Bernie's House of Bangers was a little, all-night diner on the corner of Riverside and Grove. It might as well have been on the corner of 'Nowhere' and 'Get Lost' for all the traffic it got. I'd driven by there a hundred times and never given it a second thought. It was only after a long evening of playing the nigh-shift Santa Claus at the local ‘Wally-Mart’ that I decided to give the place a shot. Even then, I'd probably have skipped it all together if I hadn't been too damn lazy to make the U-turn and pull into the snazzy new Denny's right down the street. By the look of Bernie's parking lot at three in the morning, my level of laziness exceeded that of most others in the area.
For those of you who live under a rock, or maybe overseas, a place has to be pretty run down to make a Denny's look like a classy joint, but Bernie's pulled that trick off well enough. Oh, the place might have been nice back in the day.
Maybe.
The chipped and faded, yellow-on-black sign still reminded passers-by of an ancient sailing ship, and the facade was reminiscent of an old English pub. I imagine it was a popular place when the people in Chino knew what the hell an old English pub was. It was probably the kind that could be found anywhere near the ports of Liverpool.
If Liverpool has ports.
Come to think of it, I haven’t a clue as to where in England Liverpool actually is, and I guess that's the point. One day the owner would wake up and convert it into a twenty-four hour taco bar. In this town, that would be a fucking gold mine.
One thing was certain, the owner wasn't Bernie anymore. By now, Bernie was somebody's late grandfather. These days, the place was probably owned by some guy named Nguyen, and his collection of English cooks were all named Jose or Maria. Now there’s an irony that would make Lord Nelson blanch. (Please don't bother looking that up. You're reading a fucking story, for crissakes.)
Anyway, it was nearing Christmas the first time I ate at Bernie's. Handfuls of cheap-ass tinsel clung to the windows and strings of ancient, multi-colored Christmas bulbs were strewn along the dark wood and low ceilings as if they had been tossed about by a delinquent ten year old. The place felt cramped, dingy and cold. Maybe that's how it really feels in an English pub, but I had a feeling the English did 'old' way better than Nguyen was doing it here.
So, why did I ever stop there? Maybe I just love English food.
Yeah, and fuck you, too. I heard that. As it happens, I DO love English food. If you don't, it's only because it's reputation has been soiled by a French conspiracy. (See what I did there?)
Anyway, back to the Bangers. (You didn't really think I'd put the word 'banger' in a story without actually yanking hard on the obvious innuendo, did you?) For you Luddites and Frenchies out there who don't know what a banger is, it's a sausage.
Okay, okay. Knock off the fucking giggling. This isn't a damn comedy. As it happens, the English have been making sausages way longer than the Germans, and as anyone who knows me will tell you, I love sausages.
(I know what you're thinking and if you so much as fucking smirk, I swear I'm going reach out and slap the shit out of you.)
Right, so I was dithering between the Toad in the Hole and the Bubble and Squeak when I was greeted by a curvaceous woman in a bright red 'Mrs. Santa' outfit. She was a round woman, Rubenesqu even, as a friend would later say. I didn't know about that. I thought a Ruben was a sandwich, but what the hell. I prefer a woman who can appreciate a good hoagie anyway.
Specks of red and green were sprinkled from her rosy cheeks all the way down over her very impressive breasts. She looked like a glitter-bomb exploded over her.
I just sat there, mesmerized by the plastic stardust covering her tits. Every time she moved, her wonderful mounds jiggled, causing the glitter to sparkle under the ancient, yellow lights. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I had to force my mouth closed as she prepared to take my order with an equally glitter-covered pen.
I think women know what a show of splendid cleavage does to a guy and her smile confirmed it. "How are you tonight, sweetie?" There was a definite glint in her eye.
"I'm getting hungrier by the minute,” I replied, grinning. Let me tell you, that was no lie. She looked fucking delicious and the longer I spent gazing over her cleavage the hungrier I got. Eventually, I got around to noticing the sleigh-shaped name tag with 'Betty' drawn across it in more of the same green glitter.
"Nice to meet you, Betty. I just love your outfit."
I was smirking terribly and Betty flushed happily back at me. "Thank you, babe. What's your name, or should I just call you Santa?"
