#he is so tonguey

[cuntysalamanderjuices]

18+

Ichthya's bad day: it's me, I'm the bad day

Cw: graphic rape/noncon, zoophilia, narcotic skin excretions, forced orgasm

Summary (contains graphic details):

3rd person limited, Aggressor's POV. He/him pronouns and a vagina for the Aggressor, who is a serial rapist. Victim is an intelligent non-anthropomorphic six-foot-long toxic amphibian with male genitalia that are inverted (as with a squamate) for most of the fic. Victim is penetrated with fingers and then used to stimulate the Aggressor's vagina internally. The Aggressor is high by the end of the encounter. Both parties orgasm. Victim is slightly psychic. Aggressor is a bit tonguey.

Nothing tender or redeeming happens.

Contains swearing, but if that's where you draw the line, I'm (respectfully) confused.

Ichthya's bad day: it's me, I'm the bad day

Alex was the only person in this marsh, human or otherwise. He was counting on that. Brine lapped against the bank between spindly beach-dwelling trees.

And today was his lucky day. He saw what he came for.

It was making itself small, a cute, pathetic creature with webbed feet and a snub nose, speckles dotted along its legs and tummy. It made Alex thirsty.

He stood up on the roots of the trees to hide the noise of his footsteps. It probably wouldn't run if it saw him, since Salamanders understood that humans were a sapient species like them and lacked an instinct to bigotry, but it would definitely be on its guard. With a practiced motion, Alex slipped behind it and scooped it up.

It was a lithe creature, about as long as his leg when it squished itself down, and it shook with shock. Salamanders are just a touch psychic, so Alex felt its shock.

"You must be so afraid, little thing," he crooned, Grasping it hard right beneath the gills where the pressure points were. It was right to be afraid, of course. The salamanders didn't venture into these shallows unless they were desperate. This one likely had either never seen a human before. If it had, it would know full well that Alex was not behaving correctly. "What's your name?"

Stunned and scared but still trying to assume that this was a well-meant misunderstanding, the Salamander understood the query and projected an answer.

"Hello, Ichthya," Alex whispered. Ichthya stilled at the danger in his tone. It tried to stretch itself to wriggle out of his grasp, and Alex didn't bother to suppress the appreciative sigh that escaped him. Fully extended, Ichthya was an impressive six feet, longer than he himself was tall. He caught his arm around it and held it very close with his elbow, still grasping under the gills with his other hand.

Salamnders are toxic. The poison it was secreting began to penetrate his skin.

Alex was going to enjoy this.

"Wriggle all you want," Alex purred. "You have no idea how good it feels." Ichthya was heavy, but Alex was strong, so he held it hard against his chest and shoulder and kneeled to the ground. Still holding beneath the gills with his right hand, he stretched it bottom-up, four little palmate feet swaying confusedly in the air. He out pressure on his right forearm; Salamanders had strong sternums, so he could crush it without risk that it would die under him. Alex rested with his legs folded and Ichthya's tail twisting helplessly under his crotch.

His fingers explored its tummy until they found their mark.

He began to probe.

Ichthya had clearly not realized what was about to happen, and it writhed so hard that the cloaca tore almost immediately against Alex's fingers. Alex laughed out loud, but he wanted an intact beast, so he pushed down harder with his elbow and ground his jeans hard against the Salamander's body. His cunt was starting to swell. As a personal goal, he wanted the salamander's slime and his own juices to soak all the way through his clothes, a nice little pre-game before the real fun began.

For now, though, he got Ichthya - or at least, Ichthya's genitalia - as still as he could before pushing his fingers the rest of the way in. Oh, this was fun - it had three channels, not just the standard two, and they were deep. Alex wasn't sure if it was a male or just a cavernous female, and Ichthya definitely didn't care. Even if it had an identity or a preference - rare, but not unheard of in Salamanders - it was way to busy getting force-fucked in a way its body was not designed for. It made Alex's thighs hot to think of how much Ichthya hurt right now, his own gently calloused fingers like blades of glass against flesh as thin as an egg's membrane. To Alex, it was soft, cushioney, and comfortable. The cloaca didn't tighten the way a pussy or an asshole would. The penes would pop out if he forced them, but they could hardly do that with his fingers lodged inside.

Alex began stroking idly through them while Ichthya steadily got less writhe and more twitch. Since it wasn't fighting anymore, Alex ground hard against its tail. His clit was enjoying the soggy briefs and the rest of him was starting to get buzzed. His joints tingled a bit, not unpleasantly, and he was developing that slight floating euphoria that preceded the real high.

"I'm going to show you how humans really do it, pretty thing," he said. He scooped his hands under its body and lifted the face up close to him. He turned its head by force to stare into the lidless eyes. By this point he'd raped enough of these worms to know what misery looked like on their faces. He loved it.

Salamanders don't have teeth or lips. Alex gave it a little peck on the tip of its snout, then he ran his tongue along the inside of its mouth. When the sweet little thing didn't fight back or protest or try to clamp its jaw, he whispered "Good boy," and tongued it hard and deep. Its gills flared. It shivered. He was still fingering it, and he could feel the penes prickling - it would become erect immediately if he withdrew his hand. He'd once had one of these things so horny that he was actually able to fuck it the old-fashioned way after he'd already had his fill of snaking.

Snaking was fun, though.

"You are perfect," Alex growled, his buzz growing and his excitement mounting. He pulled his fingers out of it, popping the penes - one head on one side, two on the other - out of its body. With one hand and a lot of practice, he got his jeans down to his knees, his briefs low with them. The salamander was mostly limp now, likely thinking the worst was over, so it was an easy matter to pull its long tail from between Alex's legs.

