Frank Dieselwang Battles Reiters Bloch!

It’s not as though Frank intended to let his writer fail to document his greatness, as he mused looking through the fourth wall, but it’s more a collective failure of things. Even the greatest of men, Frank Dieselwang, has to rest and recover sometimes. Self care is important, he noted to himself with a growing sense of sincerity that could give Mary Poppins a run for her money. Yes, that’s it, thought Frank Dieselwang who was definitely not just thinking what the author was thinking at the particular moment in a fit of self insertion.

As Frank mulled this over, suddenly there was a knock on the door. Frank opened it and with ultra natural quickness and mental acuity, noticed a gun barrel barely dodged a gunshot from the gun barrel that was aimed at the position his head formerly occupied. The gun was held by his nemesis, Reiters Bloch!

“Reiters Bloch! My strongest of foes!”

“Yes it is I, Reiters Bloch!” Reiters Bloch cackled at first and then trailed off into silence, staring down Frank. Frank stared back at Bloch, mirroring his silence. 

Time passed. Frank grew restless, and lulled into Reiters Bloch’s pace. The pace of nothing at all. The pace of despondency that one gets when someone writes something really heartfelt, puts it online and receives no likes, favorites, or +1s. But a feeling, deep within Frank, one of his largest muscles, began to beat. 

It was probably his bicep, the writer doesn’t have an anatomy degree after all. With the beating of the bicep, Frank focused within and knew he had to continue to fight instead o laying down to take a wonderful nap, as appealing as that was. Frank roared and got ready to punch the living daylights out of Reiters Bloch. But Reiters wasn’t there. Frank looked down at the doorstep. There was a note, with no return address, because notes don’t have return addresses.

It said “Watch yourself. Or I’ll be back.”

Frank grimly looked at the note, then tacked it to his refrigerator. 

Frank Dieselwang and the Boogie Monster (at night)

It was a dark and nightly night, the night that bespoke of how nightish it was. It was the kind of night that if a person were to walk out into the time of night, they would remark on how the quality of the night were particularly pronounced, more than usual, which is to say a lot. Frank Dieselwang was out on this night, and to display that he was as much a human as you or I, he said these words as well.

“The quality of the night is particularly pronounced tonight,” he said, just to illustrate the point once more.

The moon shone brightly, as bright as something that is worth remarking upon, but we’ve already beaten that joke to death already, so, yeah, don’t worry about it.

On this nightly night, Frank was walking about unafraid, fully cognizant of his male privilege which allowed him to do so, as well as his muscles privilege, of which he had tremendous amounts for which he could actually defend himself if the need arose and he hoped it would not because violence can be a bad thing sometimes when used indiscriminately, but it will be ok as long as the author makes it clear it is ok. 

Suddenly a boogie monster jumped out of the nearby bush and made a threatening motion. 

Frank stopped and stared it down and said “Hey buddy, watch out!”

The boogie monster stopped and said “Oh sorry I didn’t think anyone was out at this time of night.”

Frank said, “It’s ok, just watch where your going with your keen night vision.” Frank knew this because he was a noted boogie monsterologist, and he knew this one was generally nonviolent but certain individuals were careless.

The boogie monster grumbled off into the forest, taking care to watch where it was going.

Just another day (well, actually night) in the life of Frank Dieselwang.

Frank Dieselwang and the Person who pet cats in the wrong direction.

Frank Dieselwang came across someone who was unintentionally petting the cat in the wrong direction, and the cat was clearly distraught.

Frank looked at this person and said "Hey the cat doesn't like that you should do it this way," and demonstrated the proper technique.

The person looked as though a light bulb had exploded in their head, but in a good way, and nodded agreeably, "Oh, I see!"

And all was well.

Frank Dieselwang Vs. Christmas Coming Prematurely

It was early November, and Frank Dieselwang was looking over stuffing and cranberry related recipes in an adorable hand me down apron when the Dieselphone started to blink, a landline that indicated he was an important business sort of person in this day and age because who really has landlines these days except people who are important business sorts of people.

