Category: The Mighty Boosh
Pairing: Saboo/Tony Harrison
Genre: PWP (porn without plot)
Warning: Smut (graphic sex scenes)
Length: <1k words
Notes: No beta on this, can’t you tell?
Sun Cream by accioarse
In his chair, Saboo took up position with the two balloons. Their pink mounds, one on either side, pushing tight up against his cock and balls, which had been greased up beforehand with Factor 12. As soon as the balloons touched him, they started to slip up and down, their taut mounds already shuddering and squeaking. Saboo thrust his hips up in the space between them, groaning, and pushing the balloons back and forward as he thrust.
The slippery balloons had escaped into the air.
Saboo raised his shoulder and sighed, loudly. He waddled after the fugative balloons. His half-lowered trousers made walking incredibly difficult, and his erection, standing out prominently from his clothed body, wobbled with every step.
Saboo put the balloons back in position, wiping the excess sun cream off on the sides of his ritual shamanistic coat. He brought the two pink, fully inflated balloons between his hairy knees. Then he raised them, high enough to graze his naked cock again. His cock jumped once more at the contact.
“Ooh yes, Tony. How d’you like those twitchings?”
He imagined a lumpy head, one with strange tentacles, talking in an annoying voice – really quite annoyingly nasal – yet the more Saboo thought about it, how the head between his legs would wriggle and shout that it was an outrage, the harder Saboo gasped and the stronger he felt the pulsing through his cock.
He remembered the time on the beach, when he’d squirted his cream into that pink, welcoming cleft. Tony had taunted him – “Yes, Saboo… go on rub it in. Go on – don’t be ashamed of yourself. Just because you’ve become aroused….”
And he had been aroused.
“Cleft!” shouted Saboo, his feathered hat falling off as he approached climax. “YES! Cleft!” And with a shudder he spurted, his gloop shooting all over the shiny surface of the balloons.
He collapsed, letting both balloons fall from his grasp with a squeak. His fingertips were still shiny where the suncream lingered.
“Tony,” he whispered, simply, “… cleft.”