Viral Changes Pandora s Box
- 2 years ago
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469 Viral Bordom free porn video
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Another weary day in Virus-ville, shut in self isolating, the road outside quiet, no k**s, no traffic, no nobody. 10 days on his own, the postmaster thrusting mail, and a daily paper through the letterbox, a thing of milk and a loaf into the hall stand, along with stuff for the seven other flats. It was his only contact with the world. The poxy telly had gone duff, and he hadn’t hit it hard, well not by his standard`s anyway, his watch, one of those complicated ones that take a genius to change the battery, that had died. And he was fed up. The kettle luckily still worked, but his k**neys were floating, he had read the library book of the week and he was bored…bored…bored. What`s on the radio… luckily, he hadn’t thrown it out. left by a previous occupant he had found it dust-covered, in one of the cupboards, he tried the thing, but it was so old, he had to wait for the valves to warm, it wheezed into life, the room filled with tinny sound.
It was a local station, some prat reminding us all to wash our hands…” Naturally you dickhead, do you think we are all dim radio presenters?” he glowered at the inoffensive wooden framed radio, a song played, bright and cheerful, it was marginally better than silence! Then the presenter began to rant on as he interviewed one of the punters, an oldish woman. “Well “Mavis, what are your thoughts about the way this Virus has been handled…?” Mavis then proceeded to enlighten the presenter, about how she would have closed all Airlines, boats, trains, and roads, how she was pissed off with the Koran and its worshipers still having Friday prayers when good English folk couldn’t go to church, get married or bury their dead. And how the buggers in parliament should be put against a wall and shot!
As expected as soon as Mavis drew breath the presenter cut her off!
Arnold flopped on the ancient sofa and lay thinking about the virus.
The next interviewee was younger, gave her name as Sonia, and seemed somehow familiar.
The presenter sounded hopeful, asked her for her thoughts and was astounded when she put up a sensible argument for social grouping for sex rather than being lonely. Now, although he realised, she was not the brightest, she was female and as bored as he was, his ears pricked up. They picked up even more when in the background outside the girls flat could be heard the sound of a heavy train grinding past, it was the same train that he could hear now on the bridge beside his own flat and the location was confirmed when the second loco at the rear of the train growled past and hooted as they always did to let the signalman know they were past the road crossing.
He reasoned that she was another occupant of the building he was now sitting in, “Sonia, aye, bet we know where you are miss.” Sonia by now was telling the presenter that, “she was lonely, bored and sexually frustrated…”
“her last boyfriend had left her last week and how could she find another, stuck indoors with all the pubs, clubs and dance halls shut!” she rumbled on that “life was unfair for a twenty-year-old girl!” The presenter promised to help if he could, by passing on any requests asking to be ‘considered…’
Sonia vanished and after another dreary song, he turned it down to a back-ground burble just for company and so as not to have the problem of wasting ‘warming up time’ once more.
He dozed, wondered if he should write in for himself, then dismissed the idea. He looked fit enough, and in fact was, but the washboard institute, the mental department at the local hospital, who had housed him here, had said when they let him out this time he should interact more then told him to keep his social distance…oh and to self-isolate!
He sat on the sofa in the sunlight, it streaming through his ground floor window, March, cool but bright the man had said…
but that was on ITV… bright and warm BBC had said, and in reality it had rained, the buggers didn’t know arse from elbow, that had caused him to ‘tap’ the Television, with his fist, he laughed, shook his head, called himself a “pillock,” then lay back smiling. It was typical of his temper… it had got him in a lot of strife over the years.
He dozed, dreaming of the unknown Sonia, wondering if he had a chance, and what was she like. Late in the afternoon he awoke, made a brew and some food, listened to some drivel on the radio, then slept till dawn.
He woke busting for the toilet, the room cold he threw on a dressing gown as he padded his way to the tiny bathroom, Shivering, he returned to his bed, switching on the kettle as he went. Ten minutes and hot mug of tea in hand he was back in the warm bed the radio still yapping away…another shitty day in paradise!
God even on the ward it was at least interesting, watching the nutters…!
He idly watched a post van, as it stopped outside, something different usually it was that baldy prawn, in shorts who, clutching a handful of mail and the paper`s, and wheeling his trolly of milk and bread. Anyway he had already been… From the back of the van came two full mailbags and approaching the doorway by he vanished out of the line of sight. A distant bell rang up at the top of the house, once a Victorian mansion, now a ‘home of multiple occupancy,’ a nice name for seven shitty flats used as a halfway house!