“Frank Dieselwang, and Thanksgiving Prep Central, what can I do for you?” Frank Dieselwang said, affecting a somewhat fatherly tone in the spirit of the holidays, subconsciously mimicking in a fond way the fatherly figures in his life from when he was a lad, even though mostly they were still alive so it wasn’t really so much wistful as it was a homage to them as good people.

“Frank, it’s even worse this year,” said the voice of Yodlinda P. Sweetpeas with the urgency of someone who had something really urgent to say. 

Originally taken by Geek2Nurse

“What is it?” he asked, because he wanted to know what it was that was worse this year.

“It’s Christmas, and it’s coming even earlier this year.” Yodlinda’s grimace was evident even through this auditory method of communication.

Frank Dieselwang and the Man with Angry Hands

"My hands are super angry and I am going to punch you," shouted the man with Angry hands, let's call him Bill.

"Hey Bill, you better calm down," Frank warned him off.

Bill stared back suspiciously, his hands muttering angrily, "How did you know my name was Bill?"

"You know that's a good question but let's not dwell on that too much."

Bill threw the tray of fast food on the ground, which the author neglected to mention, "Enough talk, let's do this."

Frank, bastion of peace and caring, held up his hands in the universal gesture of "hey, let's not fight."

"Hey, let's not fight," Frank said.

Bill charged at him, roaring in a roaring fashion.

Frank sighed and punched Bill so hard Bill was blasted into the durable plastic bench and was knocked out cold and then he stopped talking.

Frank apologized for causing a scene and ordered a hamburger, because it was cheat day.

Frank Dieselwang vs. Pumpkin Smashers LLC Part 2

Frank had just finished cleaning out the store with a mighty throw, chucking the 50 pound trash bag of crumbled pumpkin and squash type muck into a dumpster as though it were merely 5 pounds, which was a strong but not guaranteed indicator that Frank was ten times stronger than a normal man, but clearly it can be seen that he is one not to be messed with, in spite of his good humor and being good with children. 

Original content taken by Alexander

Cinderella smiled at him, “I thought you were just here to be the muscle, but it seems you have a really good sensibility when it comes to sanitary practices and a helpful kind manner.”

Frank clapped the pumpkin goop off his hands, and grinned back at her, “No problem Ms. Hubbard, it’s the least that I could do, as a kind person and not because I am a man who is trying to get into your pants,” which was clearly a trustworthy thing to say since he was trustworthy and you’ll have to take the author’s word for it.

Suddenly, a thunderous crash sounding like fifty pumpkins being smashed with steel bats rang from across the street, blasting away the peace and the risk that the reader would be subject to some rather poor conversational writing. As Frank, Cinderella, and that easily forgotten generic side character who I guess we’ll call Bob because it’s faster, looked over, they saw the villains of the story staring them down, wearing various terrible costumes  but all with the logo of a hammer and a pumpkin beneath it, and fire and sparks and clearly the author should commission some art because sometimes a picture is worth a lot, like maybe a bit more than 999 words, but not necessarily more than 1001. 

Frank stared them down through the newly washed window through the stained glass pumpkins and acorn squash that decorated the window, then stepped out of the store to face them. “You must be the Pumpkin Smashing Gang.”

Their leader, who was clearly their leader because of their increased height and shoulder broadness, as well as the totally sweet looking mask that looked like the top half of a smashed Jack O Lantern, bellowed back a correction. “Actually we are the Pumpkin Smashers LLC! We find that the advantages of this structure allow us to be more competitive with other smashing groups due to more favorable tax treatment!”

Frank smirked and pounded his right hand into his left palm, a few times, to make the point clear that they were in for a pounding. “Alright Pumpkin Smashers S Corp, you’re going down!”

The leader picked up their bat and roared back, charging forward with the anger of a train engine that could express the anger of emotion, bat held high, “I said LLC!”

