This Is My Rifle, This Is My Gun
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He crouched on the floor between Speirs’ legs and watched him pull his impressive cock out of his trousers; it hung heavily, hard and warm and thick, begging to be sucked.

Speirs took a slow drag from his cigarette and said with a lazy smile, “Do you like guns, Private Webster?”

“Only yours, sir,” Webster answered dutifully, leaning forward for a taste.

Speirs’ eyelids fluttered. “Careful, Private. Mine’s . . . ah, always loaded.”

Webster dragged his tongue along the hot shaft. “I’m not afraid of getting shot by you, sir.”

Speirs groaned as Private Webster swallowed his gun down to the trigger.

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