An appointment with Porter...
When it was my time to be bummed by Shawn Porter, I was somewhat trepidatious. The whole of NSB had been telling me for months that he would "streamroller my over-hyped Limey asshole" in bed, and promises that "your rectum will never be the same after Shawn has pummelled you in the ring" left me with a feeling of dread.
When we came down to it, Shawn had a saying he liked to yell out: "WHAT TIME IS IT?" to which I had to answer "bumming time." I felt like a fool, and meekly uttered it out of a sense of dutiful politeness whenever Shawn said it... which was frequently. The more I answered "bumming time", the more idiotic I felt, and the more my sphinchter cried out for his phallus to ease its burden.
Well, when Shawn finally pulled out his old fella, it became clear that he didn't know what to do with it. His stamina and workrate was spectacular, and he managed about a thousand thrusts in a short space of time. The only problem is, none of them were on target. I had his bell end on the back of my head, up my nose, on my back, on my arms, on my legs... the guy was such a complete ****** it was as if he simply couldn't bum on target to save his life.
When I'd finished off making love to him - my old fella not as active, but sharp and on target - he was unrepentant, and insisted he'd given me some sweet love.
"Me and my team gonna look at the tape, but we know we delivered a good bumming tonight, and we don't need to change a thing."
I shook my head and left him behind, closing the door on his one-dimensional delusion. As soon as I did so, I heard a low moan.
"Shawn," I said, "please, I didn't mean to make you cry, I'm sorry." I rushed back in the room, only to find that he was crying not out of sorrow, but out of the discharge of love sap... Mannyphresh was on his knees before him, sucking the piping hot cum out of his taddywhacker like a man urgently sucking snake venom from a wound.
"more, more!" cried out Mannyphresh, "you DID bum him, Shawn, I promise... that limey's going back to Europe in the UK with a ruptured colon."
I shook my head, sadly, and left them both to their private moment of fellatio consolment.
When we came down to it, Shawn had a saying he liked to yell out: "WHAT TIME IS IT?" to which I had to answer "bumming time." I felt like a fool, and meekly uttered it out of a sense of dutiful politeness whenever Shawn said it... which was frequently. The more I answered "bumming time", the more idiotic I felt, and the more my sphinchter cried out for his phallus to ease its burden.
Well, when Shawn finally pulled out his old fella, it became clear that he didn't know what to do with it. His stamina and workrate was spectacular, and he managed about a thousand thrusts in a short space of time. The only problem is, none of them were on target. I had his bell end on the back of my head, up my nose, on my back, on my arms, on my legs... the guy was such a complete ****** it was as if he simply couldn't bum on target to save his life.
When I'd finished off making love to him - my old fella not as active, but sharp and on target - he was unrepentant, and insisted he'd given me some sweet love.
"Me and my team gonna look at the tape, but we know we delivered a good bumming tonight, and we don't need to change a thing."
I shook my head and left him behind, closing the door on his one-dimensional delusion. As soon as I did so, I heard a low moan.
"Shawn," I said, "please, I didn't mean to make you cry, I'm sorry." I rushed back in the room, only to find that he was crying not out of sorrow, but out of the discharge of love sap... Mannyphresh was on his knees before him, sucking the piping hot cum out of his taddywhacker like a man urgently sucking snake venom from a wound.
"more, more!" cried out Mannyphresh, "you DID bum him, Shawn, I promise... that limey's going back to Europe in the UK with a ruptured colon."
I shook my head, sadly, and left them both to their private moment of fellatio consolment.
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