Frank met their charge head on, batting the bat out of the leader’s hand like a bat hit by a bat, with his left hand, and punched their face with a meaty right hand. 

“Well I guess that means, you’re liable to get smacked down,” quipped Frank, belying a deep enough understanding of LLCs to make a relevant joke.

With the a sudden crack, like the kind you see in a plumber’s jeans as they lean underneath your sink, the semi Jack O’ Lantern mask cracked on the leader’s freshly punched face, splitting into two equal approximately equal parts. The leader’s distinctly feminine appearing face was a surprise to Frank momentarily, but that surprise was quickly dashed by the look of menacing snarliness on their face. 

Frank looked at her curiously nonetheless, “Oh, I had no idea you were a woman!”

She growled back at him, “I consider myself a man!”

Frank nodded, relenting, “Then you are a man. Let us duel, man to man in this case, because even though you are a foe I respect your identity!”

The leader nodded back “Thanks, I appreciate that, but unfortunately this pumpkin store needs to be smashed, and you are in the way, so  we will smash you as well!” He growled, “Get him!” The leader pointed a finger forward, at Frank, and not a coincidence. The gang, I mean LLC, charged forward. Belated, it should be mentioned that there were twenty of them, aside from the leader.

Frank easily handled two of them, grabbing their heads and smashing them towards each other like two hands clapping, clocking them together like two heads being hit into each other, and their heads made a dull thudding noise, as dull as a calculus teacher is to a student who really dislikes calculus.

He turned around, setting the manliest of jaws in a deep grimace, bracing for impact with the other 18, which is a number we know of based on arithmetic. 

With a sudden repetitious impact, three heads were slammed with what sounded like a hard hollow object at rapid pace. Frank looked up at his surprising ally, Cinderella “Sugar Pie” Hubbard, brandishing a staff tipped with two laminated pumpkins on the ends. 

She smiled back at him as she held the remaining 15 off if you were keeping count. “By the way, I know Pump-Kin-Do, and I just needed help, not a hero. Thanks for the help!” With that she yelled an amazonian cry and charged into the Fray, Frank laughing behind her as he rushed to support her defense of Gourdness Gracious.

To be continued…. 

Frank Dieselwang vs. the Pumpkin Smashers LLC part 1

The One Stop Squash Store, Gourdness Gracious, was arrayed in shambles, orange flesh and gore covering the room, a testament to the dudebomb that just exploded there, which is not an actual bomb, but definitely a bunch of dudes that went in and went apeshit in it, causing such damage that it appeared like a bomb had went off.

Taken by mikekanyo

"We can't handle another attack like this!" bellowed Cinderella "Sugar Pie" Hubbard, frustration evident on her frustration covered face. "The Pumpkin Smashing Gang We need someone to stop this from happening again!"

Hands on her highly functional hips that don't lie because hips are incapable of expressing thoughts, let alone vocalizing them, Cinderella was a picture of entirely justified anger that would not be derided or looked down upon because of her gender like in other fiction even from well meaning authors.

"Whatever shall we do!" simpered a generic side character who will be forgotten as soon as this sentence ends. "The police won't help because of some convenient reason that requires us to pursue alternative methods of recourse!"

Suddenly, the door swung open, pushed open by a tanned rough callused hand that bespoke of a lifetime of being in the outdoors, hard work, and probably punching things. This hand was followed by a similarly tanned, rough, but not callused forearm, then a bicep, and a shoulder, and finally a head.

This head, belonged to Frank Dieselwang.

"I hear you have a problem, that needs to be squashed."

"Actually, squash is our business, but we do need a man of your...qualifications, " Cinderella's eyes flicked up and down his well sculpted frame, which appeared to be carved out of mahogany, and detailed like a luxury car that just got detailed. She also checked out his package.

Frank smiled at her correction, his masculinity not being so fragile that the tiniest correction would make him fly off the handle like some people, not naming names, and nodded. "We'll get this shop back in order, or my name isn't Frank Dieselwang."

Which it was.

