A Cornucopia of Sexual Perversion!
(and literary merit)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 78
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Office Slave
Chapter One
"I-I think I hear my baby crying," Veronica said suddenly, making to
rise.
"Sit down!" Robert roared, and rose himself to better enforce his
edict. He came around the edge of his desk and leaned in toward Veronica
menacingly.
"You will not be left to rot in suburbia, left to grow wrinkled and
worn with another man's children," He breathed, his breath blowing in
warm puffs with each word into Veronica's face. "You are a beautiful
woman, and I will treat you royally, but I will also require much of you."
Veronica stared back at him, her eyes offended and defiant.
"Enough!" Robert said, standing. He put both hands to the lapels of
his coat and straightened it. "You may leave now, but you have my number.
When you are ready, you will call." Veronica rose abruptly from her chair.
Her hands clutched her small purse in front of her.
"You sir, are an evil, sexist pig!" Veronica said with all the
opprobrium she could muster.
"On the contrary, my dear, it is your husband who is that. Unlike
him, I shall devote my utmost attention to you, as I do all my slaves."
Veronica started, eyes wide. "I shall lavish you with gifts and money for
your favorite clothes, but I will also require you to run buck naked in the
out-of-doors, as nude and tempting as Eve herself on the day God created
her."
"My heart belongs to my husband, you fucking bastard!" Veronica
bleated.
"It is well that you are loyal, for I require that quality in my
charges," Robert replied, unfazed. Veronica was trembling now. She knew
the things Robert said of her husband were true. He would never pay her
the attention she craved, would never treat her to candlelit dinners or
soapy bubble baths in anything more than a perfunctory manner, hurrying
to get it over with so he could get back to his financial affairs. But
Robert--" Veronica pursed her lips. He was so strikingly handsome, and so
very interested in her-- she dismissed the thought from her mind.
SLAP! Veronica's gloved hand, tied so daintily at the wrist with a
bow of silk, became suddenly a weapon of feminine vengeance. Robert's
face twitched and flew to one side as she slapped him hard across his
cheek. "I should report you to the authorities," Veronica said, and turned
stiffly on her four-inch spiked heels. With rolling hips, she strutted away
from him. Her pinned up locks bobbed as she walked.
Veronica put her hand to the door of Robert's office. She attempted
to turn its handle. The door was locked. Veronica looked over her
shoulder. "You fiend!" Veronica breathed. Robert smiled.
"It is not as you think, though I will mention in passing that this
room is sound-proofed, and there is another exit from whence a
recalcitrant female could be escorted without anyone ever knowing of her
departure," Robert said. "However," he lifted a remote control. "That is
not my way." Robert pressed a button on the remote and Veronica heard
the door unlock. Incredulously, she turned from him. Her hand tried the
door. It opened easily.
There were several dozen guests. Outside it was bright, high noon.
A promenade beckoned those who wished to walk in the open air. The
interior of the private club was panelled with dark wood. It seemed to
soak up all the light that spilled down from the overhead chandeliers. Fat
leather chairs were scattered around the room, but Robert and Veronica
were standing. TheyÕd just arrived. Most of the guests had just arrived
and, except for a few of the older women and men, weighed down by age,
they were all standing and talking, casually. Waiters in white tuxes
moved through the room. They bore silver trays with cocktails on them.
ÒMint Julep?Ó a waiter asked Veronica. She smiled, plucked a glass
from the waiterÕs tray. Robert did the same.
"And what do you do for a living?" the bald, rotund man asked
conversationally.
"I train fillies," Robert replied. The bald man, sipping from a
cocktail, spluttered and coughed.
"And you my dear?" the bald man asked Veronica when heÕd regained
his composure.
"My life is with Robert," Veronica answered.
"Though she is a multi-talented girl," Robert added. He lifted a
finger and coiled it in Veronica's hair. "Are you not, my dear?"
"Yes," Veronica smiled. She wore her hair piled up in a coif, with
loose strands here and there, hanging down, to catch menÕs eyes, and
RobertÕs inquiring finger.
