darkmatterannihilation

[darkmatterannihilation]

The bathroom is stereotypical to every movie you’ve seen like this. There’s a stall with no door and a broken urinal outside it. Graffiti covers the walls and the light flickers. You usually wouldn’t be in a place like this, but after you came out to your friend about being a boy he insisted you come with.

You’re currently pressed against the wall while he’s on his knees, cigarette hanging from his lips while rushes to undo your jeans.

“What…what if someone sees? They’ll see I’m not a real boy and I don’t belong here and-“ your stammering is interrupted by him smacking the inside of your thigh, glaring up at you.

“They’ll see you getting your fucking cock sucked and high-five you. Shut the fuck up with that real boy shit. You have a cock okay? You just don’t know how to fucking use it yet, but relax. That’s what I’m here for.” He tugs yours jeans down, staring at the wet mess of curls infront of him.

“But what if-“ interrupted again by him reaching up and shoving his cigarette between your lips.

“There, now we both have a fag in our mouth. Shut up and enjoy.”

You lean your head back, inhaling the smoke into your lungs. It tastes like his mouth, smells like him. And when his mouth is on you, wrapping his lips around you and running his tongue over that sensitive bundle of nerves, it feels like he’s kissing you. He’s too good at this and it isn’t long before your fingers are in his hair, hips jutting forward and fucking his mouth like a dog in rut. Not heat, rut.

“Mmmm atta boy!” He praises against you, muffling the sound and sending vibration right into your core.

[darkmatterannihilation]

dry humping where he’s on top of you and you can feel him against your core with every faux thrust and you’re both panting into each other’s mouths and it’s needier because you aren’t quite there he’s not actually inside you and you’re grabbing at his clothes and his hands are in your hair and he’s desperate and whining and

[darkmatterannihilation]

I just think it’s practical.

You make me a mess, then you hold me like you’re cleaning up after yourself. Responsible. Considerate. Gentlemanly, even.

Fuck me till I forget how to stand and then remind me—gently, with both hands on my hips and a kiss to the cheek that we’re in love or something equally dangerous. Wipe your mouth, hand me my socks. Ask what I want for dinner.

It’s not depraved. It’s coordinated. We’re good at this. We’ve got a system.

I lean over the sink to rinse a glass—your hands on my waist, just resting there like you’re claiming property.

I burn the toast. You ruin my neck. Balance.

This is our little economy: affection in filth, affection in silence, affection in forehead kisses and fucked-up hair and “don’t forget your keys.”

I want to be the kind of undone that still gets errands done.

Wrecked, yes, but still presentable.

Still picking out produce with shaky hands.

Still saying “yes, babe, cauliflower’s fine,” while remembering the way your mouth felt ten minutes ago. It’s not about sex, not always. Sometimes it’s just about being seen.

Handled.

Known.

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Fuck man, you are so hot. You already have me all worked up and I haven't even taken off your boxers yet. How cute, you're so wet for me, let me see your cock.

Hmm? What's that? You know you don't have to be shy with me man, come on. Give me your wrists, I'm going to tie them with my belt and stick them against the wall above your head. I don't want you to move them from there, I'm going to show you how to touch a real cock.

Fuck dude, you're so hard. I can feel it throbbing between my middle and ring finger, I love it. Look me in the eyes while I give you a handjob, that's it. Good boy. I'm going to make you cum on my fingers like no one else has in your life, I might even suck you afterwards. Keep moaning for me.

[darkmatterannihilation]

stomach bouncing when you fuck someone is just as hot as tits or ass btw

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oral fixation but it’s actually just me biting the soft flesh of your hips and thighs leaving bruises and bitemarks where only you can see them.

[darkmatterannihilation]

computer show me men with wet spots in their underwear. men making a mess in their boxers. men gasping and panting. men pressing their thighs together. men with trembling hands and sweat beading on their neck. men with warm, sweet skin between their thighs. men twitching. computer. computer can you hear me.

[darkmatterannihilation]

love how overstim makes me buck my hips like a wild fucking animal. how my body jolts, moves on pure instinct — desperate, mindless. but i can’t ever do it myself :( not really, anyway. not when i’m the one in control, when i can stop the second it gets too much.

need someone to pin me down, hold me still, and growl, ‘fucking take it.’ to ignore my whines and squirming, to force me to take more and more. until i’m shaking, until i can’t think, until all i know is the unbearable pleasure that won’t stop no matter how much i beg.

aaarrggrghrhrhrhh if only i could get my hands on a vibrator !!!!!!

[darkmatterannihilation]

dry humping should be desperate and needy. it should feel like you're trying to knock me up through 4 layers of fabric.

