paid programming II

He locks the door behind him and turns the lights down low. Opening his closet door, he removes a long thick bag bearing a shoulder strap. He sits down at his wide oak table and sets the bag down, lengthwise. Quickly opening the bag with the zipper, he removes from the bag a rifle. What caliber it is does not matter to the man now cradling the gun in his hands. All that matters is that it is his. This gun abides by him alone, and no one can take that away from him. The gun represents a life of loving guns, of shooting guns---of finding pleasure in the gun itself. Mmmm. He pets the barrel. It is smooth, long and hard. It is so hard in fact, that if it was plunged or thrust through pretty much anything from sheet-rock to plywood, it would penetrate and rip right through the other side, busting a deep, wide hole, in which it could be pulled back and forth through in sweet repetition. In front of him, on the wall, spanning a few feet in direct correlation with the oak table, is an american flag. The flag is so clean that it’s almost shiny. He grips the barrel of the rifle tightly with his fist, stroking the length with one hand while reaching for a bottle of Remmington gun oil with the other. He flicks open the bottle with his thumb, while still slowly and tightly stroking the length of the barrel with his other hand. Tilting the nozzle of the bottle towards the rigidly heavy-duty shaft of sheer weaponry, he squirts out oil which drips down the sides and with beads rolling along the length, he places the bottle back on the table and with both hands now, be begins to really get into his work. He eases his palms deep into the thick rod, moving his fingertips slowly over the tip of the barrel. It glistens in the lamplight. While rubbing down the gun’s member, it gets warmer from the constant stroking, and the man in question lets out a groan, following it with a sigh of satisfaction. Cupping both hands together round the barrel he stars to increase the speed of his tight lengthwise patting followed by a slight release followed by a tight grip, kneading & kneading that oil into the barrel shaft. He spread his own legs in the process and pulls the body of the barrel towards him. While not ceasing for a second in the rapid massage he closes his legs around the body of the rifle which now is positioned upright & pressed against his package, which is growing now erect with the same intensity of the relentless stroking of the barrel. He breathes out and sucks his breath back in, over and over, now closing his eyes shut and tilting his head back. He pulled the rifle back into his crotch, pounding his own hard erection with the rifle itself. His groans get louder and he clenches his thigh muscles around the gun while leaning beside the rifle stick up, laying his head and shoulder on the table, bent over the side of the rifle. Slamming his hips in towards the rifle while he massages and strokes the oil covered shaft, he finally lets out a deep grunt. His thigh squeeze and release as he ejaculates in his jeans. It takes moments for his load to completely drain, dripping down his now flaccid organ. Now slumped over the rifle, he leans back onto his chair, while simultaneously kissing the tip of the moist slick barrel and smiling at his american flag.