Bernie's House of Bangers - Sex Stories

Bernie's House of Bangers

... English have been making sausages way longer than the Germans, and as anyone who knows me will tell you, I love sausages.

(I know what you're thinking and if you so much as fucking smirk, I swear I'm going reach out and slap the shit out of you.)

Right, so I was dithering between the Toad in the Hole and the Bubble and Squeak when I was greeted by a curvaceous woman in a bright red 'Mrs. Santa' outfit. She was a round woman, Rubenesqu even, as a friend would later say. I didn't know about that. I thought a Ruben was a sandwich, but what the hell. I prefer a woman who can appreciate a good hoagie anyway.

Specks of red and green were sprinkled from her rosy cheeks all the way down over her very impressive breasts. She looked like a glitter-bomb exploded over her.

I just sat there, mesmerized by the plastic stardust covering her tits. Every time she moved, her wonderful mounds jiggled, causing the glitter to sparkle under the ancient, yellow lights. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I had to force my mouth closed as she prepared to take my order with an equally glitter-covered pen.

I think women know what a show of splendid cleavage does to a guy and her smile confirmed it. "How are you tonight, sweetie?" There was a definite glint in her eye.

"I'm getting hungrier by the minute,” I replied, grinning. Let me tell you, that was no lie. She looked fucking delicious and the longer I spent gazing over her cleavage the hungrier I got. Eventually, I got around to ...

... noticing the sleigh-shaped name tag with 'Betty' drawn across it in more of the same green glitter.

"Nice to meet you, Betty. I just love your outfit."

I was smirking terribly and Betty flushed happily back at me. "Thank you, babe. What's your name, or should I just call you Santa?"

"Oh, Christ no, I'm Bob," I said, trying my best to sound cool. Believe me, that wasn't easy. It's hard to make 'Bob' sound like a cool name.

To my relief, Betty seemed to think it was, or maybe she was just being nice. "You do seem to have an appetite, Bob. What would you like?"

Tearing my eyes away from her tag, I saw a playful smile gracing her face. It was just a hunch, but she was either very proud of her crafty work, or she'd caught me staring at her boobs!

I did my best to act as if I wasn't ogling. I mean, just because her tag was pinned dangerously close to her boobs, it didn't mean I'd actually noticed them, right?

Right, she didn't believe that either, but I still wasn't ready to admit I was ogling her tits. So, with all the all skill of an English poet, I changed tack away from my not so subtle peeping.

"Hey Betty,” I said with all the panache I could muster, "how are the bangers today?"

Smooth, eh? I know. I'm good like that.

Betty's face lit up as she softly laughed. I was about to congratulate myself on being clever when she parried my linguistic thrust. "I don't know, love, I haven't been banged in years."

Well, that got my attention.

I put down my ...