[darkmatterannihilation]

ways boys are like sex toys:

you can use them for your pleasure

ways they’re better than toys:

they’re sexy

they make cute noises

they have warm, wet tongues

you can have intimacy and passion with them

[darkmatterannihilation]

"god, do you have any idea how fucking pretty you look like this?" with your cock halfway down their throat and drool dripping from their chin

[darkmatterannihilation]

U-Pick Melons, Next Right!

Tis I, Rambles. I'm on a roll y'all, I take an empty queue/inbox situation as a challenge apparently lol

~

U-Pick Melons, Take the Next Right!

The cheerful sign was a bright pop of colour on an otherwise quiet country road. The winding driveway was long and scenic, eventually arriving at a picturesque farmyard. Tractors and wagons loaded up guests and drove them out to the fields, cheerful young women helpfully pointing out what fruit was where from their seats. 

"Cantaloupe? Hop on this wagon, that's where we're heading! Watermelon is over there with the blue tractor, have fun! Honey dew will be right back, Anna's just taken a full wagon out."

Maggie drove the cantaloupe tractor, and once she had a full load, she put the tractor in gear and headed down the lane way. It was one of the farther fields, but it was beautiful scenery, and no one ever complained. 

When they arrived, Maggie stood up and stepped onto the wagon, a bucket in one hand. "All right folks! You can either have the one hour or the twenty-four hour special. I'll give you the right seed as you hop off."

One by one, everyone filed off and got their seed. Most first-timers choose the one-hour, but a few familiar faces eagerly took the twenty-four seed. 

Turning towards the field, Maggie surveyed the acres of sprawling vines, shade umbrellas, and lawn chairs. "Go ahead and get comfy! You've got a few minutes to get to a vine."

People dispersed among the plants, choosing a chair and shade. Once everyone was settled, Maggie reached over and opened the irrigation hydrant. It wasn't the plants or the people that were magic, but the spring that the farm sat atop of. As water trickled from the lines on the ground, its magic seized the plants and wakened the seeds just consumed. Vines trembled and lifted from the earth, seeking the seed within the nearest person. Clothes were quickly nudged aside, each vine seek the navel to attach to. 

Maggie smiled and leaned on the wagon as a chorus of gasps and moans sounded through the field as each vine connected. it didn't matter man or woman, the magic would allow anyone to grow a melon of their choosing in their gut and deliver it, perfectly ripe and sweet, in the chosen timeframe. Putting a special twenty-four hour seed on her tongue, Maggie swallowed it with a drink of the magic water from her water bottle. A vine at the edge of the field lifted, zeroing in on her. She lifted her loose, sun-faded t-shirt and sighed at the familiar throbbing warmth of the vine connecting to her. 

In the field, people were lifting shirts or sundresses, unbuttoning jeans or shorts as their bellies immediately began to swell. Maggie herself was wearing cut off jean shorts, and opened the fly, rolling the waist so they stayed up. "How we doin' melon-makers? Feeling good so far?"

Another chorus of gasping moans, bellies burgeoning outward as the fruit grew quickly within such fertile guts. Cantaloupes were more modest melons, but they ripened slowly, so while full size would be reached rather quickly, more pleasure was needed to sufficiently sweeten them. They were a great beginner melon, and Maggie's favourite. She was the only girl who could enjoy the twenty-four hour seeds, everything else grew too enormous to carry around while working all day. 

Time passed quickly as pleasure ballooned in her gut, the melon growing a belly like a twenty to thirty week pregnancy, depending on the person. Once it had gotten large enough, it would ripen, getting heavier and heavier as it filled with the magic water and sugar. Maggie groaned as it sank deep in her pelvis, stretching her back to acclimate to the weight. People furious rubbed or jerked one out, or did it to each other, pleasured sighs and moans filling the sun-baked field. 

By the half hour mark, vines started to drop off the one-hour melons. Different moans sounded, a different flavour of pleasure taking hold as contractions began. People slid out of chairs, hands and or pacing in small circles as the fruit descended. Pants and short were tossed off, and Maggie watched as one by one, people dropped into deep squats and bore down. Gleaming rind began to appear at lips and holes, grunts of effort and the sound of orgasms echoing. It took a great deal of effort to slowly crown the melon. Over the hill, the orgasmic screams of the watermelon-makers were being brought on the breeze. 

Almost perfectly at the one-hour mark, melons dropped from bodies into the sandy soil, gleaming and beautifully, perfectly ripe. People panted and caught their breath, admiring the fruits of their labours. Taking another basket off the wagon, Maggie's vine dropped off her navel as people began to trickle back to the wagon. One by one, each melon was rinsed at the hydrant, and put in a string bag to be carried back to the barn to be weighed and paid for. The people with the same seed as herself got a sticker on their bulging, bare bellies, a flat rate for the longer-ripening fruit. 