He was able to fit a full foot of tail inside vagina. Alex moaned as the diameter started to get big and expanding, the tip too deep to really feel. He held his labia open, thumb against his clit, to make sure he took full advantage of the movement. His left hand was on his cunt, slimy with his muccous and Ichthya's, and the other was still holding it by the neck.

He slid his fingers up to Ichtnya's gills and and dug his nails in.

Its whole body undulated with pain, and it became so slimey that he wouldn't be able to keep his grip if he wasn't hooked onto the gills. Alex's fingers pressed into his clitoris and urethra, transferring the energy perfectly, and this pre-lubricated improvised dick of an amphibian rimmed Alex's screaming cunt so hard he could feel the bones of his pelvis. Alex orgasmed almost immediately, legs trembling, piss gushing over his thumb and Ichthya's glistening body. He happily screamed through the first wave, and a second was on its back. The air was ripe with the sour sent of Salamander stress combined with rank pussy, the urine barely noticeable past the sex.

Ichthya's toxin was worked in through his vaginal walls by the activity. It felt like a caffeine high at first, then cayenne pepper, then like skittles tasted when you were ten years old. Then it felt like you could fly. It felt like you were God. It felt like the whole world was glowing. And all through this, the thrashing twisting seeping writhing mess of a fucktoy organism struggled under and inside him, dragging triumphant screams from his lips and shooting fireworks down to his toes.

The fucking salamander high was the best fucking thing. (Fucking the Salamander was a close fucking second.)

Ichthya rippled in a smooth motion, then once again, pulling out and slamming back in because it couldn't get the purchase to pull back by a full foot. That's the thing about Salamanders - the tail doesn't contract, just the body. If you got the right angle, they'd thrash so hard trying to get away that you barely had to so much as thrust your hips. In, out, twisting, slamming, tickling - nothing compared. Alex did thrust, of course. He pinched into the salamander and the mouth of his vagina with his hand, getting no purchase through the puddling secretions but enjoying the roll of its flesh in his hand. Fuck if it wasn't so hot laid out in front of him. It was beautiful. Its toes clamped shut and splayed open, a useless mock-swimming motion. Its skin practically vibrated, shivering from stress and shock, making the light on its surface wink and glimmer like stars. It oozed blood through the tear in its cloaca, mixing with the toxic mucous and coating the base of its penes, which were popped out against the salty air like tiny balloons. Its face, although inexpressive by human standards, was still a mess of emotions and pain if you knew how to look for them - or properly instill them.

No matter what had driven it to this marsh, Alex was the worst thing that had ever happened to this miserable worm.

Alex couldn't help himself. He dragged Icthya's face close to his own, risking breaking its delicate bones, and shoved his tongue down its throat again. He was stroking furiously with his left hand, and his clit burned with venom.

Ichthya's psychic shockwaves were nothing but a screaming, pained WHY. It didn't understand at all, and wasn't going to unless someone bothered to explain how human anatomy worked. Ha, that would be an education. Maybe Alex would do it himself. Maybe he'd keep this one, instead of throwing it back. If he kept catch-and-releasing, after all, they might eventually make him stop - one of these fuckers was going to figure out how to describe him, and maybe even get lucky and be listened to. Maybe he should cut the risk and limit himself to just this one. He could keep it somewhere and fuck it with a rubber cock, force its cloaca to swallow a phallus every day until just the sight of Alex made it leak and pop. Pavlovian response: sex and stress. The best possible combination for raping a lizard.

Alex came again, this time the orgasm burning all the way up to his shoulders, pinching tears from his eyes. He pulled his left hand up to rub his face, and thought better of it just in time. He was willing to put this junk in his junk, but not in his eyeballs, thankyouverymuch. He swore to himself because that hand that he just hadn't used to wipe his eyes was now also not scrubbing satisfaction out of his clit. He fucking needed more. He would fucking snap this thing in half for more. He groped its penes and pushed it down to the ground, adjusting the angle and thrusting harder. It wasn't as much stimulation, but it was soft and comfy, like a warm hand on an abused cunt, and Alex was rewarded with the mounting fog that would lead him to a sweeter, gentler orgasm.

Ichthya was keening now. You had to get them really worked up before they started to make noise at a register humans could hear. Alex put one of its delicate webbed feet in his mouth and sucked gently, rocking his hips in and out over the tail in his cunt. The little claws pricked at his tongue, dainty as raspberry thorns. The skin tasted stevia-sweet. There was relatively little mucous on the foot itself, so he dragged his tongue along its leg, then pushed his whole mouth over the little foot and pretended it was semen in a dripping, bulbous cock. The thought was hilarious to him now, all giddy from the high. He let go of the gills and hugged Ichthya close to him like a real lover. He hummed around the foot. He stroked and cuddled the Salamander, his Salamander, his darling, his little lover of the moment.

He stared down at those three whole cocks.

Alex popped the foot from his mouth. He licked the palm. Slime coated his teeth and dripped from the corner of his lips.

"It's your lucky day," he murmured, standing up so that Ichthya fell out of him. He swayed a bit, but he it was fine, he was sober enough. He dropped to his knees with a thud and grabbed it by the hind-legs.

His pants were ruined. His vagina dripped like someone had daropped a fifty-count crate of eggs in a trash compactor. The three penes looked red and abraded from where he'd fingerblasted them earlier.

Oh, boy, was his tongue going to love this. He hadn't had a cock in his mouth in way too long.

