http://www.tf2chan.net/afanfic Live RSS feed for http://www.tf2chan.net/afanfic en'; http://www.tf2chan.net/afanfic/res/15732.html#15733 >>15732
>Demoman blows the door

Requesting more Demoman/door oral porn.

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>>9005

Hello, and I am NOT the person who wrote teh incredible story called "DEMOMAN - SOLDIER". I am of the enjoying of that fic, but I was really sad that no more was written so I got a sandwich and ate it and now I write story of the adventure of the romance of the demoman who is of the drunk and the soldier who is of the gay.

I write highly original story right now.
_________________________________________________

The soldier was reading the new number of Guns and Haircuts magazine over his TV, RED Demoman blows the door and says "LET'S GO FOR SOME CHICKS AND GET DRUNK LAD!"

And BLU Soldier says "NEGATIVE"

"WHY?"

"BECAUSE MY NAME IS JANE AND ALL THE CHICKS WILL LAUGH AT ME"

"YER NAME IS JANE? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHhaHA~~"

"YES IT IS, NOW STOP LAUGHING" And RED Demoman stopped laughing.

"WELL IT'S TUESDAY NIGHT, AND I'M NOT DRUNK. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?" The demoman plighted.

"I DON'T KNOW, PRIVATE. I DO HOWEVER PROCLAIM THAT DESPITE WHATEVER SUGGESTIONS THAT ARE SURE TO FOLLOW I AM NOT OF THE HOMOSEXUAL INFLUENCE. I AM A MAN. A MANLY MAN."

"A MANLY MAN?" demoman whispered airily. He then snuggled on to soldier's lap while the soldier didn't notice.

"YES, A MANLY MAN."

"TELL ME WHAT MANLY MEN DO, SOLDIER."

"MANLY MEN LIKE ME GO OUT AND STRANGLE MEN WITH THEIR OWN INTESTINES AND THEN MAKE MINCEMEAT OUT OF THE BODY AND SHOVE IT INTO THE INTESTINES TO MAKE BREAKFAST FOR TOMORROW SO THEY CAN KILL MORE! I DO THIS EVERYDAY!"

"OCH, THAT'S PRETTY MANLY." The DEMOMAN said as he stuck both of his hands down soldier's pants and was rubbing soldier's peepee into a hard. soldier did not notice.

"OF COURSE THE MANLIEST MEN LIKE ME EAT AND DIGEST RIBS ALL DAY AND GET HAIRCUTS."

"JAYSUS CHRIST IN ALL HEAVEN AND ABOVE, THAT'S WHAT I DO ALL DAY TOO!" teh dememan yelled in surprise. He was still hardeing the soldier while he talked.

"DEMOMAN, THIS IS WHY WE ARE FRIENDS. WERE IT POSSIBLE, I WOULD HAVE SEXUAL RELATIONS WITH YOU, ATTEMPTING TO CREATE A PROGENY THAT COMBINED BOTH OF OUR MANLINESSES TOGETHER. HE OR SHE WOULD BE WORTHY OF BRINGING AMERICA'S FUTURE GLORY TO THE REST OF THE WORLD. BUT ALAS, IT IS NOT POSSIBLE. THE FIRST STEP WOULD REQUIRE ME TO HAVE INTERCOURSE WITH YOU, A SCOTCH CYCLOPTIC MAN WHO DOESN'T LOVE AMERICA. AND FOR ME TO BE GAY."

"NAE, LADDIE, HOW ABOUT YOU LOOK DOWN?"

"WHAT?" The soldier saw that his pants had a ripped hole in them, to which his peepee stood out from like a flagpole enthusiastically. precum leaked from his painis at the thought of America. "OH GOOD LORD"

"IT LOOKS LIKE YOU HAVE AN ERECTION, SOLDIER."

"IT APPEARS THAT I HAVE AN ERECTION IN THE PRESENCE OF ANOTHER MAN. I HAVE APPARENTLY TURNED HOMOSEXUAL."

