BUNKER DOWN PANDA BOY

BUNKER DOWN PANDA BOY

Bob was an Albanian body builder. He lived in an old machine gun bunker made of concrete in a forest. He’s a ghost from a blood feud. Once he had been a hard bastard and body builder, now he was a randy spectre. Pito was Bob’s girlfriend; she lived in an abandoned red Fiat Panda hidden in a forest. The car would never run again but that didn’t matter; it was a knocking shop for ghostly fun, frolics and fucking. Like the couple, the car was a strange thing. Was it real?

Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and sit on my face, let your pussy juice run over my lips and down my throat. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker... Bob sang to himself, in his mind. He wasn’t alone in hearing this.

“Yo! Bob you big turtle; stop singing that lewd sexual song. I know it’s about me!” remonstrated Pito, frowning.

“Hey sis! I aint singing out loud. Am I?” replied Bob, looking hurt. Shit, she heard my thoughts!

“Damn right I did! My psychic link is strong, don’t forget,” shouted the girl, still annoyed.

“Well... okay, yes, I was singing about you, in my mind. I know you can hear my thoughts but some things are meant to be private. Like my thoughts, you know?”

“Your admission doesn’t make it okay to think and then sing about doing rude things to me. Yes, I can read your mind but that I can’t help. I am a psychic ghost, aren’t I?”

“I have my own mind and if I want to sing, in my head, I will. So deal with it okay?” grumbled the large Albanian body builder, reaching down to scratch his balls.

“Okay... look maybe I overreacted. Being dead aint too much fun you know?” said Pito, frowning again.

“I know. Look, we’re both dead, so let’s get used to it. We can’t change it, can we? In fact...” he answered.

“That’s obvious. I still remember very clearly, my death. I know we can’t change it,” replied the girl. “What were you about to ad, ‘In fact,’ what?”

“I remember my end also,” said Bob, looking into Pito’s eyes. “I meant this, ‘In fact come and sit on my face!’” explained the eighteen stone power lifter, flexing his upper body and smiling.

“You cunt! You really are a bastard, aren’t you Bob!” screamed Pito, going red in the face. Suddenly her anger slackened. She showed another side. “Okay, I’ll sit on your face. Even though we’re ghosts. We’ve fuck all else to do, have we?”

“Eh? You will?” stammered Bob, taken in by Pito’s sudden mood swing. Is she fucking with me? I better play along before she changes her mind.

“Lie down then, put your head there and your legs there,” indicated the red haired girl, pointing to the slope where they stood. Trees shielded them from the sun.

“Right then, I’m on it. Head at the top, legs facing down hill.”

“Get on with it then, before I change my mind!”

“Okay, okay! It does seem a bit bizarre, ghost sex!” he guffawed, kneeling and then lying down.

“Bizarre? I’ll give you bizarre, now get down!” Pito shouted, taking off her silver hot pants.

“Whoa! You’ve got no panties on!”

“That’s right, what did you think I wore? Huge granny knickers?”

“Erm... no, bareback commando is fine.”

Pito sat on Bob’s face. In his mind he started singing his ridiculous song, Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and sit on my face, let your pussy juice run over my lips and down my throat. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker...

It would be quite hard for him to sing with a nice peach shaped butt on his face, with a pussy over his mouth. Never mind licking pussy juice, from a ghost! Good job he could sing in his mond. Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and sit on my face, let your pussy juice run over my lips and down my throat. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker...

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Bob met his end in an Albanian blood feud with a neighbouring family. A brother in the enemy family had an affair with Bob’s sister, Puna. Bob didn’t approve of this and put a stop to it; the man who Puna was seeing was married. A word with his sister only made her more stubborn, digging her heels in and seeing the married man on the sly. Bob knew about this, he followed his sister when she went out on her forays to the married man. Her sneakiness wasn’t enough to keep the affair secret.

Bob waited behind a stone wall, hiding in the shadows. In his hand he carried a big twelve inch kitchen knife. Before him was a small house, where the married man and his sister were inside. What were they doing? Leaving his hiding place, Bob crept over to the front window. Very carefully he looked through a gap in the curtains. Fuck! I don’t believe it! Look what they’re doing!

A sight of upmost pleasure greeted the body builder. His hand tightened upon the knife as he watched. Squinting against the bright light, he spied his sister sucking the married man’s cock. Her head was moving up and down, making the man moan. The moans were faintly audible through the glass. I’m going to kill you, you enemy cunt! Just you wait!