They fit in his mouth messily, butting against his pallet and leaving a nice gap for his tongue to play. They tasted different from the rest of the creature; they were a bit spicy, almost like cinnamon or ginger, and they seeped a way more viscous fluid to coat his mouth. It slid down Alex's throat, making him choke at first, them making him swallow and draw the penes in deeper. He was so high now that deep-throating was barely a struggle. He couldn't put suction on them because of the gap, so he milked them with his tongue.

Very gently, he pressed the double-headed pene against his molars. It wasn't sexual, but the intimate satisfaction of skin against his teeth warmed his heart.

He pushed his fingers down on and in his vagina and masturbated furiously.

Ichthya had gone limp except for the whining, but now it wiggled uncomfortably side to side. Probably it was trying to hold it in. There wasn't a use.

Tender as a lover, Alex pulled first drips and then streams of semen from Ichthya. It swam down his throat and dripped from his mouth in little splotches, painting Ichthya's slimey skin with semitranslucent carnation pink. That smell immediately overpowered the sex, the slime, the churned-up salty mud, the rancid stress smells. Salamander semen smells like vanilla and rosewater. When you're high on Salamander mucous, it tasted like it, too. (Tomorrow he'd have an aftertaste of battery acid in his mouth.) For now, though, he gently tightened his lips around the penes and slowly pulled them from his mouth, licking the whole way. He kissed the tips. Then he crawled his way up - Ichthya had compressed itself again, so it wasn't far - and kissed its face.

Alex chuckled as he fell to the ground, pulling his gross pants back on. He was too high to care about the mess. Ichthya was too in shock to run immediately, so he pulled it close to himself and cuddled as he rode the high and basked in the afterglow.

"Good boy," Alex whispered again. "I'll take care of you after this, don't worry."

He lost lucidity to the psychic sensation of overwhelming dread radiating off of Ichthya in waves.

"Good, good care. I'll patch you up, get you some food." His eyes drifted shut and he squeezed it close to him. "Can't wait to fuck you until there is nothing left to scream."

[silent-dragon]

May i ask for 😍 + 💋 + 💘 + 💐

For the characters bakari, damian, and lucas?

Here you go! Is long so added cut ❤

😍 : What does your OC find irresistible in others?

Them helping others less fortunate then them. Bakari loves this act of kindness like its a drug.

💋 : Is your OC a good kisser? How do they do it?

Unsure if good but a very tonguey one.

He likes to lick the other's lips before full on kissing them then its all tongue action in the person's mouth..he about to taste every inch of your mouth and tongue with his.

💘 : Is your OC a very good flirt? Are they charming?

He a good flirt but needs help sometimes but thankfully his UM helps with flirting.

He very charming being he is in the restaurant business as he has to be kind,polite,and just the complete gentleman to guests.

💐 : What is their courting style? How would they woo someone?

Bakari not actually into courting he thinks its too old school for him.

He makes very suggestive comments of flattery to the object of his desire. If they work he sure to get some fun later after work with them. If don't work he may use his UM to make it happen more..but not always.

😍 : What does your OC find irresistible in others?

Anything he a open minded deerman. He can find the lines on your inner hand to be.

💋 : Is your OC a good kisser? How do they do it?

He a great kisser but he tends to make people get dizzy with his kisses though.

He so tall so he usually has to pick up the person and let them latch onto his waist with their legs so he can get them right level to smooch passionately. Taller then him and he just need to stretch enough as you lean down for passionate smooch.

💘 : Is your OC a very good flirt? Are they charming?

Perhaps too good of a flirt.

Mega charming its his nature to be utterly unapologetically charming. He can't help it.

💐 : What is their courting style? How would they woo someone?

Pamper then go for it style.

He first invites to his dorm parties,makes them the vip,offer a dance or two,whiper into their ear sweet talk,see if they like to "take a party break" and if they do then he has successfully courted in his way.

😍 : What does your OC find irresistible in others?

Helpfulness traits he loves that part of a person alot.

💋 : Is your OC a good kisser? How do they do it?

He has never kissed anyone yet to know this.

💘 : Is your OC a very good flirt? Are they charming?

He is bad at flirting cause he too shy. He just turns bright pinkish red thinking about it.

He quite charming as he is kind,polite and soft. He just a shy teddy bear thats a color changing lizard.

💐 : What is their courting style? How would they woo someone?

He'd be too nervous to try to court anyone.

He'd probably try to show off his blacksmithing skills. Hammer some stuff to see if it impresses the other person but i think the person watching him pounding hot metal while sweat drips off his shirtless only apron and pants body would woo indirectly.

[chanfictions]

Count - Pt. 5

Part 1 - Bonus Scene - Part 2 - Special Episode: Red - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Special Episode: Nightmares - Part 6 - Part 7 - Special Episode: Sick Day - Part 8 - Special Episode: Nightmares Pt. 2

18+ Content! MINORS, DNI.

Kakuzu x Reader, Hidan x Reader

Sensory deprivation, mind games, Kakuzu the Brat Tamer/Breaker, size kink if you squint, Daddy kink if you really squint, degradation-ish, punishments/funishments, flogging, sadism/masochism, overstimulation, dacryphilia, double penetration, anal, breath play, multiple orgasms, also some aftercare and fluff at the end.

7.2k

"Hey, Kakuzu, wanna go for a high score?"

With Deidara still out getting himself into who knows what kind of trouble with Tobi, you had astonishingly little to do in the absence of your accident prone, palm-tonguey nemesis. On top of that, Hidan and Kakuzu had been absent for weeks, which meant you were dreadfully bored, and boredom was dangerous for a mischief-loving miscreant such as yourself.