"LET'S HAVE HAPPY TIMES THEN."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OK"

Then the soldier known as jane stuck his peepee into his poopyhole

and they party all night along

________________________________________________

nine months later

the soldier is sitting in his apartments eating ribs and cawnbread when he suddenly gives birth. This birth is messy and blood and guts explode everywhere

Soldier looks down and sees he has given birth to a baby who seems to be half Black Scotch cyclops and angry homosexual American. the soldier knows that babbies need to eat, so he picks up a rib and gives it to him. The baby NOMNOMNOMs it.

The baby then later grew up to be Clint Eastwood.

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also, just a side note, rifle is spelled with one 'f'. my inner grammar nazi forced me to tell you that. sorry if i'm being an asshole, i'll shut up now.

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more please ♥

]]> http://www.tf2chan.net/afanfic/res/15728.html#15729 >he cringed at the memories of waking with a gasp in re-spawn, squirming at the ghostly phantom of a butterfly knife sliding into his back.

This sounds much sexier than it has any right to.

...Continue.

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The BLU Sniper squinted against the late afternoon sun. He was stretched out along the wooden floor of the highest room in the BLU compound, peering down on the battlefield below through one of the two windows. A bead of sweat ran down his scalp to his temple, pausing before it slid down his cheek. The showers would be cool welcome relief after this heavy heat. It had been a slow day so far; the end to an even slower week. Patient man or not, his finger itched for the trigger. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to find a new vantage point.

Sniper had been camping out in this particular room during the daily battles for about a month. It was likely the REDs had caught on, finding ways to navigate outside the range of his deadly riffle. This meant that he would have to scout out new positions after this battle, regrettably postponing his shower, and testing the most promising during the next battle. This was not unexpected, but was unfortunate.

Not unexpected because in the 28 weeks he had spent working for BLU, he had not managed to find a single position the REDs didn’t wise up to eventually. Unfortunate because Sniper had found that this particular location seemed to present some sort of obstacle to the RED Spy. The past month had been hot and cramped, but blissfully stab-free.

Sniper paused his vigil, taking a hand off of his riffle to scratch an itch on his back.

The Red Spy, like all Spies, was a bastard.

He took obvious pleasure in his underhand methods for disposing of his enemies. Sniper was no nancy-boy; fire and bullets he could handle just fine, but he cringed at the memories of waking with a gasp in re-spawn, squirming at the ghostly phantom of a butterfly knife sliding into his back. The Marksman got goose bumps thinking about it.

Sniper’s thoughts were interrupted by a flash of motion in his peripheral vision. He brought his hand back to his weapon and shuffled on his elbows, pivoting the riffle so he could get a better look through the scope. A crooked smile pulled at his dry lips. Speak of the slimy RED devil himself!

Barely peaking out behind a tool shed was the unmistakable flicker of the enemy Spy de-cloaking. As the figure shifted, something metallic glinted at hand level. The spy had the Intel. Maybe that was why he had been careless enough to wander into Sniper’s territory. Cocky little bugger.

As Sniper inhaled, he could feel the rough splinters of the floorboards through the fabric of his shirt,pressing into his belly. The sun had descended just low enough in the sky that he no longer had to squint through the yellow lenses of his glasses. He took careful aim through the scope at the opaque shape of the RED Spy. He exhaled and fired.

The riffle cracked in his ear. An almost physical presence that filled the room but was gone in an instant, leaving only a buzzing in his head. The recoil felt familiar as a lover’s touch against his shoulder. Finally, he thought as he checked the scope to make certain he had hit his target.

But what was this? The Spy was not only still alive and breathing, but making a run for it. The RED was limping across the bridge with the briefcase clutched in one hand and the other pressed high against his thigh. The little worm wouldn't last long, but didn't have to. He was mere yards from safety.

Bloody cloaking device, Sniper thought. Why wouldn’t the fucker just die?

“Not so fast you little wanker,” Sniper hissed under his breath.

His heart leapt as he realized the window was too small to provide a good shot. The Spy was going to get away.

He scrambled to his feet, aware that he was now exposed to the RED Sniper’s line of sight, but too deep in the chase to care. He was a hunter, with the scent of his wounded prey intoxicatingly close.

He lunged to the second window but overshot. His upper-half dangled out in the open like a big blue target. Sniper barely pulling himself back inside as a round from his counterpart buried itself in the window frame where his head had been. It appeared he wasn't the only predator on the hunt.