And sat next to the enemy was his wife! It looked like she was in on the hideous affair! How was this possible? She was naked, like Puna was. Both ladies were giving pleasure to the man; this was obvious with the look of pleasure on his face and his moaning. His wife was grinning and tickling his balls!

“Fuck waiting, I’m going to do this now. I’ll kill that greasy fucker who de-flowers my sister!” muttered Bob, slowly standing up and making his way to the small wooden front door. Bob was going to kick the door in but he tried the brass handle first. It opened! The thick cunt hadn’t locked the door in his haste to get his rocks off! Silently opening the door, Bob went inside, into the dark hallway and shut the door. Controlling his breath, he listened for signs of discovery. There were none, the man kept moaning and one of the girls was laughing. It was now or never!

Locating the door, that led into the main room where the sex was taking place, Bob burst in and committed war. He screamed curses in Albanian, damning both his own sister and the married couple she was involved with. Knife at the ready, he swung into action. The surprise was total, no defence stopped him.

Pushing his sister aside, Bob aimed a knife blow at the man. His blow missed its intended target, the man’s throat but caught him in the chest. The blade sunk in three inches. Pulling it out, Bob stabbed him again. Falling on to the couch, the man was out cold. Slapping the wife, Bob was in control of the situation. “I asked you to stop this affair, what did you do? You continued to come here, didn’t you Puna?” whispered Bob. He was deadly serious. He said it again when Puna didn’t answer, she looked down at the wounded man who had been her lover.

“What do you care about me? You don’t even know me, Bob. Do you? What do you care?” Puna challenged, not caring she could be next.

Bob was silent now. He looked down at the bleeding man and at his sister. Anger filled his entire body and he couldn’t stop himself from acting. A red mist enveloped him; it was like a river of molten lava. He shouted and screamed, tears of rage ran down his face and his hands moved like a robot. In one hand he held a huge knife.

Puna held up her arms before her face to try and ward off the attack from her brother. It only delayed the inevitable. Her screams added to the confusion and bloodshed, for two minutes she vainly tried to fight back and defend her life. It was hopeless. Her brother knifed her twenty eight times and murdered her outright. Turning to the unconscious husband Bob kicked him to see if he was alive. Seeing him move and groan in pain, he finished him off with five knife thrusts to the chest. Blood flowed like a fountain. It was carnage.

The wife had been quietly crying while two people were butchered right next to her. It was she who stopped the last act, the murder of herself. She had a gold six inch hair pin holding her hair in place. Quickly reaching for it, she took Bob by surprise as he gloated over his main victim – her slain husband. His wife had her revenge. A single deep prick into Bob’s heart finished him. He was dead before he hit the floor. You evil man! That’s what you get for killing my husband and my friend. I hope you go to hell! thought the wife, anger engulfing her. Her name was Marsha. Now she was a widow, who took revenge upon her husband’s killer. A blood feud had been settled, old skool Albania way.

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Bob never went to hell. He haunted the earth, being stuck in the village where he lived his life till that fateful evil day. Pito was earthbound too, her story was a little different but just as bad.

Pito was a strong willed lady and always got her way. Until she met a man who was her match; this could only end badly, in trouble. Pito was born in a village over the hill from Bob, the fiery companion who she spent her time with. They were a good match; if a mortal person could see them they would think the body builder was the fiery aggressive one. In fact Bob was normally very placid but with a temper when riled. Both abided by their country’s blood feud rule, if a wrong was done it had to be avenged.

One day after her twenty-third birthday, Pito was hung over and making her way back from a friend’s house. Her head was heavy with alcohol and a huge banging headache, clouding her vision. She stumbled into an old man selling wooden carvings of churches and the Virgin Mary, upending his stall and contents. Small intricate carvings scattered this way and that. Pito tripped over one and fell. She landed heavily upon the man; he fell off his stool and ended up on the dirt roadside.

The old man cursed and pulled out an ornate knife. Looking down at his damaged carvings and then over at the girl, he acted. He gruffly said, “Now you’ll pay for that, ruining my business. Do you know how long it took to make those carvings? Do you, you fucking bitch?”

“Hey man, just chill out. I’m sorry. It was an accident,” replied Pito, trying to get up. She was on all fours when the man stabbed her in the leg. The blade bit deep. She fell back down and whimpered in pain, before recovering and kicked the old bastard in the face.