As you sauntered your way down the hall, drinking some hellish concoction of Hidan's through a crazy straw, you peered into a room you frequented -- Kakuzu's. Curiously, the old grouch was nowhere in sight, which you found surprising, considering he and Hidan were definitely back from their last mission. The high octane liquor you were enjoying was evidence of that. Snickering to yourself as you spotted a stray length of rope peeking out from a drawer, you wondered what it might take today to push Kakuzu's buttons. With another loud slurp, you tilted your head. There was something else sticking out from that drawer, which was curiously un-Kakuzu-like. He never left things looking so unkempt. Unable to see from your vantage point in the doorway, you peered around for lurking Kakuzus before padding into his room to investigate. Closer inspection revealed that the other object was a little slice of leather.

Just as you reached out to touch it, a large palm snapped around your wrist, spinning you around by it and pinning you against the dresser with a loud snarl. The panty-soaking presence that was Kakuzu had seemingly materialized behind you. Wide-eyed, you squeaked in surprise, nearly dropping your drink as you braced yourself against the chest of drawers now digging into your back. It never ceased to amaze you how quietly he was able to move.

"Do you make a habit of sneaking around other people's rooms when they aren't here?" He growled from behind his mask, leaning in close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath through that fabric, taking your drink from you and setting it down atop the surface.

"Only when I'm really bored," you replied with a cheeky smile, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Oh boy, did you ever know you were in trouble, and you were just loving it. In the weeks they had been away, you had been sorely missing the romps that left you a drooling, incoherent mess. Heated anticipation pooled in your belly as the thought of him absolutely wrecking you for this incursion into his space bounced around in your twisted little head.

You could almost see the wicked smirk spreading across Kakuzu's lips. The corners of his eyes crinkled as those jade orbs zeroed in on you. "I just got back from an incredibly irritating mission with Hidan, and you think it's going to be a fun game to push my buttons because you're bored?"

"I'm not known for my wise decision making," you giggled, reaching up to give Kakuzu's nose a boop. "Daddy."

Threads shot out from his forearm, snatching your hand before you could go through with the sacrilege of booping his nose while his hand clamped around your throat. "Had you been a good little girl and waited, you would have found out later that Hidan brought back a little present for you, and it is in that drawer. But now, it looks like I'm going to have to punish you first."

Masking your excitement proved to be immensely difficult. A choked, lusty whine rolled into bubbling laughter around the pressure around your neck that just set your body on fire. Your eyes rolled back in your head for a moment. You missed this. Feeling the heat from Kakuzu's body radiating through his clothes and the ridge of every bulging muscle that pressed into your body was just electrifying. His thigh was now firmly nestled between your legs, creating just enough friction to be a horrible tease. "Define punish," you grinned, tonguing your teeth with a wild look in your eyes.

Kakuzu growled, threads winding more tightly around your wrist as more slithered out from the seam in his arm and took the place of his rough hand around your throat as well as the other that held your other wrist. Doing that just seemed to excite you more. Goddamn little masochist, he thought with a hidden sneer. Punishing you required a bit of creativity, as pain alone would be nothing but fun for you. With a sharp yank, he pulled you away from the dresser, caging you against his chest with his arm in order to open the drawer against which you were previously leaning. You lost yourself for a moment, the heat of his body, the pressure from the powerful arm around your back, and the familiar scent of sandalwood consuming your senses made you briefly forget the can of worms you just opened by taunting him. His free hand dug blindly for several long lengths of rope, which he dropped to the floor beside you with a heavy thud. "Strip," he snarled lowly in your ear as he released you from your temporary bindings.

A shiver raced down your spine and settled firmly in your belly with the twisting, needy heat that was steadily building between your legs. Mission, accomplished. Kakuzu's buttons had been thoroughly pressed, and the intensity pulsing from his body was seriously compromising your resolve. Your eyes darted behind him briefly, searching for your extra source of confidence that came in the form of Hidan, though his partner was nowhere to be seen.

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he gripped your chin to point your gaze up at him and swiped his thumb across your lower lip. "What's the matter, girl? Lost your nerve?"

Twisting your face and making your best attempt at narrowing your eyes at him, you clicked your tongue against your teeth, initiating the staring contest you would inevitably lose. Your heart hammered in your chest as you weighed your options. While the bratty masochist chattering in your ear wanted nothing more than to taunt him further, you knew better. Too much snark would lead to him simply ending this little game and leaving you with an empty, unfulfilled ache in your core. Some compliance was necessary, at least for now.

Kakuzu leered down at you, tightening his grip on your face while tendrils taunted you from the seam in his arm and speaking in the low, threatening tone that made your legs quiver with delight. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Kakuzu could break your neck if he wanted to with just a twist of your head. That compounded with the painfully tight grip of his massive hand on your jaw just made the pulsing hunger in your core worse. Your panties were already soaked. It was divine. The snarl in his tone, though, shook you from the glory you were basking in. You drew your shirt over your head and considered flinging it at him briefly, but you were given no such opportunity. The hand at your throat snatched it from you, tossing it atop the dresser next to your forgotten drink along with the rest of your clothes that you swiftly shed.

While Hidan always complained about how long it took, being tied into one of Kakuzu's rope sculptures was one of your favorite parts of these play dates. A content little moan escaped your lips as Kakuzu roughly grabbed you by the hips, standing you precisely below the metal ring from which you would soon be swinging. Low, raspy laughter hummed in your ears as you completely blissed out with each methodical wrap the lengths of rope made around your body. "Do you have any idea what you're in for, little girl?" He growled wickedly, breath fanning your neck as he tightened a knot and gave your entire body a rough yank.