He took a deep breath and steadied himself on the sill. A second round buried itself next to the first with a thunk that he felt rather than heard, safe behind the wall.

There was no time to steady his racing heart. No time to properly take aim. The RED Spy was almost across the bridge and out of range.

Sniper brought up his riffle and readied it to fire. Relying on years of experience, a brief glance through the scope, and a shit-ton bit of good-old-fashioned luck, he pulled the trigger.

]]> http://www.tf2chan.net/afanfic/res/15351.html#15727 >>15725
I should have said not dying after getting headshotted is also not realistic. My bad.

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The sniper whispered into his ear, "It was me. I saw what you did, I took the pictures. And I know what you like." His left hand started creeping down the spy's torso, running over the bloody cuts he had left, over the mangled patch of flesh, and lower still.

"Non Tireur!" The spy declared his words loudly, but a partially raised eyebrow revealed an underlying fear.

The sniper stopped, and slowly moved his hand higher, until he reached the shiv in the spy's shoulder. Almost carefully, he pulled the knife out, and slowly moved it so the point pressed up from underneath the spy's chin. The spy grunted, and winced his eyes, having difficulty overcoming the thought of the impending torture.

The sniper whispered in the same low tone, "I'm tired of hearing you speak. Bite your tongue off." He thrust the knife up a little, but was careful not to pierce the spy. "Or I will."

The spy's temples throbbed, and he barely had the sense to keep himself from turning his head to the side. But he knew he had no choice, so he pushed his tongue out a bit, and chomped down with his canine. It had even helped release some of the pain that furiously shot up from his leg. He pressed his left heel up against the wall, and bit until he felt the muscle tear, and pushed the unripped part bit harder. His mouth began to throb, and blood began to soak the cut off piece of meat.

"Let me see." The spy's chest was pounding, his face was sweating so hard, he barely heard the command. Though he wanted to push down on the end of his tongue, he complied, and revealed the severed end, about a third of the visible section of tongue, the bottom covering a small pool of blood. The sniper gently pulled the end out, using just two fingers of his left hand. "Only the nub," he muttered.

The spy's head was throbbing, and he wished there was something to press against his tongue. Once the sniper had removed the end of the tongue, the spy shut his mouth and his eyes, sweating faster as he felt blood drip out of the cut. But the stub was too short to press against anything, so he just pushed it down against the floor of his mouth, though it didn't help. It throbbed, like his amputated toes, and each time it did, it reminded him not just of the pain, but of what was coming next. He forced himself to open one eye, and he opened it just enough to focus on the sniper.

The sniper was still toying with the amputated part, rubbing it between the two fingers. His head was still against the spy's but he was looking at the tongue.

Then, still looking at the tongue, he whispered into the spy's ear, "Eat it," and brought the tongue back up to the spy's mouth.

The spy breathed heavily through his nose, and his open eye stared intently at the sniper, as his mouth shakily opened, only to snap down on the tongue. He was careful not to "drop" the tongue, or release it from his jaw, because he knew if he did, he wouldn't be able to use his tongue to push it back onto his teeth. He worked it to his molars, making jerking motions as he clamped down as quickly as he could after opening his mouth. By the time he had reached his molars, he had grown a bit more used to opening his mouth, and the blood flow slowed.

The tongue was tough, and he first had to rip it into several bits before trying to mash it with the molars. Then he tilted his head back and swalled the pieces.

"Let me see." The spy opened his mouth, this time more naturally. The sniper was pleased at the sight. "Now you can't hide anything from me." The sniped laughed lowly against the spy's face.

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]]> http://www.tf2chan.net/afanfic/res/15351.html#15723 >>15722
I think you're taking this too realistically. The guy's already mentioned how he knows it's not realistic because he wants it to be realistic to the game.
Besides, this is definitely one of the top ones out here. Way better than anything else other people have been posting, even if it is confusing at points. You can't argue with that.
I'd say suspend the disbelief, and actually just enjoy this.
To OP: I hope you update this a lot for the long weekend. I love this. Thank you for this.

