Fuckin' WOOOOO the 'chan is back! Have a story! OtherHazard's sick, demented idea, written out by me, so you KNOW it's gotta be good. ------------------------------------------- DIRTY TRICK (Sniper/You) Laughing like kids and leaning against each other, you and the Sniper make your way back to his van. He lets you in, and you’re both grateful for the privacy and shade it affords as you grab each other. You wrap yourselves together in the tiny space, kissing deeply. “So, this is the infamous van of ill repute?†you tease. “I should hope it has quite a good reputation.†He quirks an eyebrow at you behind his shooting glasses, which have been knocked askew. You pluck them off his face so that you can look into his eyes. “Some of the stories people tell about you...†you press against him. “Like what?†he retorts, groping your ass. “Like you kidnap people, keep ‘em tied up out here for weeks on end as you have your wicked way with them... over, and over, and over...†You rut against him in time with your words. “And yet you came out here anyway.†He nuzzles your neck. “You fancy that kind of thing?†“I do,†you admit. You notice that the camper is so narrow that there’s only room for either the bed or the table to fold down at one time. The table’s unfolded now, so you sit back on it to grin at him. “I want you to tie me up.†The Australian blinks at you. “I... I have to admit, I’ve never done that for fun before.†He steps forward, seizing your wrists to pin your hands to the table. “I suppose I’m game, though.†“Got any rope?†You run your foot up his leg. He digs some rope out of his gear, then tears at your clothing in between kisses. It’s hot and dusty in the van, and exposing as much skin as possible to such breeze as the little windows admit is a blessing. The Sniper bows his head to lick the sweat from your chest, and you moan. Despite his admitted inexperience, the Sniper makes a good effort, lashing your hands to the table’s hinges, spread out behind you, looping rope around your ankles and the table legs to put your genitals on display. “That is a sight,†he says, staring hungrily down at you. “You’ve really never done this before?†“Why’re you so surprised?†He crosses his arms. “The way you whisper, the way you slope around the place... seems like you’d be into all sort of perverted things.†“What things?†he presses his face in beside yours, using his whisper to devastating effect. He lost his shirt at some point, you can smell the warmth of his body. “Weird things! I don’t know... bondage, torture, piss...†“Piss.†The word has no inflection. “Most people don’t store theirs in jars, is all.†The Sniper’s demeanour has changed utterly from the happy man who’d been nibbling on your ear. You sense you’ve crossed some kind of line. He turns on his heel and steps out of the van. Sitting by yourself, tied to his table, you realise that nobody knows where you are. You wonder what he’s doing out there. You get your answer about a hundred and thirty seconds later, when the Sniper lets himself back in. He’s tugging up the zip on his dungarees and carrying a jar... The jar is full of tawny, slightly murky liquid. “Oh god,†you giggle nervously, yanking the ropes. You catch sight of his savage smile. “Oh god no!†You reef on the ropes more sincerely. “Oh, yes,†he whispers, a sound like a kukri ripping through raw silk. He unscrews the lid of the jar. “No! No no no no no!†You can’t stop laughing- it isn’t funny a bit, and you’re still giggling as you struggle. “Open wide...†he positions himself between your legs, dungarees bulging over his arousal as he tilts the jar toward your face. “Oh god! No! Please! I’m sorry!†you gasp. “Too late.†He lets a hot droplet fall on your cheek. You write as if stung, and he snarls with laughter. He tips the entire jar over you- your face, your chest, your crotch- as you scream and moan in horror. A mad light burns in his eyes as he grabs your hair, yanks your head backward. he licks the dripping liquid up from your sternum, off your neck and jaw, and kisses it into your mouth. Gagging, snarling, you struggle, bite his tongue, and only then taste... lemon? He lets you pull back from the kiss as you lick your lips in perplexity. His sides are shaking with suppressed snickers until you shoot him a glare, at which point he erupts with full-bore laughter. “It’s tea!†he manages between howls. “Lemon tea! I brew it in the sun on top’a the van!†“You asshole!†You scream, trembling with rage and the effort of not laughing at your own situation, tied down and covered in tea. “You bastard! You utter... Australian... jerk!†“Bloody Hell, the look on your face...†he leans in again, kissing tea off your cheeks. “Seriously, what the fuck?†You’re starting to laugh, too. “Well, you just seemed so disappointed that I wasn’t a weird, bent bastard, I had to make it up to you. It was the work of a moment to flick the teabags out onto the sand.†“You assho-†you begin again, but he silences you by pressing his lips against yours, probing your mouth with his tongue. You want to wrap your arms around him, at least to wipe off some of the tea, but the rope holds you securely. The Sniper advances on you, caressing your face and tweaking your nipples. You moan and struggle against the ropes on your ankles; the Sniper pushes your legs wider to stand between them. The lanky man reaches around you, grabbing a butter dish that had gotten shoved to the back of the table in all the excitement. He opens it, revealing yellow margarine rather than butter proper. In this heat, it’s sweated a thin sheen of oil. He digs blunt-nailed fingers into the margarine, squeezes it in his fist, then opens his fly and slicks the resulting grease over his cock. Your skin burns with the desire to touch him. “You need me to loosen you up a bit?†He toys with the delicate skin between your legs. “No, I can take it, please, now.†Thighs quivering, you can’t help but beg. That’s all the permission that he needs. He hauls on your thighs, bringing your ass right to the edge of the table. His cock hadn’t looked that big, but it feels huge as he forces it past the tight ring of muscle. You cry out, but press your knees against him to hold him close. “Oh, bloody Hell,†he pants, thrusting deep into you. “Fuck,†you reply, and it’s all you can manage as you ride the pain into pleasure. Your head is resting on the camper wall, your spine is bent unnaturally, your arms are twisted... and it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. In the throes of his passion, the Sniper lifts your ass off the rickety table, supporting you in midair. He drives deep into you, mouth open, showing off sharp, white teeth- he is a beautiful beast. You realise that he’s coming, and that sets you off, as well. you can feel your internal muscles rippling around his erection, feel him shoving back against the resistance, every movement pleasuring both of you. You scream again, fingernails digging into the scarred edge of the table. After an almost unbearably long moment, the Sniper sets you down on the table, relaxing, draping himself over you. You sigh, and are once again thwarted in embracing him. “Please, untie me?†He undoes the ropes, then helps you upright in an embrace. As he mops himself off with a rag, you work out how to stow the table and unship the bed. “Hope you’re not too disappointed,†he says sheepishly, “since I’m not the great pervert you were expecting.†“Why would I be?†you ask, flopping down to wipe tea and sweat on his sheets. “You’re every bit as much of a bastard as they say.â€