Lance’s Secret

On Thursday at 3:45 Eric and Clifford, having made sure that only Lance would be in the house other than them, hid themselves in the dining room, off the communal living room. They barely made it into concealment before the doorbell rang and Lance was flouncing down the stairs in his little kilt to answer the door.

The trucker named Bubba had arrived early. Taken by surprise, Lance answered to the name Brassnkls when challenged. An uppercut to the chin and a fist to the solar plexus sent Lance reeling back onto the sofa in the living room. When BigRick arrived only five minutes early, Lance was already bent over the arm of the sofa, his kilt gathered up around his waist, and Bubba working on trying to reach Lance’s tonsils from the inside with his nine-inch dick.

“That Brassnkls?” BigRick asked.

“Yep,” Bubba answered. “I got nine inches in the little prick. You got something you want in there too? Gonna teach this little poofter about fuckin’ with me.”

“You think he can take ten at the same time?”

“I don’t see why not. He’s a real big talker on the forum—and from how he talks there, I’ll bet he’s empty on the inside and that there’s lots of empty space room in there for both of us.”