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If you're not going to go back and edit this story, you should at least get a beta or a friend to proof-read your writing for noun confusion and believability. For example, I can't be the only one that thinks the Spy would have bled out long before this last post.

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Though his arm was lodged in tight, he knew that he still had control over his thumb, and used it to grip the knife as tighly as he could until he bled. Then he began sliding the hand up the arrow.

He had worked silently, only moving his arm, and in increments so he would go unnoticed. His hand screamed at him to stop, and he felt his blood seep out of his hand through his glove as he scraped through bone and nerve. But he had tightly braced himself, clamping his mouth and his eyes.

The he lured the sniper in, making miniscule taunts to distract the sniper. He held his expression as he wanted to yell and curse as he forced his hand through the stiffly bristled end of the arrow, feeling it mangle and widen the gash in his hand. But he pressed on, and had finally released it from its trap, when it had happened.

The sniper tripped on the body at his feet. His arm landed on the spy's, and the spy knew the sniper immediately realized that his hand was out of place.

There was no time now, and he rushed his hand down as fast as he could at the sniper's back.

But the sniper was even faster, and he blindly ripped the knife across the spy's face, gashing from his ear down across his nose, before his slammed the knife as hard as he could through the spy's shoulder.

"MRAHGH!" The spy loudly half grunted half gasped at both the long, deep gash in his face, but mostly the fresh, immediate, paralyzing pain in his right shoulder. His right arm instantly went dead, and his hand, still gripping the knife, landed gently on its target. The spy knew this not because he felt it, but he heard the soft noise it made against the man's back.

He shut his eyes tightly until he felt his eyelids might rip, and began breathing deeper. When he opened his eyes, he glared at the spy, but now in a much more painful way.

The sniper took note of this and was smiling widely. He grabbed the hand that rested on his back, and pulled it in front of him. Still looking at the spy, he took the knife from the spy's hand, laughing as the spy breathed faster and his eyes grew angrier. But he did not hesitate to do what he had planned to do.

Carefully, he took the knife into his now free right hand, and caressed the limp thumb in his hand. Slowly, he brought the digit closer to his face, and softly massaged it through the soft fabric.

"Ah, betty." The spy thought he heard him say. Then he brought the thumb close to his hand, and gently kissed it. But soon he began to treat it like a tongue, and rolled it in his mouth, making soft noises, before slowly retracting, leaving the thumb wet both where it had been kissed and where it had pushed itself into its hand's blood while it lived.

The spy knew what was coming next, but his eyes still widened. Suddenly, the sniper's eyes changed, his mouth grimaced, and he wildly slashed the thumb off of the hand. The spy was mortified, not by simply the decapitation itself, but what it demonstrated: all of his nerves were severed, and he felt nothing. Then the sniper, smiling madly again, bent all of his remaining fingers back, until they curled the opposite direction, and sliced them one by one like sausages, waiting between each slice so the spy could hear them fall to the ground like meat. That is, until he reached the middle finger. He left that finger intact, and laughed darkly as he smashed the hand back down the arrow. But to just be safe, he took the spy's knife and smashed that through the soaked, mangled pulp that was left of the spy's right hand. The elbow dangled deadly between the two knives, and the spy felt nothing.

"You couldn't feel that. But you will feel this." The spy first replaced his glasses before he drew out his other knife, another long, but more jagged shiv. Then he knelt down to the spy's right foot, and snatched it tightly in his hand. The spy kicked his leg, but the sniper simply twisted the foot inward, seeming to not mind whether or not the leg was kicked out or against the wall.

The spy knew what he was about to do, and retracted the leg, pressing it up against the wall as if trying to escape. The spy bit his lip to keep himself from speaking out, but he still breathed heavily, and his eyes widened more and more. But he knew what was coming, and he knew saying, "Don't," would only make him look desperate.

The sniper smiled at this, but did not stop. He took the rigged side of the knife, and began to saw back and forth on the tough Achilles tendon. The spy's back immediately lurched, and he bit down harder. Normally, he was taught to endure, but his shoulder, abdomen, and limbs, along with the tendon, had now become too much. But he was quiet.