It was now he was struck like a lightning bolt with the thought that this influx of mail could be the result of that interview yesterday… yes mail, lots of mail! The more he thought about it the more he was sure it was applicants for Sonia, he needed to see, he hadn’t spoken to a woman in a whole year, now, male nurses on the ward, and his probation officer was a miserable old shit who rang him on his mobile (supplied by the NHS so he could be located!) rather than visited… distancing…was his excuse
The mug clattered onto the table and throwing the dressing gown round him he was soon out in the hall, his excuse being he was collecting his paper and supplies He being on the ground floor he heard the clatter of feet on the stairs from high above, then she came into sight, blond hair in an un-combed, just off the pillow state and an open fronted bright green dressing gown over a practically see through yellow night dress, just about concealing her rather attractive shape.
The postman dumped the two bags at her feet, grunted that it was her fan mail and was soon gone. The two bags lay in the hall, her face a picture, as he ever the gentleman, offered to give her a hand with the heavy bags.
She smiled and tried to lift them herself but even the smaller one was too heavy. She grinned then stuck out her hand to shake his, but then realising the contact restriction withdrew it. She blushed to her roots and said, “would he mind she lived up in the top flat?”
He nodded, and hefted both sacks at once, so she led him up to the attic flat, a tiny room with sloping ceiling`s, a tiny kitchenette and a shared bathroom on the next landing down, it made his room look like a palace. Gratefully she had him dump the bags beside the kitchen table bade him sit and reached for the kettle adding that “her name was Sonia and she had been on the radio yesterday, she was bored and fed up and in need of some male company.”
His mile-wide grin said he was here to help…he gave his name, ‘Arnold’ and she made a quip about his being quarts -a-nigger, or whatever the actors name is…he being strong enough to carry two bags at once. He realised immediately she as a brick short of a full hod, it did not phase him at all! he said, “he needed to run down and lock his door as he had left it unlocked,” which he quickly did, also collecting his supplies as he passed, which he dumped on the table, and throwing on shirt and trousers before rushing back up to Sonia`s flat running a comb through his hair as he went!
Back upstairs he found the coffee made, “help yourself to sugar my lover,” it was the usual greeting from a lass brought up in the west country, where most folk were greeted as ‘My lover’ Arnold though was hopeful and said, “my lover, now that`s a good idea, I like that…!”
She chuckled, then without further comment she began opening the first sack of mail. With his help she tipped out the envelope`s and a few postcards in a pile on the floor. the initial sort was onto the table, row upon row of envelope`s, and about a dozen cards. He laughed, said that, “she would be a busy girl answering letters today,” then sat back to drink his coffee and watch her big breasted body still in the yellow and lurid green combination of night attire that showed a distinct lack of colour coordination, and to his joy, the odd flash of breast and nipple as she moved about not realising.
She dealt with the cards first, all from folk too tired to use an envelope but mostly hopeful adolescent lads.
they ranged from ’I wanna take you out,’ to the more lurid comments like she was a sex-mad- cow and didn’t deserve to live, or ‘did she just want to fuck, or did she want a real bloke?’
She asked him to help her undo some of the envelope`s gave him a kitchen knife, and he began slitting each one open, pulling out the content and after turning the pages to stand in its own packaging placed each in a row stood on the tabletop against the wall in huge rows.
He didn’t bother to read the contents, leaving her to her own privacy for that. It took an hour to open them all, by then she had made a start reading the first bunch, then making coffee once more and bidding him sit now that stage of the task was done. They chatted, as if they had known one another forever, each avoiding where they had been before coming here.
She said she was really 33 and a widow, and hadn’t had a man for about a year, as she had been ill. She wasn`t specific as to the illness and he didn`t press the subject.
At her request he started reading some of the many missives, discarding into one of the two sacks those that were abusive, and into the other ones that were OTT sexually, though she asked him to keep those as she said they might turn them on later, which he thought a little curious, it a little hopeful!
She busied herself reading the ones that had seemed to him to be genuine, on one or two the writing near illegible, ended up binned as she had so many, she didn’t want to waste time getting eyestrain. By mid afternoon they had weeded and sorted the letters down to 30 possible`s and about the same in the sexually explicit group, the rest he said he would take down to the bins for her later. That evening they ate together, before he took out the rubbish, and not wanting to overstay his hand returned to his own flat, the milk and bread untouched on the table and the radio still talking to itself. He had purposefully not pushed his luck tonight, but he was hopeful of tomorrow. Time for a wank!