Frank Dieselwang & The CDC & The Toxic Dude Outbreak - Finale

With a superhuman effort, Frank Dieselwang and Shellandra Foreheart-Stiner Coldcrusher, but you can call her Shelly, applied their brainpower to the situation at hand, taking a respite from an intense skirmish, as evidenced by the smell of Axe and the plethora of  torn Ed Hardy shirts scattered across the nice guy blasted landscape.

Taken by Michael Sauers

Aside from a bit of sweat, and lack of shirt, and slightly elevated heartrate which caused his enormous pectorals and laser etched abdominals to heave just so, Frank was perfectly whole, and he looked on next to Shelly as she stared down the huge 90s style computer terminal at the top of the building they found themselves in after a metric ton of fighting.

Frank Dieselwang and that one guy who doesn't like Social Justice

Frank Dieselwang bounced his pectorals intimidatingly at the dudebro wearing the gaming T shirt, a trilby that he ignorantly called a fedora.

"You broke the code of conduct, and you were warned and you still kept on being abusive. You should have been kicked out long ago!"

"SJWs and Feminists are winning I dema....!" Frank's fist of great social justice smashed into the dudebro's jaw, blasting the dudebro into the sky, Team Rocket style.

Frank rubbed fist lightly, mostly to wipe off the day's worth of cheek sweat that he had touched.

He sighed, "I can't wait for Big Bad Con 2016, this would probably not happen there."

(OOC Author's Note: Sorry for the short post everyone, I had a great weekend at Big Bad Con! If you're a Bay Area Local, you should check it out)

Breinded Uther and the Wryters Bloch (feat. Frank Dieselwang)

Breinded Uther stared blankly across the way, resigned. The bridge to his path to freedom, and escape was blocked. Armed with several energy drinks, two pilot pens and an inspirational quote, he was unable to muster his energies to fight the most vicious of foes ahead of him, the Enemy of Creation, the Eater of Inspiration, the Wryters Bloch.

Breinded looked behind him, the streets of paved text behind him, a testament to his good works, but he could not see a path behind the Wryters Bloch to get to the promised land of Dedlein.

“Please…. I just want to pass.”

The Wryters Bloch merely stared back, placid, unmoving, but unsurpassable. There would be nothing to fear, no attack, no derision, aside from the plague of self doubt that is spawned from your inaction in the face of it.

Breinded slumped a little harder. “Someone, someone please help me.”

Like a blast of lightning shot from a cannon that was modified to shoot lightning thanks to rubber and other things, Frank Dieselwang, arms flexed as tight as olympic swimmers in the most tensed part of a butterfly stroke, burst in, wearing a Muse shirt because he just left a Muse concert, which was not at all some kind of reference to writing. With a roar and swing, he blasted the Wryters Bloch, Bane of Beauty, the Warden against Wordcount, into dissipating nothingness.

Breinded looked up, and Frank turned back, eyes firm and manly, hand held out. “I won’t carry you to Dedlein, but I believe you can get there with your own two feet. Will you get there?”

Breinded took Frank’s hand and looked up with thanks, “Thank you, I think I’ll be able to make it.”

Frank Dieselwang and the Somewhat Anachronistic Bootlegger

"Nyah nyah, you'll never get away with this copper! Nyah!' said that not at all dated mafioso armed with a tommy gun and a fedora but not in the nice guy sort of way, as he menaced Frank Dieselwang with the aforementioned tommy gun.

"We'll see about that Caponata Coglione!" Frank Dieselwang declared right back, suddenly taking his shirt off for really no discernable reason, baring himself in the mid afternoon sun, his nipples aimed aggressively towards his aggressor. The size and firmness of his erect nipples clearly demonstrated a physical opposition and willingness to fight for his beliefs and justice.