"She is fluent in both Russian and French," Robert said to the fat
man.
"I see," the fat, bald man replied admiringly. "And many other things
as well, I suppose?"
"Indeed," Robert said.
ÒMortimer!Ó a woman intoned. She was short, chubby. She appeared
at the fat manÕs side and tugged at his sleeve. She seemed to be drowning
in jewelry. It ringed her throat and covered her fingers. ÒMortimer,
mother would like to see the horses!Ó the woman said to the fat man.
Robert and Veronica glided away. Together they strolled out onto
the promenade. Flowering vines hung down from its roof. It shielded them
from the brightness of the noonday sun. Out in the grass, beneath a white
tent, a quartet symphony played. Beyond, on a neatly clipped field, polo
horses pranced. A buzz of conversation flowed out from the interior of
the club and was lost amidst the chirping of birds. They flitted amongst
the trees that graced the clubÕs lawn. Couples, walking slowly, moved up
and down the promenade. Some ventured into the grass. All were dressed
to the nines, in tuxes or blazers or expensive gowns. It was noontime at
the club, the lunch hour, where the idle rich and the new rich gathered to
pass the time and take in some polo.
"How do you know I'm as talented as you made me out to be?"
Veronica asked as she walked hand-in-hand with Robert. He wore a silk
top hat with a matching blazer and slacks. The cloth was violet, the color
of Blue Victoria salvia. Polished black boots sheathed his feet and he
wore black leather gloves.
Veronica wore a ruffled top, a little daring in front, showing her
bosom almost down to the nipples, with a scarf round her neck that tried
to restore her modesty. If the breeze was not too strong, the tails of her
neckerchief laid over her breasts. But a ruffling breeze revealed all and
caused the older women who passed them to frown. VeronicaÕs skirt, too,
was sexily short. It was cut lower in front than in back. From the front,
it seemed modest enough, reaching down to her knees. But in back it rose
up abruptly, higher even than inventive fashion permitted. From behind
one found that VeronicaÕs skirt rose right up to the tops of her thighs. As
if in compromise, Veronica wore dark silk nylons on her legs that kept
their whiteness from being seen. She walked lightly on her thin,
stockinged legs. The passing women would never have guessed that she
was a mother. Her legs were too thin, too schoolgirlish. Granny boots
with silver buckles on them sheathed her feet. Her arms were covered by
the sleeves of her dress. Her hands were mittened by bright yellow gloves
with green trim. The color of her gloves mirrored that of her skirt.
A gardener, riding by on a mower out in the rough far beyond the
portico, turned his head and stared at Veronica. He was harvesting rape
weed. She looked so much like one of their flowers, did he wish to harvest
her too? Even at this distance Veronica could see he had brown hands and
rough skin from years of working under the sun. He turned away. The
scything blades of his mower hurled rape weed up toward the sky and then
into a bag slung from his mower. Within, they were captive. For a moment
Veronica found herself inside the mowerÕs burlap bag, her beauty
snatched, caught, held for processing into rich oils. She turned, regarded
Robert. He had not answered her question. His grip was light upon her
hand but commanding. She tried to withdraw her hand from his and felt
his grip tighten. He stared ahead, tipped his hat to a man who passed
them.
They stopped. An ornate bird feeder stood in the grass and, despite
the heat, a single bird alighted and frolicked in its water. Veronica stared
at it. Then she looked up at Robert.
"How do you know I'm as talented as you made me out to be?" she
asked.
"A sixth sense tells me you are," Robert smiled. Then, after a pause,
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Yes, it's very nice," Veronica replied. "I enjoy your private club very
much."
"You shall enjoy it even more in the future," Robert said. Veronica
made no reply. He escorted her to an alabaster bleacher out on the lawn,
next to the polo field, and they took their seats. On VeronicaÕs seat there
was a stained slip of paper that read, ÒGo to holy joeÕs law school: 1-
916-630-0424 or 1-916-781-7824.Ó With his gloved hand Robert
gallantly brushed it away. Veronica sat down, tucking her short skirt
underneath herself so that her pantied bottom wouldnÕt make contact with
the seat. But, warmed by the sun, it was uncomfortable. Robert put a
finger beneath her chin, gently lifted her. He spread out a handkerchief
from his breast pocket on the wooden bench, then permitted her to sit
once more.
