Session 1
It was just another day in front of the IRC for Bulldog. Today was Rick’s birthday, and he hadn’t prepared at all!
The door slammed open. Shocked, Bulldog zipped his pants back up and turned around. It was Rick.
“BUUUUUULLLLDOG! I’M HOOOOOME! COME HITHER AND REST THY LIPS UPON MY BUTTOCKS”
“You sound like a twat. Stop talking like that, or else you aren’t getting your birthday present, you adorable little shit.”
Rick clasped his hands over his mouth.
“Oh, Bulldog! Don’t tell me… you got me the hair straightener I kept bringing up! You always know what I want!”
Bulldog shook his head, not quite knowing where he was taking himself. He didn’t have anything to give to begin with, and he knew Rick’s fragile heart would be broken if he didn’t make him happy on his birthday.
Rick gave a blank stare. He knew something wasn’t right, but couldn’t quite figure out what. He looked around the room and saw that there were no birthday decorations, no cake. It was obvious that his lover had forgotten what he considers to be the most enjoyable day of the year. Soon after this realization, Rick’s eyes began to water.
Bulldog looked up and saw Rick’s lips quiver. He was truly fucked now, and wasn’t going to see his only source of gratification cry on his birthday.
A grin began to form. “Rick…”, Bulldog whispered.
On the verge of breaking down, Rick looked up at the Bulldog. He looked unusually pretty today; the hairs on his neck were all of even length and he had surely taken his weekly shower. He watched as Bulldog caressed his own body, working his hands down from his itchy neck to his tum-tum. He patted his belly, while giving Rick a perverted look that he hadn’t quite practiced enough in front of a mirror.
“… Yes, Bulldo-“
Before Rick could finish his sentence, Bulldog placed his hand over Rick’s mouth and then moved it onto the zipper of his jeans.
“Why are you doing this, Bulldog?”, Rick asked, as he circled his palm over the stiff four inches of a throbbing Oscar Meyer, confined in jeans that hadn’t been washed in weeks.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Rick”, Bulldog said softly. He was starting to sweat. “I was up all night monitoring my 32 IRC channels, and had forgotten all about your birthday. Over the past couple of months I’ve really lost track of time.”
Rick gave no expression.
“I’m sorry, Rick. This is the only way I can make it up to you.”
Rick was confused. “But Bul-“
Bulldog backhanded Rick across the face. He took it like a man, but stared back upwards giving the look of an abused puppy.
“Shut the fuck up, or I’m kicking you.”
Rick’s plantain went limp.
“In the balls.”
And now, rock hard.
TO BE CONTINUED
The door slammed open. Shocked, Bulldog zipped his pants back up and turned around. It was Rick.
“BUUUUUULLLLDOG! I’M HOOOOOME! COME HITHER AND REST THY LIPS UPON MY BUTTOCKS”
“You sound like a twat. Stop talking like that, or else you aren’t getting your birthday present, you adorable little shit.”
Rick clasped his hands over his mouth.
“Oh, Bulldog! Don’t tell me… you got me the hair straightener I kept bringing up! You always know what I want!”
Bulldog shook his head, not quite knowing where he was taking himself. He didn’t have anything to give to begin with, and he knew Rick’s fragile heart would be broken if he didn’t make him happy on his birthday.
Rick gave a blank stare. He knew something wasn’t right, but couldn’t quite figure out what. He looked around the room and saw that there were no birthday decorations, no cake. It was obvious that his lover had forgotten what he considers to be the most enjoyable day of the year. Soon after this realization, Rick’s eyes began to water.
Bulldog looked up and saw Rick’s lips quiver. He was truly fucked now, and wasn’t going to see his only source of gratification cry on his birthday.
A grin began to form. “Rick…”, Bulldog whispered.
On the verge of breaking down, Rick looked up at the Bulldog. He looked unusually pretty today; the hairs on his neck were all of even length and he had surely taken his weekly shower. He watched as Bulldog caressed his own body, working his hands down from his itchy neck to his tum-tum. He patted his belly, while giving Rick a perverted look that he hadn’t quite practiced enough in front of a mirror.
“… Yes, Bulldo-“
Before Rick could finish his sentence, Bulldog placed his hand over Rick’s mouth and then moved it onto the zipper of his jeans.
“Why are you doing this, Bulldog?”, Rick asked, as he circled his palm over the stiff four inches of a throbbing Oscar Meyer, confined in jeans that hadn’t been washed in weeks.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Rick”, Bulldog said softly. He was starting to sweat. “I was up all night monitoring my 32 IRC channels, and had forgotten all about your birthday. Over the past couple of months I’ve really lost track of time.”
Rick gave no expression.
“I’m sorry, Rick. This is the only way I can make it up to you.”
Rick was confused. “But Bul-“
Bulldog backhanded Rick across the face. He took it like a man, but stared back upwards giving the look of an abused puppy.
“Shut the fuck up, or I’m kicking you.”
Rick’s plantain went limp.
“In the balls.”
And now, rock hard.
TO BE CONTINUED