Frank Dieselwang and the Sumo Earl (or maybe Duke)

With a thunderous roar, the Earl of Sumo shouted at Frank Dieselwang "I AM THE EARL OF SUMO," in a loud way, which was perhaps a bit of a redundant sentence the author realized after failing to proof it the first time. The volume was of the power to shatter mugs, shattering all mugs within a 100 yard vicinity, yet all of the glasses within that vicinity remained untouched, because it was a mug shattering shout, not a glass shattering shout. There was also a glass mug, which was kind of strange but not unheard of, and it crack a bit to be unusable but it didn't exactly shatter.

Sumo Taxi, taken by Richard Pluck

Frank Dieselwang & the CDC vs. the Toxic Dude Outbreak, Part the Second

"You're starting to turn into your moth..." began a young man wearing a Limp Bizkit shirt, before Frank shoulder checked into a dumpster.

Frank began to show slight signs of exertion, which for him meant that sweat was dripping at a slightly increased rate from his hot, sculpted torso, glistening and highlighting the creases in his abdominals. He flexed his chest, causing his pectorals to bounce up and down at an andante tempo, much like Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21.

Frank Dieselwang & the CDC vs. the Toxic Dude Outbreak

“We’re glad you came into the office today Mr. Dieselwang, I’m Shellandra Foreheart-Stiner Coldcrusher, but call me Shelly,” Shellandra Foreheart-Stiner Coldcrusher said, giving him a firm handshake as he entered the clear bubble office that was intrinsic to the CDC while sensuously simultaneously spraying him up and down with a canister with her other hand. During this process, her eyes ate up his extremely masculine form, his skintight shirt clinging alluringly to his abdominal muscles which seemed to ripple like perfectly melted chocolate being poured into a parchment paper lined half sheet pan.

“Mrs. Dieselwang is my mother, you can call me Frank. And it’s a pleasure and an honor,” Frank replied warmly, totally and manfully unfazed by the sanitizing spray, without taking offense to anything she did, “I understand you have a problem with Toxic Males.”

Frank Dieselwang vs. The Zombcchini

Frank Dieselwang didn’t set out to take on a seven foot tall Zombcchini with biceps the size of bowling balls, but when his assignment was to take on the Moreganic industrial complex, he should have foreseen something like this happening.

Monster Zucchini, taken by Meg Lauber

“Well, when life gives you Zombcchini, make Zomboli,” he quipped before flexing his arms and charging forward, a metaphorical truck with huge arms charging with abandon towards a vegetable patch.

Earlier that day…

“As you can see, Professor Gasolinedick, this is the most Moerganic of factories! Everything is certified organic!” shouted the “organics minded” director of Pharm To Tables Totally Industrial Moreganics Factory. That director’s name was Director Cuppingplant Barpillow.

Frank Dieselwang vs. the Buxom Brick Boulderer

[Switching to a different one shots for now, while I try to regain my inspiration for So Sous Me, please let me know if you rather I finish that one!]

At the time when most decent people were asleep, Frank Dieselwang bore his 8 back abdominals out in the starkly dark moonlight, his muscular curvatures glinting like quartz crystals in a mine with subpar light, which is to say somewhat dimly but more than you’d expect things to gleam in the night.

Bricks, originally taken by Marc Falardeau

It was the witching hour, and most decent sorts were safely tucked away, but Frank was up. Even though Frank was a decent man, because the author used the word “most” and not “all” this is not necessarily a contradiction. 

The Calm before the Smoke - So Sous Me - Part 8

With a mighty heave of his corded muscles, perhaps three times as corded as a well above average man, Frank heaved in an enormous piece of wood into Taeryn’s cavernous smoker. 

Frank grunted with slight exertion which nevertheless resulted in his porterhouse steak sized pectorals to heave heavily in the sweat inducing sun as they were coated liberally with sweat, the pectorals with which he wiped down with a rag in a spiral pattern so that the sweat caused by the sweltering sweat inducing sun, the heat causing his nipples to lay flat against his chest, waiting for more ardent stimulation.