ÒThank you,Ó Veronica said quietly.
ÒMy pleasure,Ó Robert replied. Veronica had a small umbrella with
her and she opened it to protect herself from the sun. A few minutes later
the polo competition began. Robert nodded to several of the riders as they
cantered past, readying for the game. He tipped his silk hat to them. They
halted their horses and looked at Veronica to ask, tacitly, for her favor.
She smiled, waved politely. Inspired, two of the horses reared up and
showed her their strength.
ÒI like horses,Ó Veronica smiled.
ÒThey like you,Ó Robert replied.
It was several hours later when Robert directed his chauffeur to
drive himself and Veronica to the preschool where her children were being
kept for the day. The children were fetched, and on the way home the
toddler made their presence known to all future riders by yanking down
the baby's diapers. The baby, her bottom smeared with the feces of a just
completed bowl movement, plopped down on her seat. In addition to the
odor which rose to fill the nostrils of the travellers a large splotch of
shit was deposited right on Robert's silk covered back seat.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" Veronica cried. She clutched at the baby and fetched
a fresh diaper from her purse. She worked off the soiled diaper and then
set about wiping and powdering her baby's bottom, her face a display of
profound embarrassment. Robert watched her, assuring her that she and
her children had made not the slightest imposition upon him. The toddler,
perhaps to further test Robert's forbearance, began crying.
A strand of Veronica's hair came loose and tumbled down to tangle in
front of her eyes. She pushed it back over her ear and kept working on the
baby. After another minute or so she finished, and had only time to catch
her breath and quiet the toddler before Robert's limousine pulled up in
front of her house. The chauffeur let her out of the car and Robert exited
as well.
"Thank you, dear Robert," Veronica said, standing beside him on the
curb. Her toddler stood beside her, yanking on her arm, babbling of an
imminent cartoon show and pointing toward the house. In her arms her
baby groped at her breast.
"Tomorrow I would like for you to meet me at my office," Robert
said.
"Of course," Veronica replied unhesitatingly.
"In your skimpiest bikini." Robert added. Veronica bit her lip and
looked down.
"Are we going to the beach?" Veronica asked in a small voice.
"No," Robert replied. She looked up at him, eyes smoldering.
"How am I supposed to walk into a downtown office building wearing
nothing but a bikini?" Veronica asked tensely.
"A mink coat shall arrive here before your husband gets home,"
Robert said. "Wear it over your bikini tomorrow. And, of course, you will
want to wear your heels, so you blend in with all the other working girls."
Veronica eyed him closely.
"Including the ones who earn their money solely by wearing bikinis
under their minks," she said accusingly.
"My dear, I have never even once thought of you in that way," Robert
replied.
"Not a whore, just a free squeeze toy," Veronica breathed.
"You accuse me unjustly," Robert replied with amused defensiveness.
"Not only have I paid your way on three surreptitious dates now, but I have
never taken any greater liberty with you than to kiss you goodbye."
"A bikini, Robert?" Veronica asked, eyes narrowing.
"Yes, your very skimpiest," Robert replied. He lifted a hand and
stroked her hair. It was slightly disheveled after her experience with the
children in the car. "You must learn to trust me, Veronica. I really only
have your best interests at heart. Do as I say and rebel as little as your
nature will permit you to."
"Yes, Robert," Veronica replied quietly. The toddler, ever more
insistent with each passing minute, tugged hard on her arm. Veronica
nearly lost her balance, perched as she was on her high heels. Robert
lifted a timely hand and steadied her.
"Goodbye, Robert," Veronica said, lifting her lips, offering her face.
Robert leaned in and kissed her gently.