You just giggled and bit your lip, letting your head fall back against him as you slipped into your happy place while he continued crafting the chest and hip harnesses that would soon be supporting you from the ceiling. Every rumbling threat just made you hotter. "Mmmm… nope. Should I be scared?" You inquired in a playfully sarcastic tone, which earned you another crushing grip around your throat.

"Probably," Kakuzu sneered with his mouth directly beside your ear.

Still swelling with a chest full of lusty attitude, you licked your lips and locked eyes with him again. "Your threads don't scare me anymore, Daddy. Dare I say, I might even like them."

Grinning from behind his mask, Kakuzu grasped your chin again with an almost alarmingly light touch. "Do you really think that's the only punishment I have for you?"

"I think you're bluffing," you teased and swayed your hips, pressing your ass against Kakuzu's now obvious arousal.

Snickering at your continued defiance, Kakuzu hoisted you up by your ropes abruptly until you were eye level with him, knocking the wind out of you briefly from the sudden force. "I don't bluff."

Heat crept across your face as jolts of delicious anticipation rattled through your bones and into your core. That frighteningly soft touch and coarse, threatening tone sent waves of goosebumps across your exposed skin. You wound your thighs together for a bit of friction to alleviate the ache of your throbbing pussy as you dangled completely off of the ground. "Oh, what else, then?" You goaded in an effort to maintain your facade, though it was swiftly cracking under his menacing gaze.

"You'll see," he chuckled lowly. "Or rather, you won't." Suddenly, a swath of darkness obstructed your vision. A thick, delightfully silky cloth covered your eyes and was tied tightly around your head, giving you little ability to scrunch your face enough to see anything at all. More dark, raspy laughter echoed from his chest, and you swung idly in stunned silence, swallowing hard and struggling to collect yourself. He stepped away from you, just far enough that you could no longer feel his movements and circled you like a lion, admiring his not-quite-complete handiwork. "What, no snappy retorts this time?" He sneered in a deep rumble.

A whine got stuck in your throat as you struggled to zero in on where he was standing by sound, but he gave you little time to think, as that taunting laughter seemed to move out of sync with where you thought you heard footsteps. Gusts of air rushed over your skin, giving you the impression of ghosted strikes. It left you gasping in surprise as still, no strike came.

"I can break you without even touching you, little girl," his deep voice hummed in your head.

Gathering all of the courage you had left in your body, you choked out your challenge, masking the tremble in your tone. "Try me."

"You don't know what to do with yourself when there isn't anything to feel," he growled from everywhere at once, the sound seeming to echo off of the walls. Slow footsteps followed out of time with the words, and you found yourself slowly swinging as light pressure was applied to the rope. "You rely so heavily on pain to ground you that feeling nothing is unbearable." The turning of your head was enough to make you spin, disorienting you further. Another confused, lusty shudder rattled your body as phantom sensations haunted your exposed skin. The hints of motion and your inability to trust your senses began forming a knot in your throat. You jumped at the loud snap of leather and gush of air that whizzed next to your face.

Kakuzu actually made you flinch.

"Oh, is the bratty little masochist nervous?" He hissed in your ear, his voice seeming to originate from the inside of your head. Another crack thundered just millimeters from your inner thigh, heightening your intense, needy ache.

You flinched again and your breath caught in your throat. The sound of blood rushing in your ears was deafening. You bit your trembling lip hard enough to draw blood, seeking any sensation to focus on as the taste of iron filled your mouth.

Kakuzu hummed with amusement as he paused directly in front of you. The heat of his breath breezed across your ear as he spoke with that same deep, taunting tone. "Keep that up and I'm going to take sound from you next."

A whimper rattled in your throat as you released your lip from the crushing bite of your teeth. A tiny trickle of blood tumbled down your lip onto your chin.

"Good girl," he grinned from behind his mask, resuming his slow, stalking gait.

You swallowed back the growing lump of anxiety that coiled uncomfortably in your chest, twisting your bound up hands against the ropes above your head to which they were tied. Fuck, Kakuzu was good. Your confident facade had completely crumbled, and you were swiftly coming undone. Clenching your teeth tightly, you stifled a yelp when another phantom strike disturbed the air just beside your ribs. Your body hummed with adrenaline. Releasing the tension in your jaw left you with chattering teeth. Those impossible, silent footsteps of Kakuzu's were maddening. There was no knowing where he was at any given point, even with the quiet hums of mocking laughter and snaps of leather that marked his movements.

He reached over your head and gave your rope another push, sending you on a new, pendulous arc, swinging in soft circles as you spun from the ring above. "Your little superpower is the reason you enjoy pain so much," he continued. "No consequences, no reason to fear injury," he murmured. "You know what to expect. There aren't any surprises. You know them all. Canes, straps, floggers, kunai…" he trailed off with a twisted smirk beneath his mask as he watched your chest rise and fall with hitched breaths, building to what he knew would make you unravel. "Scalpels, even."

"K-kakuzu--" you stammered fearfully with a cracking voice, twisting in your bindings as air rushed across your belly. Your mouth went dry and your heart pounded wildly in your chest. Of course he would bring that up.

"But the last one," he mused, grasping your ropes and halting your motion, drinking in the sight of your absolutely coming undone. "There's fear with that, isn't there, girl?"

The words in your mouth meant to answer him crumbled upon your tongue as you squirmed, a high whine taking their place. All you could do was feebly nod. Terror knotted in your gut. He knew.

