Todestrieb
"Come on, baby, let's bag the vid and just get busy."
Bob's overactive hands are all over your body, up and down and around and pulling at the clothing that seems glued to your skin. You do your best to ignore him as you adjust the volume of the old home video that you have started playing in your room.
"Look! There you are loading the Super Soaker in the kiddie pool! You look so mad!"
"Heh. Yeah. How the fuck does this bra work? Dammit I'm drunk."
"I'm gonna get him! He's gonna die! Like this! Badda-badda-badda-badda-nnneehhhBOOOM!"
"I'll get it. Just lie down on the bed."
"Hurry up, Bob! He's about to leave! Hey John, is the camera working?"
"I think so!"
"Well make sure, dummy!"
"Anna, you're killing me. You can see I'm ready over here!"
"Just a minute. This is the part where you start stalking him!"
"This is Agent Bob Brunswick. I am on a mission to kill Uncle Frank because he is a bad man. Anna said so. I love Anna!"
"Oh Christ, yeah! Yeah, girl, fuck me!"
You are doing the best you can with Bob's semi-soft cock as you ride him with a quick thumping motion. You don't really take any notice of Bob, of his considerable paunch or his amusing squinty-eyed expression. You watch the video closely.
"Target has been visionized!"
Your pussy is so wet, you begin to slide around on top of old pal Bob. You look down for a moment to steady yourself, making sure he doesn't slip out of you.
"Die, you big mean man! Die! Diiieee!"
"What the You little brat! Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I am making you pay!"
"Agggh, I'm coming, baby!" Bob looks a little quizzically at you as you press yourself closer against him, arching your head back in ecstasy as you feel the alien new wetness add to the deluge down below. Then he glances at the television and begins to laugh. "Heh, I remember that now. I had to pay out of my allowance to get his stupid shirt dry-cleaned, and then deliver it to his house. No wonder you thought he was an ass."
"You have no idea." You flop down next to Bob, utterly unsatisfied. He begins to doze off, but you prod him impatiently. The screen turns to snow and a loud static sound fills the room. "Come on, get going. You can't stay here."
"All right." He rolls lazily off the bed and puts his pants back on. "Thanks. That was fun. Next time without the movie though, ok? There's something wrong about hearing our 8-year-old voices while we're you know."
"Heh. Some people might find that exciting."
"Right-o. G'night, Anna. Thanks again."
"Bye."
You barely take notice of him putting on his coat and walking out the door because you have rewound the tape to that spot again.
"Target has been visionized!"
"Yeah, Bob, be my fucking hero and nail that fuck." Your hand reaches down to your drenched pussy, stroking lightly under the lips, then a little more urgently as Bob makes his brave ascent up the grassy summer hill. Seeing Frank, you begin to furiously rub at yourself, as though you were attacking an impossible stain. "Get him! Get that fucker!" The water gun shoots off a long stream at the American Poet's pretentious suit jacket. "If only those were real bullets! If only " Your vocal chords constrict into silence as you arch your back up in an ecstatic agony that seems to erase time and place, suspending you in that one crucial Truth. Feeling under you, your hands wipe at your soaked down comforter.
Utterly spent, you fall asleep to the sounds of snow and static as the tape again reaches its conclusion.
Bob's overactive hands are all over your body, up and down and around and pulling at the clothing that seems glued to your skin. You do your best to ignore him as you adjust the volume of the old home video that you have started playing in your room.
"Look! There you are loading the Super Soaker in the kiddie pool! You look so mad!"
"Heh. Yeah. How the fuck does this bra work? Dammit I'm drunk."
"I'm gonna get him! He's gonna die! Like this! Badda-badda-badda-badda-nnneehhhBOOOM!"
"I'll get it. Just lie down on the bed."
"Hurry up, Bob! He's about to leave! Hey John, is the camera working?"
"I think so!"
"Well make sure, dummy!"
"Anna, you're killing me. You can see I'm ready over here!"
"Just a minute. This is the part where you start stalking him!"
"This is Agent Bob Brunswick. I am on a mission to kill Uncle Frank because he is a bad man. Anna said so. I love Anna!"
"Oh Christ, yeah! Yeah, girl, fuck me!"
You are doing the best you can with Bob's semi-soft cock as you ride him with a quick thumping motion. You don't really take any notice of Bob, of his considerable paunch or his amusing squinty-eyed expression. You watch the video closely.
"Target has been visionized!"
Your pussy is so wet, you begin to slide around on top of old pal Bob. You look down for a moment to steady yourself, making sure he doesn't slip out of you.
"Die, you big mean man! Die! Diiieee!"
"What the You little brat! Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I am making you pay!"
"Agggh, I'm coming, baby!" Bob looks a little quizzically at you as you press yourself closer against him, arching your head back in ecstasy as you feel the alien new wetness add to the deluge down below. Then he glances at the television and begins to laugh. "Heh, I remember that now. I had to pay out of my allowance to get his stupid shirt dry-cleaned, and then deliver it to his house. No wonder you thought he was an ass."
"You have no idea." You flop down next to Bob, utterly unsatisfied. He begins to doze off, but you prod him impatiently. The screen turns to snow and a loud static sound fills the room. "Come on, get going. You can't stay here."
"All right." He rolls lazily off the bed and puts his pants back on. "Thanks. That was fun. Next time without the movie though, ok? There's something wrong about hearing our 8-year-old voices while we're you know."
"Heh. Some people might find that exciting."
"Right-o. G'night, Anna. Thanks again."
"Bye."
You barely take notice of him putting on his coat and walking out the door because you have rewound the tape to that spot again.
"Target has been visionized!"
"Yeah, Bob, be my fucking hero and nail that fuck." Your hand reaches down to your drenched pussy, stroking lightly under the lips, then a little more urgently as Bob makes his brave ascent up the grassy summer hill. Seeing Frank, you begin to furiously rub at yourself, as though you were attacking an impossible stain. "Get him! Get that fucker!" The water gun shoots off a long stream at the American Poet's pretentious suit jacket. "If only those were real bullets! If only " Your vocal chords constrict into silence as you arch your back up in an ecstatic agony that seems to erase time and place, suspending you in that one crucial Truth. Feeling under you, your hands wipe at your soaked down comforter.
Utterly spent, you fall asleep to the sounds of snow and static as the tape again reaches its conclusion.