The van reappeared next morning, just half a sack of mail today, posty rang her bell and our man, fully dressed and bathed today he appeared in the hall as if by magic, just as she appeared down the stairs dressed as yesterday. Without a word he locked his flat door and bag in hand. together they clattered up the stairs. In her flat she did, as yesterday shooting the mail on the floor, but something was different today she was not so friendly. Being him, he asked what was wrong, her answer rocked him back on his heels, “well you went home last night, after ogling my tits all day like you were interested, but you fucked off home like a bloody queer-boy , leaving me even more frustrated than ever, doesn’t your dick work then, or are you just shy?” he began to laugh, then he grabbed her kissed her passionately, and said, “I was being a gentleman, I didn’t want to frighten you off, I have been told by Patrick, to take my time, take things slow or the lady will run off screaming **** or something just like last time!” she looked aghast,
“last time…. and who`s Patrick?” the coal train rumbled past as it did every morning, as he reluctantly explained that Patrick, was his psychiatrist and that the last lady cried **** when he had been too fast in his chat up line” he didn`t mention the knife or the rope, he thought that was a bit too soon…. The banking engine at the back of the coal train blanked out her answer as it blew its horn to say it was clear of the crossing once more. He however leant forward and kissed her again, believing she wanted him and was annoyed about him going home last night. Social distancing had not been a problem yesterday, so he was going to make physical contact today and bugger the virus…
They fell to the floor, she was wearing the same clothing as yesterday, he could see her nipples, oh how he wanted her, oh, at last, it had been months now, his strong hands slid up her legs smooth soft skin, oh, fabulous, her head was back her arms waving about in her excitement, oh wasn`t this just perfect.
She was crying out as he found her hairy patch, she was loving this he was sure, her grasping hand found the tablecloth and pulled, oh this was special… the rows of yesterday`s envelopes fell on them like confetti, the cloth masking the knife he had opened the mail with clattering to the floor, unnoticed by our hero as he eagerly undid his fly, over a year and he was going to have this bloody Nymphomaniac from the top flat, oh man this was good, sod Patrick, this was the way… he grabbed at her breasts ripe and juicy, felt her hand round his genitals in a strong caress …oh yes
The pain of the knife as she removed his prick was beyond his imagination, his eyes boggled blood spewed forth as the knife, the one that he used yesterday, sliced off the lot in a single savage blow. She smiled, as he screamed, his last scream ever. It would be another lot of cleaning up, though she had the time that was true, but she did really need a bathroom of her own this was a bit awkward, but it stocked the freezer and it was cheap.
Another weary day in Virus-ville, shut in self isolating, the road outside quiet, no k**s, no traffic, no nobody. 10 days on his own, the postmaster thrusting mail, and a daily paper through the letterbox, a thing of milk and a loaf into the hall stand, along with stuff for the seven other flats. It was his only contact with the world. The poxy telly had gone duff, and he hadn’t hit it hard, well not by his standard`s anyway, his watch, one of those complicated ones that take a genius to change the battery, that had died. And he was fed up. The kettle luckily still worked, but his k**neys were floating, he had read the library book of the week and he was bored…bored…bored. What`s on the radio… luckily, he hadn’t thrown it out. left by a previous occupant he had found it dust-covered, in one of the cupboards, he tried the thing, but it was so old, he had to wait for the valves to warm, it wheezed into life, the room filled with tinny sound.
It was a local station, some prat reminding us all to wash our hands…” Naturally you dickhead, do you think we are all dim radio presenters?” he glowered at the inoffensive wooden framed radio, a song played, bright and cheerful, it was marginally better than silence! Then the presenter began to rant on as he interviewed one of the punters, an oldish woman. “Well “Mavis, what are your thoughts about the way this Virus has been handled…?” Mavis then proceeded to enlighten the presenter, about how she would have closed all Airlines, boats, trains, and roads, how she was pissed off with the Koran and its worshipers still having Friday prayers when good English folk couldn’t go to church, get married or bury their dead. And how the buggers in parliament should be put against a wall and shot!
As expected as soon as Mavis drew breath the presenter cut her off!
Arnold flopped on the ancient sofa and lay thinking about the virus.
The next interviewee was younger, gave her name as Sonia, and seemed somehow familiar.
The presenter sounded hopeful, asked her for her thoughts and was astounded when she put up a sensible argument for social grouping for sex rather than being lonely. Now, although he realised, she was not the brightest, she was female and as bored as he was, his ears pricked up. They picked up even more when in the background outside the girls flat could be heard the sound of a heavy train grinding past, it was the same train that he could hear now on the bridge beside his own flat and the location was confirmed when the second loco at the rear of the train growled past and hooted as they always did to let the signalman know they were past the road crossing.