Her kick was enough; it propelled the man head first into a brick wall. With a thud, his head split open and he fell to the ground, with vacant eyes staring up to the sky, dead. His knife was by his side.

“Ah fuck! Look what you made me do, you old get. And you stabbed me, you actually stabbed me! Fuck!” shouted Pito, reaching over and picking up the knife. She kicked out again, this time sending half a dozen delicate carvings into the road, where a passing Audi gangster car drove over them and reduced them to splinters. Finally standing up, Pito fled the scene leaving a trail of blood from her leg wound. She wouldn’t be hard to find.

It was the wood carver’s son who found Pito. He heard about the death of his father, tried to track the blood trail but it petered out in the forest. This was no trouble; he was a trained tracker from his Albanian army training and knew how to do a grid search, till he got his quarry. Creeping up on Pito’s wooden shack that was her humble abode, he was prepared and ready for action. It was over in thirty minutes.

A Molotov cocktail tossed through the single dirty window was enough. The untreated old wooden structure went up like a bonfire, with her leg wound slowing her down the girl never got out. She burnt alive, ending another Albanian blood feud and evening up the scales. The normal exchange rate in this age old tradition of settling old scores in blood, one dead from each family to keep a tradition going, stretched back to medieval times. It was called a blood feud and was an evil thing.

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Pito was sprawled out in her old abandoned Fiat Panda MK1 car in the forest. Bob was on top of her making love to his bad tempered bitch. She was a bit pissed off due to being dead. The front passenger seat was adjusted flat to allow the two ghosts to enjoy dead flesh pleasures.

Bob sang a song into Pito’s ear. “Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and make love to me, let your tight pussy swallow my big cock. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker...”

“If you sing that song again I swear, I’ll fucking kill you!” spat Pito, annoyed. She tried to bite Bob on the chin but missed.

“Nice try love,” he laughed. The song came again, “Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and make love to me, let your tight pussy swallow my big cock. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker...”

He thrust deep into Pito’s cunt, again and again. The car’s suspension rocked in this ghostly action. Was the car also a ghost? What was its history?

“You’re a real bastard Bob. Oh my, that feels so fucking good,” she whispered, enjoying the action.

“I know you love it bitch, I’m the best. The joys of being dead!”

“Yes, you cunt. You bound me to your side in that magic ritual and put a spell on me, damn you Bob! But you fuck so well.”

“I know, I know, Pito my bitch,” he grinned.

“Bastard!”

“Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and make love to me, let your tight pussy swallow my big cock. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker...” On and on shagging went, in a rusty red car in a forest in the Albanian wilderness. A quaint forest scene.

“Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and make love to me, let your tight pussy swallow my big cock. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker...” echoed through the car.

A man and his hunting dog walked past the rocking car. He didn’t stop to watch the steamy action or to listen to the bad song or female groans; nor did he laugh at the small car, rocking on its suspension due to the rampant pussy pumping. Zando the huntsman carried on walking, watching his dog and alert for any wild bore that would make a nice roast meal. His gun rested upon his shoulder. These two ghosts, three including the car, were stealth ghosts. Nothing and no one could see or sense them.

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Back in 1986, the red 750cc Fiat Panda was involved in a bad crash. Driving conditions on Albania’s roads were amongst the worst in Europe and five people died that awful day. Hitting a lorry head on and spinning off the road into the forest, the car was a ghost! Strangely, none of the five people killed in the Fiat were ghosts. It was the actual car that haunted the forest.

Pito was a ghost with no home except her run down wooden shack, which was now a burnt out shell. The nearby village was full of ghosts, from other blood feuds, gang wars or accidents. She didn’t want to fight them or even be near them, no the forest was her haunt and the car her home.

One day when exploring the forest, she saw something shimmering in the trees. Thinking it was the sun, she rubbed her eyes. At first she saw nothing. On walking closer, she saw more shimmering and then a car appeared! Wide eyed and swearing in disbelief, Pito knew what it was. A ghost car! She guessed correctly that it had crashed off the distant road and rolled down the hillside, into the tree lined valley and a very remote area. Up above on the hill ran the Adriatic Highway. Did she know the real smashed car and bodies had been lifted out by helicopter?

Trying the driver’s door, she found it opened easily. She sat inside and immediately felt at home. This is so cool! It can be my new home; I can sleep and live in here. A ghost car, no mortal will see it and the ghost from the town won’t be interested in this little car. They’ll want German gangster cars, like Audis and Mercs, she happily thought.