"That might make a suitable punishment for you, then," he growled wickedly. "What do you think, lab rat?"

Twisting wildly in your bindings, you furiously shook your head, stammering incoherent pleas as you jerked away from every phantom sensation that ghosted your skin.

Kakuzu had won.

He moved behind you, breaking the long pause of absent contact by pressing a heavy hand just below your sternum and running it slowly upward over the landscape of ropes and knots until it reached your throat, pinning your bound body tightly against his chest and feeling your pulse race beneath his rough fingertips. You couldn't stifle the shriek that bubbled in your throat as he drew a hard, swift line with cold metal from below your navel up to your solar plexus. Thrashing in his grip and kicking at his legs, your senses went haywire. You choked on your own gasping breaths and nearly tapped out when a deep chuckle rumbled through his chest and into your body. Craning his neck down slightly as he coiled himself around you to calm your panicked struggling, he whispered lowly in your ear, "I told you, little girl, I don't bluff."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from beneath your blindfold as the heat of his palm pressing firmly against your stomach replaced the sensation of cold metal digging into your skin. The buzzing adrenaline coursing through your veins rang so many alarm bells in your head that it took a solid ten seconds for you to realize that he hadn't actually drawn any blood.

The sound of another person's sadistic laughter filled your head along with the heavy impacts of slow clapping. "Ooh, Daddy, that was mean."

Hidan. You could feel the rumbling growl in Kakuzu's chest at the use of that name.

"I don't even play the lab rat card, and I'm supposed to be the sadist," he snickered as he stalked in from his observation post near the doorway, the sound of his footfalls marking his approach toward where you were hanging. "Look at how worked up you got her over the hilt of a kunai. She actually thought you had a scalpel."

Kakuzu just snorted, continuing to run his knuckles over the line he had drawn with the blunt metal to erase the lingering sensations the cold left behind while you trembled and struggled to come back down from the ceiling. "Punishment for snooping."

Hidan grinned, leaning in to cup your trembling face with a palm, purring in a mocking tone. "Aw baby, didn't I tell you he's meaner than I am? Look at you. You're a wreck. I bet you've got some tears under that blindfold." His free hand traced along your side, enjoying every ridge and knot the ropes left where they still dug into your skin. "You're just dying for someone to hit you after all of that, aren't you?"

You swallowed audibly with a small nod, still trying to stuff your heart back into your chest where it belonged. Hidan was right on the money, of course. Your skin was buzzing and crawling from the itching teases of feigned strikes thanks to Kakuzu. He had tied the rope harnesses so expertly that even the pressure of your body being suspended in the air like this wasn't enough to scratch your masochistic itch.

Hidan's eyes ignited with a lustful blaze as he dug his nails into your inner thigh. "Maybe I'll even use the little surprise I brought back for you if you beg for it."

That sensation alone after the prolonged nothingness Kakuzu subjected you to was enough to make you groan contently and drop your head back. It was almost instantly grounding and became a singular point of focus. You nearly forgot that Hidan had just been talking to you.

"We're far from finished with you, little girl. It's been a long few weeks," Kakuzu gruffed from behind you.

That's for sure. The two of them were in prime form, working as a team instead of bickering, and they were just evil when they cooperated. Clearly, they had missed these romps just as much as you had. The sadistic aura radiating from both of them indicated as much. You swallowed back the dry lump in your throat, stammering out your plea, "Please hit me and make this crawling feeling stop," your voice cracked as your body trembled with broken resolve. Your request was met with quiet, rumbling laughter as Kakuzu shifted around you, keeping a hand on you as he moved and taking Hidan's place in front of you while his partner stepped away and rifled through a drawer. Kakuzu attached the remaining loops of rope around your thighs, posing you as though you were sitting on a swing, legs splayed apart and arms bound above your head. Always thinking ahead, he kept the remaining lengths of rope to your sides, giving Hidan ample striking space. Peering behind you and seeing Hidan standing ready with his new toy in hand, Kakuzu tapped you under the chin lightly with a knuckle. With a blissful sigh, you dropped your head back again and smiled as you murmured your response. "Green."

The first strike came so hard and fast that you could still taste your last word on your tongue when it landed. The weight of the impact stole the breath from your lungs, leaving you with just enough air to moan a thank you to the sky. You bit your lip when a rough hand snaked around your thigh and rubbed your exposed, dripping cunt. "Fear slut," Kakuzu gruffed in amusement.

You breathed an almost unintelligible maybe as Hidan found a rhythm for his bruising strikes with that flogger, painting the entire side of you that faced him with broken blood vessels while Kakuzu sneered and slowly sunk two thick fingers into your core. It was euphoric. A pathetic mewl rattled in your throat as Kakuzu took hold of your neck with one hand and drove you to the brink of failure with the other, rubbing rough circles on your clit while stretching you out enough to fit a third finger. Every impact of the flogger drove you down onto his hand like a hammer striking a nail, sending waves of rippling pleasure tearing through your body. Your bound legs shook and walls clenched as you struggled against the ropes to no avail. "Fuck, p-please--" you croaked.

Hidan paused for a moment, making eye contact with his partner as a wicked grin stretched across his face. "Hey, Kakuzu, wanna go for a high score?"

Kakuzu hummed in thought, enjoying the near pained look on your face as you struggled to hold back, considering offering you a bit of kindness after his earlier cruelty. "That should be fun," he mused, slowly pumping his fingers into your pulsing heat.

"Fuck," you squeaked, dropping your head back and clenching your jaw.