He reasoned that she was another occupant of the building he was now sitting in, “Sonia, aye, bet we know where you are miss.” Sonia by now was telling the presenter that, “she was lonely, bored and sexually frustrated…”
“her last boyfriend had left her last week and how could she find another, stuck indoors with all the pubs, clubs and dance halls shut!” she rumbled on that “life was unfair for a twenty-year-old girl!” The presenter promised to help if he could, by passing on any requests asking to be ‘considered…’
Sonia vanished and after another dreary song, he turned it down to a back-ground burble just for company and so as not to have the problem of wasting ‘warming up time’ once more.
He dozed, wondered if he should write in for himself, then dismissed the idea. He looked fit enough, and in fact was, but the washboard institute, the mental department at the local hospital, who had housed him here, had said when they let him out this time he should interact more then told him to keep his social distance…oh and to self-isolate!
He sat on the sofa in the sunlight, it streaming through his ground floor window, March, cool but bright the man had said…
but that was on ITV… bright and warm BBC had said, and in reality it had rained, the buggers didn’t know arse from elbow, that had caused him to ‘tap’ the Television, with his fist, he laughed, shook his head, called himself a “pillock,” then lay back smiling. It was typical of his temper… it had got him in a lot of strife over the years.
He dozed, dreaming of the unknown Sonia, wondering if he had a chance, and what was she like. Late in the afternoon he awoke, made a brew and some food, listened to some drivel on the radio, then slept till dawn.
He woke busting for the toilet, the room cold he threw on a dressing gown as he padded his way to the tiny bathroom, Shivering, he returned to his bed, switching on the kettle as he went. Ten minutes and hot mug of tea in hand he was back in the warm bed the radio still yapping away…another shitty day in paradise!
God even on the ward it was at least interesting, watching the nutters…!
He idly watched a post van, as it stopped outside, something different usually it was that baldy prawn, in shorts who, clutching a handful of mail and the paper`s, and wheeling his trolly of milk and bread. Anyway he had already been… From the back of the van came two full mailbags and approaching the doorway by he vanished out of the line of sight. A distant bell rang up at the top of the house, once a Victorian mansion, now a ‘home of multiple occupancy,’ a nice name for seven shitty flats used as a halfway house!
It was now he was struck like a lightning bolt with the thought that this influx of mail could be the result of that interview yesterday… yes mail, lots of mail! The more he thought about it the more he was sure it was applicants for Sonia, he needed to see, he hadn’t spoken to a woman in a whole year, now, male nurses on the ward, and his probation officer was a miserable old shit who rang him on his mobile (supplied by the NHS so he could be located!) rather than visited… distancing…was his excuse
The mug clattered onto the table and throwing the dressing gown round him he was soon out in the hall, his excuse being he was collecting his paper and supplies He being on the ground floor he heard the clatter of feet on the stairs from high above, then she came into sight, blond hair in an un-combed, just off the pillow state and an open fronted bright green dressing gown over a practically see through yellow night dress, just about concealing her rather attractive shape.
The postman dumped the two bags at her feet, grunted that it was her fan mail and was soon gone. The two bags lay in the hall, her face a picture, as he ever the gentleman, offered to give her a hand with the heavy bags.
She smiled and tried to lift them herself but even the smaller one was too heavy. She grinned then stuck out her hand to shake his, but then realising the contact restriction withdrew it. She blushed to her roots and said, “would he mind she lived up in the top flat?”
He nodded, and hefted both sacks at once, so she led him up to the attic flat, a tiny room with sloping ceiling`s, a tiny kitchenette and a shared bathroom on the next landing down, it made his room look like a palace. Gratefully she had him dump the bags beside the kitchen table bade him sit and reached for the kettle adding that “her name was Sonia and she had been on the radio yesterday, she was bored and fed up and in need of some male company.”
His mile-wide grin said he was here to help…he gave his name, ‘Arnold’ and she made a quip about his being quarts -a-nigger, or whatever the actors name is…he being strong enough to carry two bags at once. He realised immediately she as a brick short of a full hod, it did not phase him at all! he said, “he needed to run down and lock his door as he had left it unlocked,” which he quickly did, also collecting his supplies as he passed, which he dumped on the table, and throwing on shirt and trousers before rushing back up to Sonia`s flat running a comb through his hair as he went!
Back upstairs he found the coffee made, “help yourself to sugar my lover,” it was the usual greeting from a lass brought up in the west country, where most folk were greeted as ‘My lover’ Arnold though was hopeful and said, “my lover, now that`s a good idea, I like that…!”
