As the sarge emptied the suspect’s pockets, the contents – a cigarette lighter, keys, small change and a condom – were nothing new in themselves, although there was a degree of novelty to each one. The lighter was of industrial scale, as though required to ignite an ancient lighthouse. The keys looked like they opened some mildewy dungeon. The small change appeared to be from Hungary, and Soviet-era Hungary at that. And the condom? Well, it’s always good to be safe, but most normal people would rather pass up the opportunity for a shag rather than work themselves into an already cum-filled condom – and I do mean filled.
“You slut!” he bellowed, but he knew he wanted to cream all over those sumptuous bangers.
They were bonking. Wait… were they? You bet they were. Oh, yes – they were bonking alright. Bonking they were. A bonk was being had by them. They were bonking one off. Q. What were they not doing? A. Not bonking. If bonking was a sea, they were swimming in it. And so on, and so on. There were various ways to say much the sa-SPLAT! OK, the bonking was over now (he had cummed).
She was almost delirious with joy as one gloopy serving after another splattered onto her face and ran down toward her mouth where she could lick at it. Yet the supplies of this marvellous gunk were limited, and soon enough the bottle of Dolmio was empty – although she remembered with a devilish grin that there was another one close at hand.
The long, sturdy wangers exploded all over her, a terrific shower of gooey plasm covering her from brow to chin, making this a happier birthday than any of the previous hundred and four.
“What?” she spluttered indignantly. “I risked my life saving yours! I should get a medal!”
“I’ll give you a medal,” he said with a snarl. “Kneel down.”
She knelt expectantly. Something seemed wrong, but she assumed that this must be part of the medal presentation. Damn it! If she’d known, she would’ve got her family to come and watch. She would’ve dressed in her best, got professional makeup, arranged for a photogr- SPLAT! He’d launched the medal onto her face with his big wanger and was now strutting away. She was amazed that the ceremony was over so quickly, but also very proud. Only after he had sped off in his Proton Saga did it dawn on her that his bestowal had not in fact been a medal as such but rather a stringy cord of pubic mucus.
She had done the work, and now she was reaping the enormous, bulbous rewards, a huge truncheon pummelling her grateful quinge and soon unloading a hot volley of sperm-rich cream for her to cogitate upon as her benefactor buttoned up and strutted off to finish his game of Atmosfear.
The hand cupping his sack was wrinkled with age, but still it gave him that spunking feeling and oh, God, no, he’d just seen her face for the first time and now he was flaccid, flaccider even than her sagging cheeks, and now he imagined her collapsed old titrack, and then the rest, and he shuddered with horror. No way was he going to cream one off now. The load had run for cover and wouldn’t be coming out until this lubricious crone had been ejected (slowly, because of her knees) from not only his office but the whole area around the Pentagon.
There was no point him slapping his wanger on her cheek to make himself hard. She wasn’t going to start slobbering all over it. Even if she was, it would only be to tease him, not make him erupt. Even if she did make him erupt, it wouldn’t be going down her throat. If, in some bizarre scenario, it somehow did, she wouldn’t hold it in and digest it. Well… in truth, that last bit, and therefore all the other bits, might be wrong, but still, she wasn’t a slag. That was the important bit – she didn’t want to be made to feel like a slag. ‘The swallowing semen bit I can accept. Just don’t call me a slag,’ she thought as the spooge flowed and everyone began talking about what a slag she was.
He whipped his wanger out and in the same motion started wanking. Soon he was ready to splurge one off, but just before he did so she slid an oiled digit into his ringpiece, doubling the amount of cum for her to sup on as he fell into a spunked-out doze, whereupon he tumbled off the crane, fell for several seconds and splattered anonymously in a brownfield site where there used to be a dreadful ice rink.