The sniper began to saw faster and faster, and part of the tendon snapped. "MMmF!" The spy grunted, and his eyes were tight. All of his limbs were pressed up against the wall, and his mask clung to his face, soaked in blood and sweat. His chest was heaving up and down, and he felt his temples throbbing.

"Squeal!" The sniper took two fingers behind the tendon and plucked it. But the spy was silent. Angry, the sniper made a final cut, snapping the tendon, and the broken fiber curled up the spy's leg.

"HrAUGH!" The spy's mouth opened and his eyes tightened in pain. "S-S-ALO-PARD!"

"What was that you said earlier? Do you still think this is easy?" The spy heard a FWOOSHing noise, and could barely open his eyes. But once he did, he bit his lip again, and breathed faster.

"No more games." The sniper wildly grinned as he held out the Pyro's flamethrower. He placed the end next to the spy's foot, and uncurled the spy's tendon slowly. NON. The spy wanted to yell out, but he bit his lip. Desperately, he kicked his leg out, and his foot flapped awkwardly. But the sniper grabbed the spy's foot tightly.

"Ah ah ah!" The sniper said, as if he was waggling his finger. "Don't bother." Holding the foot, he dropped the flamethrower and grabbed his shiv. First he carefully pulled the spy's shoe off, then his sock, and then, in one motion, sliced off all of his toes.

"MRRG!" The spy grunted loudly and winced. Then his eyes grew wide and he bit down to keep himself from yelling at the sight of the stump ending of his foot.

Then he picked up the flamethrower again. NON! His eyes yelled at the sniper. The sniper just laughed in response, and sliced a ring around the man's right knee, ripping the pant leg off.

"I really am not much of a close combat man am I? ...I thought not." Then he flicked the switch of the flamethrower and laughed maniacally. "MEHHA HA HA HA HA!"

The spy immediately tried to retract his leg, but the flames were already on him. They ate away at his skin, and the spy looked down in horror as the fire melted away his flesh, until he could see his own calf bone. The last he saw before he closed his eyes tight was it climbing up his tendon.

"mmMMRARRAUGGH! AOUURGHH!" The spy bit through his lip and yelled out as pain ate at his leg and bombarded him. He kicked his other leg back and forth at the wooden wall, leaving a dent where his heel smashed the wall. "S-S-SAAUUUGHHH!!"

The sniper was merciless. He was a pyro to the spy, obsessed with the fire, loving the way it made the spy yell. He let the flamethrower run until it ran out of fuel, at which point he just tossed the useless weapon to his right, back towards the pyro.

When he was finished, the flamethrower had completely eaten the spy's skin, and had begun to burn the bone, leaving a dark residue all the way from the knee down the white colored tibia and fibula. The flesh underneath was dark and some flames remained shortly. The foot was blackened, and bones edges showed. The ends where the toes had been cut of were now melted shut. The tendon was scorched, and the sniper yanked the blackened string out, and the foot dangled strangely.

The spy bit down on his bit lip again, and sweat rushed down his face, mixing with the blood, leaving a dark red streak down his cheek. He had winced his eyes, but opened one to look at the sniper. He breathed heavily.

"Did I go too easy on you?" The sniper now turned to the left leg. Without bothering to move the pant, he sawed at the calf bone, until he saw that it had splintered. The spy kicked his leg at this, and grunted. The sniper suddenly seemed to be less vicious, and peeled of the man's other shoe, then his sock. Without cutting the toes off, his made a single cut along the ridge of the toes. He did it quietly.

The spy was still jolted with pain, but he managed to keep quiet. The sniper made one final cut along the spy's left tricep, and, noticing how dull and slippery the knife had become, made a last, surprisingly violently deep stab into the same shoulder as his other knife. As the sniper dusted himself off, and wiped his hands, the spy grunted out, gritting his teeth, "RAUGH! F-FILS DE P-PU-TAIN!" and turned his body toward his right side, ignoring the ripping at his left joints where the arrows pinned him down.

Chuckling again, the sniper just said softly, "Was that bad enough for you?" He smiled devilishly again, and laughed. He stepped forward and pressed his body against the spy's, his mouth against the spy's right cheek. "Because I can do much, much worse."

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