"I've got you on my no-fly list," Dianne slurred, her drink spilling on the floor as she pointed at the erect AR-15."You're no good. You're a bad boy." She trailed a finger down the handguard to the ejection port dust cover and then lingered on the shell deflector. She finished her drink and let the empty glass fall to the thick shag carpet of the hotel room.
"You always feel bigger than .223 when I have you inside me," she whispered then licked the ridged nubbin of the magazine release frantically. She ran a thumb over the front iron sight post and groaned.
"You're my weapon of choice. I want you to declare jihad on my pussy." Dianne grabbed up the assault-style military-type autodeath rifle and ran her dry face lips over the cold muzzle brake as she applied exquisite pressure to the rear takedown pin.
"Oh, you like that? You like it in the rear pin? You soldier boys are all the same." She rammed the buttstock buffer tube into her pubic mound and jerked the rifle in a rough up and down, the charging handle battering her pleasure raisin. She suckled the barrel gently and probed every accessory rail mounting hole with a moistened pinkie.
There was a soft knock on her hotel room door that broke her reverie.
"What?" she screamed.
"Ith thyme thoo vo-tib," Nancy said through the door.
"Goddamit! I was almost there!"
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