- 16-04-2012, 14:06 #51
- 16-04-2012, 14:53 #52
- 16-04-2012, 14:57 #53Steven Seagull is a rotten, intenet bully, a seventh generation cunt, he was born in a state of misery, half-cooked with a mean streak a mile wide. Over the years he has developed a passion for human oddities, presdigitation, tattooing and torture.
- 16-04-2012, 15:04 #54
- 16-04-2012, 16:08 #55
Feck off. The lot of ya!
Chapter FiveI booted up the PC and waited for the hardware to settle down before firing up my CCTV Camera software.
I pointed my mouse at option screen four, and the hungry microns found their way instantly to the camera mounted in my guest room. A couple more clicks and the high resolution, dim view lighting quickly arranged the monitor pixels into a far more favourable image.
Mia and Saffron were lying side by side on the bed and talking.
“Well that was a pleasant evening.”
“Sure was Saffy, but I’m a bit surprised that he never took advantage of the situation. I was gagging for a bit of hard cock, it’s been a week now.”
Saffron replied. “Perhaps he’s just a gentleman.”
They paused, looked at each other and Mia laughed. “Perhaps he’s gay.”
“Bollocks is he gay.” Said Saffron. “Did you see the way he was ogling my dripping quim?” “If he’s gay I’m a fucking coalminer.”
The two girls giggled and embraced. A long smouldering kiss passed between their lips, and Saffron sighed deeply.
“You naughty girl. You know a finger up my bum-hole gets me wetter than a horny dolphin.”
The monitor in front of me crackled harshly and the picture faded. Shit. What’s happened? Despite my best efforts I couldn’t rectify the situation and came to the conclusion that the damned thing was knackered. I could have switched the broken one with the monitor I had in the office, but a glance at my watch informed me that it was later than I had thought, and I really needed to get my head down. I had a busy day ahead of me.
After a fitful kip, I was up at 0700 and after a hot shower I was to be found once again in the kitchen, brewing the coffee.
I tapped lightly at the door to the guest room. Mia answered. She was dressed in her boiler suit complete with comfortable shoes. (johnboyzzz) I couldn’t see Saffron and assumed she was in the bathroom.
“Coffee is hot and awaiting you in the kitchen.” I said.
“Excellent.” She replied. “We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
Two minutes later the dusky duo were sipping from mugs filled with hot, fresh Jamaican Blue in the kitchen.
“Right ladies, this is my plan. We’ll take a spin out to your car and make sure it’s OK, then I’ll take you into the village where recovery can be arranged, and I’ll treat you both to breakfast at the best eatery in the county. What do you reckon?”
They both agreed it was a sound enough plan.
I went outside and prepped the Landrover. I hadn’t had cause to drive the beast for a week, and anyway a decent first parade wouldn’t hurt the old girl. I satisfied myself that she was fuelled up; the oils were at a decent level, that the tyres were not flat and I started the engine. I set the feeble heater on to max, in order to defrost the windscreen and provide the cab interior with at least passing attention to the word warmth.
Saffron had just finished the washing up as I entered the kitchen. “Thanks for that Saffron.” I said. “Now it’s time to go. Have you both got everything?”
I heard Mia whisper in Saffrons ear. “I’ve got everything, except a hard cock.” Saffron giggled and the girls followed me through the front door entrance.
It took about 2 minutes to drive to the girl’s car, and they explained that it looked as if it hadn’t been tampered with. I explained that it might be a good idea to chuck their suitcases into the back of my vehicle, for safe keeping. They agreed.
“Welcome to Little Fisting.” I exhorted as we passed the small sign planted in the verge on the outskirts of the small village.
The girls exploded into laughter.
“There is nothing wrong with visiting a Little Fisting every once in a while.” I added with a throaty chuckle.
Mia added. “Too bloody right mate.”
I parked up outside Old Joes garage and asked the girls to sit tight whilst I negotiated the recovery on their behalf.
Old Joe was long dead, liver failure got him in the end, but the new owner couldn’t be bothered with anything as tedious as changing the name of the place.
I entered the wriggly tin workshop and let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting and called out. “Anyone around?”
“Over here Arte. In the pit.” The disembodied voice came from underneath a rather dilapidated transit van parked over the concrete working pit sunk into the workshop floor.
I crouched down spoke to the owner of the voice. “Hi Pete, how’s it going?”
“Sound as a pound Arte mate.” Pete replied, working a greasy looking rag across his bald head. “Never better son.”
“Good man. I’ve got a quick recovery job for you if you’re interested. A Ford Fiesta about a mile from my place. The engine will need looking at as well.”
“You got a Fiesta now Arte?” Peter raised an eyebrow.
“Nah, it belongs to a couple of friends who are staying.”
“Ah right. Wouldn’t be another couple of She-Midgets (Koschei) would it? I fucking loved that video you made of those two. Sheer class that was mate. I could watch it all night.” He paused before adding. “And sometimes I fucking do!”
“Not this time Pete. But they need the car fairly quickly, so if you could bang it up the priority list I’d be grateful.”
“No probs son, I’ll get on to it this morning. Have you got the keys?”
I handed over a bunch of keys and explained that I’d be breakfasting at the Pie Shop. He had my number and would text me when the Fiesta was at his garage.
On returning to my Landrover, I saw Saffron had tilted the rear view mirror and was applying a bright red lipstick whilst Mia gently nibbled an ear.
“Right then ladies.” I stabbed at the clutch pedal with a polished cowboy boot (Steven Seagull, the fucking memory man) and clunked the gear lever into reverse. “Mia is obviously hungry. Let’s eat.”
The Pie Shop doubled up as the village bakery and the smell of freshly baked bread assaulted our senses before I’d even opened the door to the place. I poked my head in and called out to the owner. “Is there any chance of three early breakfast specials Sarah?”
“No problem Arte, come on in and grab a table, I’ll be with you shortly.”
The three of us then duly trooped into the small dining area. It had a basic décor, but this didn’t take away the homely feel of the place, and of course the smell of that freshly baked bread made all the difference.
Although to be honest, for once, my mind was not on breakfast, freshly baked bread or anything of the sort. I was formulating a plan. It involved power tools (Rawhide) and of course... my cellar.
Last edited by Arte_et_Marte; 16-04-2012 at 16:11.If you are an ex-serviceman or woman who wants to network mutual commercial interests, you can PM me for an invite to join the new ARRSE Business Group.
- 16-04-2012, 16:13 #56
- 21-04-2012, 16:43 #57
- 22-04-2012, 01:59 #58
- Join Date
- Feb 2010
- 22-04-2012, 02:26 #59
Its got me hooked, I thought you were going to off them in the cellar that night but now you have the villiage involved, unless Little Fisting is like Royston Vasey...
If they fix the car and just drive off I wont be putting a favourable review in the Books section.I’ve heard that fact, that is you eat more than 6 bananas it will kill you.
I saw a bowl with 7 bananas in it, and i thought, that’s dangerous.
“The toilet is too far from the sink which isn’t what you need in India. Both are often required at the same time”
- 22-04-2012, 06:02 #60