"Oh, Christ no, I'm Bob," I said, trying my best to sound cool. Believe me, that wasn't easy. It's hard to make 'Bob' sound like a cool name.
To my relief, Betty seemed to think it was, or maybe she was just being nice. "You do seem to have an appetite, Bob. What would you like?"
Tearing my eyes away from her tag, I saw a playful smile gracing her face. It was just a hunch, but she was either very proud of her crafty work, or she'd caught me staring at her boobs!
I did my best to act as if I wasn't ogling. I mean, just because her tag was pinned dangerously close to her boobs, it didn't mean I'd actually noticed them, right?
Right, she didn't believe that either, but I still wasn't ready to admit I was ogling her tits. So, with all the all skill of an English poet, I changed tack away from my not so subtle peeping.
"Hey Betty,” I said with all the panache I could muster, "how are the bangers today?"
Smooth, eh? I know. I'm good like that.
Betty's face lit up as she softly laughed. I was about to congratulate myself on being clever when she parried my linguistic thrust. "I don't know, love, I haven't been banged in years."
Well, that got my attention.
I put down my menu and, grinning, countered her thrust with my friendly repartee. "So, does that mean you prefer the Spotted Dick?"
We sure weren't talking about the menu anymore. I thought I'd got the best of my buxom buddy, Betty but her grin widened like the Cheshire Cat before she struck back. "Oh, I do enjoy it now and then, Bob but I don't think I'd recommend it for you. I have a feeling you're more of a 'Hot Pot' kind of guy."
Right... so, no way were we still talking about food and I again let my gaze roam Betty's luscious breasts. "About being banged, Betty. How would you like a chance to play with Santa's sack?"
The next thing I knew, Betty and I were hurrying back to the kitchen and ducking into the walk-in fridge just as old Jose was plating an order of Scotch Eggs. I didn't think much about those, though, because Betty quickly found my eggs and gave them a hard squeeze.
"No more banter, Bob. I'm gonna suck your cock until you are as hard as the Tower and then I want you to give me that banging you promised me. Can you do that for me, Bob?"
Silly question, but fortunately I didn't need to answer. Betty yanked my holly-jolly red Santa bottoms down and virtually inhaled my rampant rod. I gasped, maybe because my ass was pressed against a frigid keg of stout, but more likely because of how easily I slid down her throat.
Betty moaned and slobbered, pulling at my flesh like she was sucking the meat from a chicken bone. Her fingers dug into my skin and I could only stand and quiver as she sucked. My god, this girl could suck dick, and I might have lost it if she hadn't stopped to unbutton her top.
"You've been staring at my boobs ever since you came in. I bet you'd like to come all over them. If I let you fuck me, will you pull out and squirt your cream on my tits?"
Well, being a gentleman, how could I refuse?
Right, and fuck you again, but I did manage to nod.
"Good boy," Betty giggled and then bent over a case of canned salmon before raising her skirt. Her ass was big and firm and I couldn't resist slapping my hand across it.
"Ouch," Betty yelped, and her gaze grew hot as she stared back, daring me to spank her again. "That's it, make my ass nice and red. I want it hard now. Fuck me, Bob. Come on, fuck me nice and deep."
By then, my cock was throbbing and I slammed it inside her. There is nothing like the sensation of a wet cunt taking my erection, and I grunted as my shaft slid all the way in. I rode her hard and fast, driving her into that case of canned fish.
(Yeah, I know that scene is just aching for a pun, but I was in the middle of fucking Betty, so I really didn't give a shit about finding it right then, okay?)
Round women can take a pounding and that's just what I gave her. We were making some hellacious noise. Maybe fucking sounds different in Spanish, but for whatever reason, Jose and Maria left us alone.
By the time my balls were ready to pop, Betty's inner thighs were slick with her juice. I groaned and she shuddered as her orgasm exploded like a cannon from Nelsons ship. 'Victory!' I silently screamed and then Betty dropped to her knees at my feet.
Taking my wet cock into her mouth, she sucked me hard until I was ready to shoot. That’s when she pulled back and pushed out her glorious mounds. I fisted my length, priming my gun, until the hot gush of cum splattered over her.
It was fucking intense, and Betty and I have been together ever since.
Now that's what I call a house of bangers.