She chuckled, then without further comment she began opening the first sack of mail. With his help she tipped out the envelope`s and a few postcards in a pile on the floor. the initial sort was onto the table, row upon row of envelope`s, and about a dozen cards. He laughed, said that, “she would be a busy girl answering letters today,” then sat back to drink his coffee and watch her big breasted body still in the yellow and lurid green combination of night attire that showed a distinct lack of colour coordination, and to his joy, the odd flash of breast and nipple as she moved about not realising.
She dealt with the cards first, all from folk too tired to use an envelope but mostly hopeful adolescent lads.
they ranged from ’I wanna take you out,’ to the more lurid comments like she was a sex-mad- cow and didn’t deserve to live, or ‘did she just want to fuck, or did she want a real bloke?’
She asked him to help her undo some of the envelope`s gave him a kitchen knife, and he began slitting each one open, pulling out the content and after turning the pages to stand in its own packaging placed each in a row stood on the tabletop against the wall in huge rows.
He didn’t bother to read the contents, leaving her to her own privacy for that. It took an hour to open them all, by then she had made a start reading the first bunch, then making coffee once more and bidding him sit now that stage of the task was done. They chatted, as if they had known one another forever, each avoiding where they had been before coming here.
She said she was really 33 and a widow, and hadn’t had a man for about a year, as she had been ill. She wasn`t specific as to the illness and he didn`t press the subject.
At her request he started reading some of the many missives, discarding into one of the two sacks those that were abusive, and into the other ones that were OTT sexually, though she asked him to keep those as she said they might turn them on later, which he thought a little curious, it a little hopeful!
She busied herself reading the ones that had seemed to him to be genuine, on one or two the writing near illegible, ended up binned as she had so many, she didn’t want to waste time getting eyestrain. By mid afternoon they had weeded and sorted the letters down to 30 possible`s and about the same in the sexually explicit group, the rest he said he would take down to the bins for her later. That evening they ate together, before he took out the rubbish, and not wanting to overstay his hand returned to his own flat, the milk and bread untouched on the table and the radio still talking to itself. He had purposefully not pushed his luck tonight, but he was hopeful of tomorrow. Time for a wank!
The van reappeared next morning, just half a sack of mail today, posty rang her bell and our man, fully dressed and bathed today he appeared in the hall as if by magic, just as she appeared down the stairs dressed as yesterday. Without a word he locked his flat door and bag in hand. together they clattered up the stairs. In her flat she did, as yesterday shooting the mail on the floor, but something was different today she was not so friendly. Being him, he asked what was wrong, her answer rocked him back on his heels, “well you went home last night, after ogling my tits all day like you were interested, but you fucked off home like a bloody queer-boy , leaving me even more frustrated than ever, doesn’t your dick work then, or are you just shy?” he began to laugh, then he grabbed her kissed her passionately, and said, “I was being a gentleman, I didn’t want to frighten you off, I have been told by Patrick, to take my time, take things slow or the lady will run off screaming **** or something just like last time!” she looked aghast,
“last time…. and who`s Patrick?” the coal train rumbled past as it did every morning, as he reluctantly explained that Patrick, was his psychiatrist and that the last lady cried **** when he had been too fast in his chat up line” he didn`t mention the knife or the rope, he thought that was a bit too soon…. The banking engine at the back of the coal train blanked out her answer as it blew its horn to say it was clear of the crossing once more. He however leant forward and kissed her again, believing she wanted him and was annoyed about him going home last night. Social distancing had not been a problem yesterday, so he was going to make physical contact today and bugger the virus…
They fell to the floor, she was wearing the same clothing as yesterday, he could see her nipples, oh how he wanted her, oh, at last, it had been months now, his strong hands slid up her legs smooth soft skin, oh, fabulous, her head was back her arms waving about in her excitement, oh wasn`t this just perfect.
She was crying out as he found her hairy patch, she was loving this he was sure, her grasping hand found the tablecloth and pulled, oh this was special… the rows of yesterday`s envelopes fell on them like confetti, the cloth masking the knife he had opened the mail with clattering to the floor, unnoticed by our hero as he eagerly undid his fly, over a year and he was going to have this bloody Nymphomaniac from the top flat, oh man this was good, sod Patrick, this was the way… he grabbed at her breasts ripe and juicy, felt her hand round his genitals in a strong caress …oh yes
The pain of the knife as she removed his prick was beyond his imagination, his eyes boggled blood spewed forth as the knife, the one that he used yesterday, sliced off the lot in a single savage blow. She smiled, as he screamed, his last scream ever. It would be another lot of cleaning up, though she had the time that was true, but she did really need a bathroom of her own this was a bit awkward, but it stocked the freezer and it was cheap.
Marisol
- 26.08.2022
- 7
- 0