Modified image, originally taken by Blake

A Contest of Grills - So Sous Me - Part 7

Frank, shirtless, sat bare-chested in the sun of a well lit train car as two drops of sweat hung like jewels from the tips of his engorged nipples, so excited he was for the competition to take place. Like the dual nature of man and woman, Frank and Taeryn were bathed in light and darkness over and over again to some dramatic effect, to the author’s best approximation and attempt to class up this piece with visual imagery.

Repeatedly, the train went through mountain tunnel entrances and came out into the light again and back in again into mountain tunnels on the way to the contest site, the phallic vaginal sexual imagery readily apparent for anyone who seeks to grab it, though whether this is a victory sex kind of metaphor or some kind of screwing over foreshadowing remains to be seen, even for the author who is kind of flying by the seat of his pants at the moment.

“Did you say to put the salt on the right?” Frank asked, pointing with his right arm, and flexing as he did so, revealing the sexy “cuts” in his muscle definition simply because he could do so, “Or the left?” he continued, pointing towards the left in a different arm holding but equally tantalizing pose, for the sake of variety. He held this pose unnecessarily so that anyone who liked male bodies could appreciate him for a bit.

“Naw silly! Ya put it in the middle, cause it’s important,” Taeryn answered playfully, hip checking him, the velocity of that movement causing his chest to jiggle slightly, in spite of its hot firmness. She admonished him encouragingly, pressing her cleavage together with her arms as she said, “Now git yer game face on, cuz it’s bout ta git HAWT.” 

Reassured by the sight of her winning face and encouraging words and not her bosom, though that was a nice bonus, not that he was trying to look that way, Frank put on his Nintendo Entertainment System playing face; pensive, attentive, undivided. Which was pretty much the only way you can beat a Nintendo Entertainment System game. 

After a perhaps excessive amount of mountain tunnel entering and re-entry, Taeryn and Frank, Taeryn slightly in front because she was the leader of this expedition, entered the fairgrounds of Mega Oil Magnate Landing LLC (Formerly known as Goldenrod Fairgrounds) and headed to their station, Number 4, which had been prepared by a lot of those same townsfolk who have supported her time and time again but the author hadn’t had time to flesh out. 

“Good luck to y’all!” The crowd collectively called out, while simultaneously leaving, saving the author time and mental energy, instead of forcing him to make up characters on the fly/read back a bit to remind him of some names.

Taeryn pointed at things and barked orders in a meaningful and purposeful way, and Frank got to work helping her set up the mise en place. Frank wiped his barrel chested barrel chest torso, more sweat gleaming down his pectorals and biceps and abdominals as he stood in the hot Texas sun, even though there was a perfectly good canopy there.

Taeryn queried in a drawling fashion, “Aren’t ya hot out there?”

Frank smiled at her, assuming it was a compliment, “It’s kind of you to say that.” He pecs flexed reflexively, subconsciously showing off how hot he was for her, before he consciously realized the true meaning of her statement, “Oh, right. Force of habit.” And with that he shifted into the shade, effortlessly, like a sleek jungle beast sliding back into the bush.

Time lazily passed, like a high school senior in June who had received his college acceptance letters from his backup school already and was resigned to living closer to home than he wanted, and they waited until it was time to throw down. 

For the sake of adding wordcount, Frank and Taeryn gazed around at their competition at their own stations, a pretty motley assortment of competitors. 

There was the requisite newbie at Station 1, also known as the “one and done” table. This year it was Waid Ayed Inos Cente, who would in a normal year be destined to see the corruption of the competition, go home, and then probably get a job as an accountant, having his or her or their dreams of being grillmaster crushed underfoot like the notion that a bachelor’s degree is all it takes to secure a good job in modern times.

Huffily, the officiant, Fauxsef Pallehgreengo, shouted, “Let the  Big Jim Bob Joey’s Mega Meat Mountain Competition begin!”

There was Peligro Infierno at station 2, the stoic latino competitor of the open air barbecue joint, Fiesta Del Chorizo, known for his bounty of sausages. He nodded respectfully at Taeryn, conveying with a gaze that he wanted anyone to win except for the dick at station 3. “Good luck to you Ms. Yewanewon.”

