives through the same process. Maybe if Playboy got a
crack at them, theyÕd turn into goddesses too.
I do have one complaint. In addition to raising the price a dollar,
Playboy has severely cut back the number of pages. Not too long ago this
type of special issue was loaded with many fine photos of each girl. Now
you only get a few photos of each girl. I felt sort of cheated. Just as I
was getting into a girl, her pages were finished and there was no more to
be seen. So, in my opinion, Playboy needs to go back to the higher page
count. I want LOTS of photos of each girl. Sooner or later this magazine
is, I fear, going to cost $14.95 per issue, but that is probably better than
leaving the reader with a feeling of being shortchanged.
Now IÕm ready to go buy PlayboyÕs Girls of Summer but, alas, I have
to wait a whole month for that to come out.
AND IN THE END...
Subject: PLESE GET RID OF VULGAR NEWS GROUPS
From: jlannom111@aol.com (JLannom111)
SUCH AS ANY PEDAPHILE NECROPHILIA BEASTYALITY ECT FOM THE AOL
NEWS GROUPS
GATEWAY
holy joe responds: It would help to know how to spell what you want to be
banned. For instance, Òplease,Ó Òpedophile,Ó Òetc.Ó ÒfromÓ and
ÒbestialityÓ come to mind. Oh, yeah. ÒmasturbateÓ will probably give you
trouble too, as well as ÒstupidÓ and ÒcensorÓ
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-END OF 65 EMISSION
-oh, yeah. ÒdiarrheaÓ will probably give you trouble too. It did me!