Flat Sausage
We were over at her place
watching Braveheart
when the idea came to me.
I’d always had a problem
with impulse control.
Walking into her kitchen
to grab the Panini Press from the pantry
and dropping my pants.
Sticking my cock into the middle of the press
and pulling the top down.
Trying to create some flat sausage,
a Scottish favourite, I’d been told.
When I pulled away,
the shaft was steaming.
A wonderful waffling pattern burned
into my squished dick.
She screamed like travelling banshees.
A single uninterrupted wail.
I figured the English must be coming.
Quick, grab your makeup bag,
I need my war paint!
She kept looking down
at the flat sausage between
my legs.
Now was not the time
to be hungry.
Horror Sleaze Trash 