No more roaming the forest with no home other than sleeping under trees, for this blue eyed Albanian lady!

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Bob lived in one of the old machine gun bunkers that dotted the countryside. There were over one and a half million small gun bunkers in Albaia, each made to accommodate two men with a machine gun and ammo. A firing slit gave good fire and each town or city was surrounded by these concrete emplacements.

Built at huge cost in labour and money, the bunkers were now a part of the natural landscape, still waiting for a war with Serbia that never came. A monument to the past and what was before.

After he had been killed, Bob haunted the town for three months but he was forced out of his new home by a local gangster mob. They took over his small one bedroom apartment in the centre of town. The human inhabitants of the apartment never even knew it was haunted. He still frequented the town because he liked it and missed the action. Who was fighting or fucking who. The gangsters couldn’t force him out of the town, just his home, they weren’t strong enough to banish him permanently and he couldn’t be killed, Bob was already dead!

Finding the dozen or so abandoned bunkers in the forest, he picked one that was furthest into the trees. No one cared for them now, the trees weren’t cut back to give a clear field of fire and people weren’t bothered about a war with Serbia anymore.

There was something about the rough concrete, natural setting and aura of a war that never came which Bob liked. It reminded him of the ghosts, stuck on earth and unwanted by anyone. He, himself, was unwanted. That is, until he found Pito asleep in her Panda car in the trees.

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“What the fuck?” muttered the muscled body builder. Walking closer, he saw a girl asleep in the car.

He never realised she was a ghost, in a ghost car. He tapped on the window. When nothing happened, he knocked harder. This time she woke up. And screamed, then mouthed every obscenity there was in the Albanian language, at the intruder who woke her up.

“Hi, I’m sorry to wake you. Please don’t be mad at me,” Bob commented. He was aware how silly he sounded and looked. Eighteen stone of prime muscle, being humble.

The girl was suddenly silent and stared at Bob, now seeing him for the first time. Really seeing him.

“Hell, you’re a ghost. A real ghost just like me,” Pito said. Unsure if he could hear him, she opened the door and allowed him to come closer. She said it again.

“Hi. I just saw you asleep in your car and wondered who you were. How did you drive all this way into the forest? The road is hundreds of yards away, up the mountain,” he said.

“Hi... did you not hear me? I’m a ghost. I’m dead, like you are. I never drove this little car into the forest, it’s a ghost car too,” explained the girl, as if she was talking to a child.

“Oh, right. I didn’t realise, I’m sorry. Yes, I guess I am a ghost. I’m Bob anyhow.”

“Right. Nice to meet you. I’m Pito. This car is my home and I live in the forest, as you can see.”

“Alright. You must like the solitude and being out in nature. I live in a small machine gun bunker, about a mile north of here,” Bob commented, pointing into the trees.

Pito thought for a bit. “Yes, being here is nice and no one bothers me. Not even the local hunters can see me, nor their gun dogs sense me. I find that odd but its fine for me.”

“So you don’t ever go into the town then? Myself, I like to go cos I like the place,” muttered Bob, thinking. “You know, it’s strange why the dogs can’t sense us, you know, cos we’re ghosts. We must be stealth ghosts!”

“No, I hate the town. I died near there, I never want to go near that fucking shithole again!” shouted Pito, angry now. “And who gives a fuck about dogs?” she added.

“Okay, I’m sorry for reminding you. Please be calm. May I join you? I get very lonely, out here alone,” Bob honestly said looking down at the leaf littered ground.

Sighing, Pito leant over and opened the passenger door. She watched Bob walk round the car and get in. I wonder what he’s like at fucking? He sure is a big guy, must’ve been a body builder when he was alive. He seems quite nice actually...

Bob struggled to fit his huge body into the small front passenger seat. With difficulty, he closed the door and looked over to Pito. He sensed her thoughts and knew she liked him but also that she had a temper to be feared. That made him wary.

“Don’t piss me off!” she said, confirming his suspicions. Obviously, she could read his mind!

“I won’t, I promise,” Bob lied.

“Okay, you better not. I’m serious!” she growled.

Come on sweet soul mother fucker; come on sweet soul mother fucker! Come and sit on my face, let your pussy juice run over my lips and down my throat. Do it now my baby, my sweet soul mother fucker... Bob sang to himself, in his mind. He wasn’t alone in hearing this and he prepared for the storm to come. What the hell had he gotten himself into? I’ll have to use a magic spell to bind her to my side...