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The Froch experience...
I'd studied the bumming career of Carl "The Spitting Cobra" Froch for some time, and always been impressed by how many bummings he'd been able to turn around. There were the odd occasions when it hadn't gone his way, like Kessler pulling his cock that little bit harder, or Andre Ward constantly holding him so he could get his cock in first. But he'd always entertained me in the realm of sodomy.
However, when I got to be bummed by him, the tongue-in-cheek fun he used to have seemed to have given away to genuine arrogance.
"I'm the best bummer the UK has ever produced," he gloated, "it's between me and Lennox Lewis."
Well, I was going to ask him about people like Ted "Kid" Lewis, and mention that - as followers of my bumming career may remember - I'd been bummed by Lennox and it wasn't all that. But I didn't like to trouble him.
Initially I tossed myself off into Carl's face, producing a tumult of white love, the kind of which had rendered Amir Khan and Roy Jones unconscious for several days. I was impressed that, no matter how much I bukkaked Carl, he was able to take it. Then it was my turn.
I hoisted down my pants and lubed myself up ready. Carl's taddywhacker was firm, and I sensed it could do me a lot of damage if he intended to, but it was slow. As he prepared to enter me, I realised I had a few things to do. So I walked down to the local shops, bought a pizza, paid my electricity bill, bought myself some milk and a newspaper, then came back... only to find that the tip of Carl's chopper still hadn't reached where my anus would be.
I sat back on it and looked at my watch. After 50 minutes Carl's pan handle had finally started to tickle my kidneys, and I couldn't fault his stamina. It was just that his bumming was so agonisingly slow that it took over a week before he'd finished.
I pulled my pants up with some relief when he pulled out (a process which again took several hours).
Carl, however, was more than satisfied with his work. "You won't get bummed like that by Joe Calzaghe," he smirked, "Joe Calzaghe would be having nightmares if he saw how impressive I was in bumming tonight."
I shook my head and left without a word. As I opened the door, you'll never fucking guess - it was SlimShandy on the other side, eager for a go. He didn't even take time to say hello to Carl before he noshed down like some kind of AIDS monkey after a cream-filled lollipop.
"You're the best, Carl," he said, through mouthfuls of cum, "I'm going to make ten threads tonight telling those Yanks how your cock could rule the division for years, and that Groves knocking you on the bell end was just a fluke."
I left them to it. My belly was full of Carl's fresh love syrup, but the only thing I could feel inside was hollow disillusionment.
However, when I got to be bummed by him, the tongue-in-cheek fun he used to have seemed to have given away to genuine arrogance.
"I'm the best bummer the UK has ever produced," he gloated, "it's between me and Lennox Lewis."
Well, I was going to ask him about people like Ted "Kid" Lewis, and mention that - as followers of my bumming career may remember - I'd been bummed by Lennox and it wasn't all that. But I didn't like to trouble him.
Initially I tossed myself off into Carl's face, producing a tumult of white love, the kind of which had rendered Amir Khan and Roy Jones unconscious for several days. I was impressed that, no matter how much I bukkaked Carl, he was able to take it. Then it was my turn.
I hoisted down my pants and lubed myself up ready. Carl's taddywhacker was firm, and I sensed it could do me a lot of damage if he intended to, but it was slow. As he prepared to enter me, I realised I had a few things to do. So I walked down to the local shops, bought a pizza, paid my electricity bill, bought myself some milk and a newspaper, then came back... only to find that the tip of Carl's chopper still hadn't reached where my anus would be.
I sat back on it and looked at my watch. After 50 minutes Carl's pan handle had finally started to tickle my kidneys, and I couldn't fault his stamina. It was just that his bumming was so agonisingly slow that it took over a week before he'd finished.
I pulled my pants up with some relief when he pulled out (a process which again took several hours).
Carl, however, was more than satisfied with his work. "You won't get bummed like that by Joe Calzaghe," he smirked, "Joe Calzaghe would be having nightmares if he saw how impressive I was in bumming tonight."
I shook my head and left without a word. As I opened the door, you'll never fucking guess - it was SlimShandy on the other side, eager for a go. He didn't even take time to say hello to Carl before he noshed down like some kind of AIDS monkey after a cream-filled lollipop.
"You're the best, Carl," he said, through mouthfuls of cum, "I'm going to make ten threads tonight telling those Yanks how your cock could rule the division for years, and that Groves knocking you on the bell end was just a fluke."
I left them to it. My belly was full of Carl's fresh love syrup, but the only thing I could feel inside was hollow disillusionment.
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