Kakuzu snickered, withdrawing his fingers from you just for an instant to wind up and give your exposed pussy a hard spank, sending shockwaves rippling through your body. "Count them," he grunted in your ear, thrusting his fingers back into you and grinding the heel of his hand against your slick clit in unison with the next strike from Hidan that definitely bruised your ass.

Your walls clenched and the knot of heat in your belly snapped, leaving you wailing in relief at the ceiling as you cried out a resounding, "One!" You shivered as the waves crashed through your body and relentless heat began to build again, as Kakuzu showed no signs of mercy while you bucked into his hand. The intensity of the strikes at your back increased, leaving delicious, stinging bruises everywhere the strips of leather contacted your skin. You wanted to thank Hidan for procuring such a delightful toy, but you currently lacked the bandwidth to make such a statement, as you swiftly found yourself coming down from one high and being thrown right into another. You grit your teeth with a stifled moan, taking in the sounds of the snapping leather and taunts from the pair as Kakuzu drew you toward another peak with a curl of his fingers.

Two. You heard yourself shriek and laugh wildly, clenching around the digits buried within you in blissful glee as the strikes to your back broke the skin.

Three. Kakuzu murmured soft threats in your ear as he landed another hard smack on your throbbing clit.

Four. You threw your head back and wailed, gushing all over Kakuzu's arm, panting for air like you'd been running for your life.

Five. You couldn't even get the word out properly and struggled in your bindings, seeing stars as tears soaked your blindfold.

The strikes to your flaming back ceased, and the sound of encroaching footsteps filled your head, breaking through the static and scream of blood rushing in your ears. "Fuck, I love it when you make her cry," Hidan purred from behind you, heat radiating from his body into yours as he ran rough palms over the welts and bruises littering your skin.

Kakuzu sneered from behind his mask, trailing hands over your thighs. "And we're only at five."

Struggling to catch your breath, your head came to rest against Hidan's shoulder as he moved in closer, reaching around you to grope your breasts and pinch your pebbled nipples for the delicious whine you inevitably let loose. "I hope you're ready for more, babe," he hummed with a devious smirk. "We still have a score to beat."

You stammered a whimpering reply that vaguely resembled the word "fuck", but even you weren't totally sure what you said.

"You gonna be a good girl and take us both?" Hidan murmured while raking his teeth across your neck and giving your taught buds another squeeze.

You keened into the distracting touch as Kakuzu's fingers dug into your thighs. "Hnnn… yes," you breathed. Sounds of zippers and shuffling clothes hummed in your ears. Two pairs of hands gripped your hips. The hot, broad head of a cock swiped through your soaked folds as Kakuzu's voice buzzed in your head beneath the echo of your own shuddering cries as the fat, dribbling tip of his cock pressed impatiently at your entrance. You tensed with a soft whine, dropping your head back and nearly piercing your lip with your teeth as they impaled you on Kakuzu's cock at an excruciatingly slow pace. Panting and wiggling your hips in protest at the intensity of the stretch, you clawed at the ropes that immobilized your hands in a vain effort to pull yourself back up a bit.

"I fucking love it when you struggle," Hidan growled hungrily into your ear, digging his fingers into your flesh and pressing you down harder onto Kakuzu's immense girth.

"Fuck," Kakuzu groaned lowly as your walls fluttered and clenched around him. Hidan shifted you forward, pressing your face against his cohort's shoulder to give you a brief few moments to adjust while he stepped away for a moment to dig through the drawer of goodies that was off to his right.

You were gasping and breathing heavily once Kakuzu's fat cock was finally fully seated in your core, stammering unintelligibly into the warm, muscular flesh against which your face was buried. Your trembling body was slicked with sweat from the marathon of orgasms you had been chased through. It was already bordering on too much, and your heart thumped wildly in your chest, knowing there was still more to come.

Hidan's intense, magenta eyes gleamed with sadistic glee at the wrecked sight of you as your uneven breaths vibrated through your body and were muffled by his partner's shoulder. He slathered a generous amount of lube over his throbbing arousal before stepping back up to the tangle of ropes suspending you. The heat of his chest melted through your back. A soft, wicked chuckle rumbled in his throat when you moaned at the sting of his body contacting your bruised and broken skin. "I need you to relax for me, babe," he murmured in your ear with a twisted smirk, relishing the sound of your muffled whimpering as he pressed the engorged head of his cock against your puckered hole.

The absolute fullness you began feeling as Hidan slowly eased himself into you was so intense and overwhelming that you nearly forgot to breathe. Taking both of them seemed insurmountable. Every bit of pressure he applied pushed Kakuzu's cock impossibly deeper into your pulsing core. "T-too much -- fuck, I--," you choked out in a broken cry.

Your shaky gasping and tensing body were met with Kakuzu's warm hand on the back of your head and his gravelly voice humming through your entire being. "Breathe."

Hidan groaned, now finally fully buried in your tight ass. "Fuck, she feels so fucking good."

The sensations of them stretching and filling you so completely were so overpowering that your head spun. Every inch of your body was consumed by a delicious ache. A shiver rattled up your spine, and you mewled pathetically as Hidan's hand snaked around the curve of your thigh between your body and Kakuzu's to rub slow circles around your throbbing clit. Your legs trembled and jaw clenched as heat pooled and knotted in your core. Stuttered curses fell from your lips until a wild arch rolled up your back and you wailed skyward, clenching around their shafts in tight, pulsing waves.

Kakuzu grunted, releasing the back of your head and grasping your throat tightly while digging the thick fingers of his other hand into your hip. "Number," he growled.

"S-six," you croaked through the constriction as tears soaked into your blindfold.