Climbing onto the tractor, Maggie adjusted the seat to accommodate her smooth, rounded belly peeking out from under her t-shirt and fired it up. Using one hand to steer, she rested the other on the taut globe, feeling the smooth, round rind of the melon within her. 

Back in the farmyard, people hopped off and headed for the barn. Guests with other fruit mingled, the watermelon-makers positively waddling under the burden of their fruit. Honeydew-makers were sort of intermediate in size, not quite waddling but gait definitely changed with their burdens within. 

By the end of the day, many, many melons had been planted and picked or packed home. Maggie stood with all the other girls in the barn at the end of the day, only herself and Ma Wendy still with rounded bellies. Maggie had been on the farm for several years, and had never seen Ma Wendy without a rounded belly, even in the winter. Her loose sundresses were floral and cheerful, and meant she could squat down anywhere and produce a melon without effort or much disruption at all. 

"All right, Maggie," Ma Wendy said, offering Maggie a cup of the magic water mixed with something of the older woman's own recipe. "Let's see how this new hybrid has done."

Maggie downed the tonic in one go, feeling the warmth spread rapidly through her. The melon inside her grew far heavier, like it would simply just fall out of her. Quickly pulling off her shorts, her belly tightened with the first contraction. The other girls all watched raptly, wanting to see how Ma Wendy's favourite melon-maker would handle the new hybrid. 

One on top of another the contractions came, visibly tightening Maggie's belly and shifting the melon downward into her pelvis and then her birth canal. She moaned and rolled her hips, going to her hands and knees as her lips began to spread under the assault of the glossy wet rind. Gasping with the throbbing pleasure, Maggie pushed with her chin to her chest as the next pang seized her, quickly followed by a gut-wrenching orgasm. Something pulled deep within her, and then the melon had hit its widest point just as the contraction eased. Panting, Maggie's arms trembled as she waited for the next, this a thousand times better than any previous melon delivery before. She orgasmed twice more before the melon eventually dropped onto her discarded shorts. 

What was new was the vine still connecting the melon to Maggie, disappearing up into her body. It pulsed for several moments before eventually breaking off and withdrawing back into her body. Sitting up, she looked at Ma Wendy for an explanation. 

The older woman rubbed her own swollen belly. "I can't be fertile forever. Maggie's been here longer than anyone else, and I think she will make a wonderful Ma for the next group of girls, when the time comes."

Low in her belly, warmth and pleasure throbbed, and Maggie pressed her hands to her recently-flattened belly as it began to push outward again. Another melon starting, without swallowing a seed or sipping the magic water. Maggie moaned and rolled her hips as it grew faster than any of them had before, her belly rounding out to full size right under her hands. 

"You can't be a Ma around here without a round belly," Ma Wendy said by way of explanation. "You'll probably be delivering every twelve hours or so for now, but that time will decrease after a while. And we'll start working on the honeydew and watermelons next." 

Getting to her feet, Maggie rubbed her smooth, taut belly. Ma crossed the circle and pulled the younger woman's t-shirt off, replacing it with a more modern cut sundress, loose and flirty. 

"There. Ma Maggie, ready to make melons for all to enjoy. Go ahead, girls, take that melon and slice it up. Tell me how the taste compares." 

Maggie gasped, pressing on her belly as she felt a distinct pop! within. Before her eyes, her belly bulged outward again, going from a dainty twenty-week size to near full-term.

Ma Wendy grinned and reached out to pat Maggie's belly as it swelled. It sounded just as a juicy, ripening melon should. "Maybe we won't add the other melons just yet, if you're gonna grow such a bumper crop." Maggie gasped at the next pop! sensation within. Bumper crop indeed. 

[darkmatterannihilation]

One of my love languages is physical touch, I love holding you tight, hugging, touching your hands, caressing every inch of your body, I always want to feel the warmth of your body while it touches mine, stroking your hair as you rest your head on my chest, it makes me melt.

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I'll be like, I'm totally normal about being desired, and then fantasize about burying my hand in a sweet boy's hair and tugging enough to pull his face up to look at me, make sure he really sees me, while I get to memorize his expression as my cock slides inside of him

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above all i want to make him feel attractive. i want to make him feel like he's the hottest most fuckable man on planet earth and get it through his stupid skull that i literally always want to be on his dick. i would walk through fire for it im so serious

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nothing hotter than someone who keeps gasping that they love you while they’re inside you. like they’ve got their eyes squeezed shut and they’re making these little hitched cries while they try to get as deep as possible. looking up at you like you’re god himself that’s how good they feel inside you

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when i say "i love cis and trans men" what I'm thinking about is "I want to be eating out a trans guy and fingerfucking him while a cis guy fucks my cunt raw doggy style"