"Go now," Robert said. "The neighbors are watching." With that
Veronica let her little 3-year-old boy lead her off to her house. Robert
slipped back into his limousine and was gone.
"I'm here to see Mr. DuPont," Veronica said the next morning to his
secretary. She clicked her heels, feeling just a tad unsteady, wondering if
the secretary noticed that her ankles were not clad in nylons.
"Ah yes, he's been expecting you," the older female replied, and
buzzed Robert's door, unlocking it. Veronica let herself into his office.
"Robert?" Veronica asked, seeing him on the far side of the room, at
the room's small wet bar. The door to the office closed behind her.
"Come in, come in my dear," Robert grinned. He was just pouring a
pricey chardonnay into twin goblets./glasses
"The coat is beautiful, thankyou Robert," Veronica said.
"You're quite welcome," Robert said. A woman, hitherto unseen by
Veronica, stepped out of the shadowed recesses of a double row of
bookcases by the front door.
"Please allow me to take your coat," the woman, dressed in the
simple but formal attire of a servant, said in a thick Spanish accent.
Veronica gasped.
"Do not be alarmed," Robert said to Veronica. "Hypatia is new to our
country, with excellent skills but very poor English. She is here only to
assist you. Command her as you please." With great reluctance Veronica
allowed the maid to lift the mink coat from her shoulders. The maid
betrayed not a sound as Veronica's bikini clad flesh came into view.
SEE NO EVIL
Up your SAT score with holy joe
As a hobo and a pervert IÕm long past taking tests. But you might not
be and, like Clinton, I feel your pain.
What do you do when youÕre taking a test and you run out of time?
DonÕt just stop. Mark an answer for ALL of the remaining questions. DonÕt
skip around. DonÕt be a dipshit and mark ÒAÓ here, and ÒBÓ on the next
question, and ÒDÓ on the next. Pick ONE letter and mark all the remaining
questions with THAT one letter.
Traditionally, the best ÒI donÕt know so IÕm just marking blindlyÓ
letter has been ÒC.Ó But testers seem to be wising up to ÒC.Ó LOOK at
your earlier answers that you had time to read. (Assuming you answered
them correctly.) Do you see a pattern? ÒBÓ might be favored more by the
testers, or ÒD.Ó If so, mark the ÔfavoredÕ letter on the remaining questions
that you are answering blindly.
Watch your time. If you see that you arenÕt going to answer a lot of
questions because youÕre out of time, start at the END of the answer sheet
and mark upwards. Mark, say, the last 20 questions with ÒCÓ as the
answer. (This will guarantee that you get at least a quarter of those
answers correct, even though you have no fucking idea and are just
marking blindly. If you were a dipshit, and skipped around blindly, you
could easily get NONE of the unread questions right.)
Do your Ôblind markingÕ about five minutes before the test ends.
Leave yourself some questions to answer properly in the remaining time.
(i.e. leave yourself a little ÔroomÕ on your answer sheet to answer a few
more questions in your precious remaining minutes. You donÕt want to be
wasting time erasing ÔblindÕ answers.)
The main thing is, donÕt wait until the last moment to start marking
blindly. YouÕll wind up not getting all the unread questions marked, or
trying to mark them illegally after time has been called. When you see you
have five minutes left, go down to the bottom of the answer sheet and
begin marking upward. ÒC,Ó ÒC,Ó ÒC,Ó (or whatever letter you choose.)
Then, when youÕre done doing that, and youÕve left yourself a few
questions that you can actually read, try reading and answering them.
When time is called, your answer sheet will be all nicely marked. (And the
guy sitting next to you, whoÕs Ôtoo moralÕ to read Fuck Decency, will get in
trouble for trying to mark answers to questions he hasnÕt read, after time
has been called.)
A final note: The above advice only works for tests that donÕt
penalize you for marking the wrong answer. If youÕre taking a test where
you get penalized for marking the wrong answer, then all the advice IÕve
just given you will make your score worse.
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-END OF 78 EMISSION
- and scientific merit too: e=mc3