Hanging Pedos by their Bollocks from a Lamp Post 1 - Sex Stories

Hanging Pedos by their Bollocks from a Lamp Post 1

... the cat what's got the cream. The bitch had shoved a hole in the jonny, the rubber, Durex, hadn't she, so I shot me load right up her. "You fucking bitch!" I said when I realised, "You sad fucking bitch!" "Alan said the only way to get a flat was to get up the duff." she said. "Next time fucking ask," I said, "I always wanted to try bareback!" "You're nice," Sandra said, "Not like Mr Andrews, he hurts me." "Right," I agreed, "He's some kind of Pedo right?" She nodded, "He said Dad stole some stuff and if I didn't he would get Dad the sack." she said, "Was it horrible?" I asked. "Actually," she said, "It was exciting at first, but then he started hurting me." I had to hold her, feel her little tits against my chest, crush her to me, "Like you're doing," she added "Sorry," I said. "John," she said, "Al says you two are going to hang some Pedos up by their bollocks." "Shit that's supposed to be a secret!" I said. "Will you do Mr Andrews?" she asked. "Can I fuck you bareback?" I asked. "If you'll hang Mr Andrews up by his bollocks," she agreed. "Get your legs apart then," I said "Cos the sputnik is about to dock!" "I think you got that wrong you mean a Soyuz," Sandra says as I eased into her again, "We done that in history last Ooohh, week, Oooh John," she says, "That's really nice." We fucked long and slow and quietly, "I always fancied you," I lied. "Liar," she said, "But you fancy me now don't you?" "Yes," I admitted, "Definitely." ...

... ================================================= Tony Mullholland was in the club Friday night, "Right you two," he says as he came across Al and me, "First off mine’s a pint." "What, Perrier water or out the tap?" I asked all innocent like. “No beer dickhead,” Tony replies sounding pissed off. "Thought you didn’t drink on duty!" Al added. "Yes very funny," Tony added, "And second there are Pedophiles roaming the streets and lamp posts to hang them from." he flashed a photo, "67 Argyll street, a party, men only, its only half a mile." "Right," I agreed. "It's Friday," he reminded us. "Right," I agreed. "Rope," he said and handed me a coil of thin nylon rope. "Right," I agreed. "So I'll ply the delectable Sandra with fizzy drinks and you two can do some community service, if you value Al's license." Tony suggested. "Right," we agreed. It wasn't even half a mile to Argyll street across the cemetery, Argyll Street was all poncy villas, stockbroker villas for nobs and that, surveyors, mine superintendents that sort of wanker, 67 was like something out of Dallas set back from the road with a big porch thing over the front door, totally out of place, it was the vet's once and then some poncy git from down south had it all done up with antique pine, they stripped from the Methodist Chapel when the turned it into a Mosk and it was filled with tat or "Antiques," most of which came from local junk shop. We found the party was in full swing, so we shinned up a drain pipe and got on top of this portico or porch thing so we could ...