Taeryn smiled back at him, grim and respectful, knowing that the outcome was probably beyond their control, “Y Usted, Senor Infierno,” she said in his grandmother’s tongue (He was born here, and his parents, but he did appreciate the language, as they were friends in the trenches together and this was a good thing, and not just appropriation/showing off her language skills, which is still nothing to be ashamed of).

Such pleasantries were not exchanged with the dick at station 3, almost interchangeable each year, the main commonalities being that it would be an entitled male with blood ties to the Barbecuerporations that had taken over the town. This dick will be described later because the author had already written the description and it doesn’t quite fit here, so sit tight reader.

As though cued, a shot fired through the air, ringing with promise and anticipation as competitors raced to their stations, eager to deliver an excellent product deserving of a win, except for the one smarmy looking brat that vaguely looks like the reader’s nemesis from high school, named Chaz Bradding Sanjeevingtodd, and pronounced in the most annoying and insistent way possible to the reader (options include nasally, self righteous, entitled, self important, etc).

As Taeryn blazed through the initial steps to assembling her ketchup and rub by rote, Frank competently kept up with her, grappling with thick, hard wood, and setting it ablaze with his practiced lighter, and then got to working on the meat, sawing through the ribs with a keen eye and steady arm, going back and forth with intensity and care, stacking the sausage with the precision of a master log cabin builder, and massaging tenderness into the pork butts with his strong, masculine hands. 

Frank was extremely confident and competent, and it is clear this is not the story where the assistant bumbles through and does lots of stupid things only to come through at the end with some kind of clinch accident and reveals himself to be the hero who saves the day, because the readership should be really tired of that crap by now.

“Ribs! Ready?” Taeryn shouted at him to reach through to his ears in the rising chaos of grillmasters working loudly and in a hurry.

“Yes! Ready!” Frank asserted, holding two whole racks of ribs before him, and Taeryn rubbed her hands herb fortified salt up and down this meat, and Frank threw it into their large oil drum smoker. The sausages, already seasoned, were slid in with care onto a rack to cook and drip onto the other meats, and the butts went to the bottom.

The crazed work over, Taeryn and Frank smiled at one another.

“Well, now we keep an eye on it for a while.”

“Good work Taeryn, we’ll get through it and get you that prize.” Frank said, with more confidence than anyone else, because he was a Dieselwang, and because he hadn’t seen the corruption of the competition firsthand. In the distance, Peligro Infierno shook his head sadly, as though he had heard.

Taeryn set her jaw. “Sure hope so Frank. Sure hope so.”

To be continued.

Getting Saucy! So Sous Me - Part 6

Taeryn gasped gently, as Frank’s meaty hands closed around the pair of her meaty tomatoes.

“Softer! Gently! Gently grasp it just so… yes, just like that… now… twist the tips.”

Frank, while a massive specimen of man who would appear to have the fine motor control skills of a Rhinoceros on a T-Rex sized dose of Ketamine, displayed technique and care, as he slowed the grasp of his sausage like fingers to grasp firmly around the pliant skin of her tomatoes, the tips of his fingers reaching the top of that supple flesh, and he tweaked the top ever so gently, until they gave way, and yielded to him, and fell off into his hands.

Two Big Tomatoes, taken by fs999

Frank Dieselwang in So Sous Me! - Part 5

[Extremely NSFW sex story link here once the author gets enough interest and an arbitrary (crowdbasing website) pledge level is reached]

Later, after that extremely satisfying sex scene:

Modified/Cropped image of a Fit Finn, taken by istolethetv. Only a rough approximation of Frank Dieselwang's perfection.

“Damn, your abs are amazing,” Taeryn declared, lending credence to the notion that the author has constantly been hammering, that Frank is a great looking guy, especially his abdominal area, but also the rest of him too.

Frank smiled and continued to flex his abdominal area for her visual benefit, then maintained this flex, for reasons that will be detailed shortly.