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From: "paulinusfang" <paulinusfang@mailcity.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Liver Sausage (masturbation etc.)
Date: Tue, 6 Jun 2000 07:10:06 -0400
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Liver Sausage.
Warning
Yes, you, pay attention, you 'orrible little man. Any of you who are a bit
squeamish would do well to avoid this little story. You 'ave been warned.
Any comment can be sent direct to the Sergeant Major at
paulinusfang@mailcity.com
On with the story, the continuing saga of Chalky White, a sad little pervert
in the Army Catering Corps.
Today's chapter is called LIVER SAUSAGE
Well it's me again, Chalky, Chalky White, don't you fuckin' remember anythin
'? Fuckin' civvies. You don't know what a civvy is? A civilian, someone
whose never marched to the beat of the drum, never put on a set of combats
an' lived in some bleedin' hole in the ground in Germany, or Salisbury
Plain.
Anyway, I digress, come to think of it, should I use digress, that's a
sergeant's word an' I'm only a lance jack, lance corporal to you civvies.
After that session in Saudi Arabia with that sexy little melon I got to
thinkin' about things in more northern climes. Eventually I had this mental
flashback to something that I'd heard blokes jokin' about years ago. Bein' a
bit of a kitchen fiend it wasn't difficult to arrange, the major difference
here was that bein' in Aldershot there wasn't a nice desert sun to warm
things up a bit.
I suppose you want to know what 'appened, well, the Gulf War ended and we
all slowly came back over the next few months, to me it was just a pain in
the arse, I spent five months in th' sand wearing a noddy suit that was
supposed to protect me from chemical warfare, it's just a bloody great odour
eater, that's one of those things you stuff in your shoe to absorb the
smell, anyway, it's two bits of canvas and some charcoal which is ''ot as
fuck in Saudi. Back in Aldershot I got sent to Keogh Barracks, the old
medics depot. No one really wants to go to a depot 'cos all the wooden tops
are marchin' round pretendin' to be soldiers and shoutin' at you. One of the
few good bits was that bein' a chef I got me own room 'cos like I 'ave to go
on shift at all times o' th' night an' it would mean wakin' up any bugger
else who were with me in th' room.
The accommodation we 'ad were about sixty years old, it was classic 1930s
architecture, all mock Georgian sash windows and polished wooden floors,
mind you, I don't suppose you want a lesson in the latter period of "Arts &
Crafts" or "Art Deco" as interpreted by th' War Office. In each room they
'ad laid carpet over the floors so at least we didn't 'ave to polish the
buggers, 'owever, the thing that got my attention was the radiator. It was
one of those old thick cast iron ones with big gaps between the slats, now
that had possibilities.
Anyway, it were on Wednesday mornin' that I finally got organised. During
Naafi break slipped back to the room with my purloined parcel under my arm.
After that it was back to work until the end of shift.
I knocked off at 3pm and headed off to the room. When I got there I locked
the door behind me and slipped of the whites I was wearin' When I was down
to me undies I could feel me cock stiffenin', Christ! What a stalker I grew.
I pushed the front of me kecks down an' felt the elastic waistband behind me
balls pushing back up with pressure. I got stiffer than ever.
The room had a slightly pungent smell but no one walkin' past would have
noticed anythin' too unusual 'cos we were right above the cookhouse. I
pulled a pen knife from the bedside cabinet and walked over to the radiator
whilst rubbin' me rock hard cock.. Using the long blade a carefully thrust
the knife between the slats of the radiator and cut downwards forming a
fleshy flange of raw vagina then I placed me cock against the warm trapped
liver and pushed in. The heat was immense, soft, warm and envelopin' perhaps
the radiator was bit too 'ot but it felt glorious on me rigid shaft as I
pushed me purple helmet further into the select offal of the day. As I
pulled out an' pushed in again the deep brown fleshy fuckflange farted at
me, shit it were so realistic except I wouldn't have to buy it a drink. I
then grabbed the radiator and started a steady fucking from my position.
After a few thrusts the liver slipped down too low and me 'ands got a dit
too 'ot. With a bit of quick thinkin' I stood up and went to the locker in
the corner where I found my green woollen glove, which I quickly put on. I
walked back over to the radiator and noticed that the liver had slipped down
as far as the retainin' bolt that held the radiator to the wall. I knelt
down in front of the radiator and slipped me cock back into the waitin'
slit. I could now 'old onto th' radiator wi' me gloves and fuck away like a
sewing machine.
It was too good to last and after a few more hectic thrusts I was there.
"Take it, bitch!" I screamed, "Deep in your slutty slit, you fuckhound." I
hammered back and forth, squirtin' my own homemade marinade deep into the
livery folds.
There was a bangin' of fists on the wall.
"Stop pullin' yer pud, Chalky." The voice from next door laughed.
He wasn't laughin' the following morning when he had liver and bacon for
breakfast.
Visit the Lair of The Fanged One at
http://pages.whowhere.lycos.com/arts/paulinusfang/
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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