Her shrill declarations about the rights of women didn’t seem so compelling when she was on her knees in front of two huge schlongs.
Month: September 2022
The jig was up
Suddenly Jacques sprang up and danced a little jig. “I’m getting married in the morning! Ding, dong, the bells are gonna chime!” he sang breezily. But soon he sat down, his dejection impossible to ignore, and the mood became sombre again, all present grimly certain that actually they were going to be tortured to death and that the only sound the bells would make would be a slow, funereal toll.
Needles to say
Despite all his affected diffidence, he did very much want another hit. He just didn’t quite know how best to introduce it to his bloodstream without further blackening the blood vessel or touching the horrid gunge oozing from the part of his arm he normally jammed the stuff into.
To tap it all off
She tapped his nuts lightly, and she was sure she could hear cum sloshing around inside.
‘Bourne this way
Glyndebourne again! He kept finding himself back here, despite swearing off it – and at it – every year. He’d have to find somewhere to do a quick line or, fuck it, quite a few. In fact, he was wet-fingering the empty bag (oo-er) in no time, and less than an hour later he was being hauled out by two toughs who weren’t even wearing any sort of bouncer outfit and, they proudly told him as they shoved him into the pebbled car park, didn’t even work there. They just loved Handl so much that they decided to get a ‘Handl’ on him and stop him doing football chants over the music, as he laughingly related as an imaginary guest on BBC Breakfast the next morning, winking at Rita Chakrabarti when the camera was off him and wanking at her later before sinking into a pit of self-disgust that ended in him ordering another bag of much shitter bugle.
“Argh, yeah!” he roared, pumping his shaft faster and faster before letting fly with a substantial load.
He had left a dookie behind, perhaps deliberately.
It was a bare-faced lie, and she frowned angrily, then abruptly vomited as her nose admitted a hot blast of rectal gas from the zebra’s stinking rear.
He was pushed for time, but the plenishment of her vaginal warehouse was a vital task and he set about it with vigour.
Racing toward the cliff edge
The odds on him spunking had just narrowed considerably, with those knockers clamped around the old shaft and her lascivious whispers sure to send him flying over the orgasmic cliff.