A chorus of growls and groans echoed around you as the pair slowly found their rhythm. You found yourself panting and trapped in what almost resembled a tug of war as they possessively gripped your body and ground into your tight little holes, drawing wails and moans from you with every rock and thrust. Teeth sank into your shoulder as you clenched involuntarily again. A hand clamped over your nose and mouth to stifle the deafening banshee's cry that inevitably erupted from your lips when the friction from their motion pushed you over the edge again.

"Seven," Kakuzu counted for you over your muted screaming, driving into you roughly while his partner laughed maniacally next to your cheek.

Unable to breathe around Hidan's grip on your face, you twisted your head in an effort to taste fresh air. Your lungs burned and chest heaved as you yanked on the ropes holding your arms until he finally released you long enough to take a deep inhale. As his hand clamped down again, your eyes rolled back into your head, stars erupting across your vision as Kakuzu gripped your hips and they railed you with a renewed fury. Your legs shook violently and you gushed all over Kakuzu again, screaming hoarsely into Hidan's palm as your head flew back against his shoulder.

"Eight," Hidan grinned, pulling the blindfold down when he allowed you another gulp of air.

You caught a glimpse of Hidan's wild gaze briefly before falling back into your orgasm-drunk abyss. Panting and stuttering when you were allowed air, your head was empty. All that existed was the overpowering sensory input ravaging your nerves. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes, and a near painful knot of heat twisted in your core as the pace of their dance with you increased. You howled unintelligible obscenities, pulling on your ropes so hard that your body rose up for a moment until the hands gripping your hips pounded you back down again. The resulting crushing tsunami of rippling pulses that raged through every muscle in your body strangled their lengths as you sobbed into the sky.

"Nine," Kakuzu's hand slipped behind your head tilting you forward onto his shoulder to muffle the volume of your fatigued cries. The grips on your body tightened as their motions grew more frantic. The pair seemed to groan in unison as your abused holes clenched and fluttered around them. Neither would last much longer. Their lengths dragged through your shuddering walls, filling you with more pleasure and input than you were able to process.

Your body shook, soaked in sweat and spent as you sucked in fatigued breaths with your forehead on Kakuzu's shoulder. You fumbled over their names, losing syllables as you tried to make sense of the sounds falling from your tongue. "F-fuuck, ple--hease -- so much -- can't--"

"You can do one more for us, right babe?" Hidan cooed.

"D-don't kn-now -- so full," you babbled through tears, feeling that crushing coil building again. "M'on f-fire--" The heat of their bodies pressing against you consumed you. Their arms tightened around you like vices with Kakuzu holding your head firmly down against his shoulder while Hidan took control of your hips, rubbing rough circles on your puffy, engorged, extremely sensitive clit as the ferocious pounding continued.

"Number," Kakuzu's voice rumbled to you, his own breath catching in his throat as he chased his release with your impossibly tight pussy strangling his girth with a crushing grip.

You choked on your own saliva as you sobbed into his chest, your entire body convulsing with the sheer intensity of it all. Words were far out of your reach. You just shook your head as the inhuman sounds flew from your mouth instead of the number he wanted to hear.

That last wave of pulses was more than either of them could take. Their symphony of low growls and litany of curses filled your head as they dug roughly into your body, using you to chase their own release until they painted your insides white, fucking you through those final, fluttering waves. Hidan finally gave your aching clit a break, sliding his hand up your belly before snaking his arm around your waist and groaning into your neck, keeping you firmly pinned between his body and Kakuzu's for a moment as all three of you collectively caught your breath. He slowly slid his shaft from your spent hole, murmuring little praises in response to the whimpers his movement elicited. "That's our good girl. I knew you could handle one more. It's like you were made for us." With a slight smirk playing at his lips, he reached over your head and carefully began untying the knots that held your arms up. Since those ropes weren't actually supporting your weight, freeing them now seemed wise.

With a content groan, Kakuzu eased himself out of you and spilled dribbles of cum down your leg in the process despite your stammered protests over the motion. Completely fucked out of your mind, you thought for a moment that they were just repositioning you. He kept a heavy arm locked around your shaking body, pressing your face against his shoulder with a raspy chuckle and the same reassurance he always had to utter to you after they fucked your soul out of your body. "Relax. You're done."

"Damnit, Kakuzu. Did you have to make these knots so tight?" Hidan grumbled while fidgeting with a lump of rope before finally managing to untie it.

Kakuzu just snorted in response. You hissed when Hidan lowered your arms back down. Your head was still so full of fog that you struggled to process what he was doing. The ache from straining with them above your head for so long was intense. He settled them around Kakuzu's neck since you seemed to have little control over them at the moment.

"Hook--"

Their banter hummed into the background as they worked through the dance of taking you down from the ceiling so that the harnesses could be untied and removed. Dizzy and drunk on the immense high of more orgasms than you had ever had to endure in one go, you just melted against whichever body currently supported you as they shifted you around. Your limbs buzzed and hummed with adrenaline and endorphins, leaving you feeling as though your whole body was vibrating. Even your breaths felt shaky.

The artist behind the mural of knotwork encasing your body took notice of your trembling and uneven breathing once you were settled on his towel-draped lap. He stopped fiddling with the length of rope in his hand to grasp your chin to get your attention and study your expression. "Do I need to cut you out of this again?" His voice still carried that gruff tone, but it lacked its usual bite this time.

You shook your head, leaning into his chest and closing your eyes. "M'okay." You were beat, in every sense of the word. Your back stung and ached with the shifting of the ropes as they were untied. Your arms were still largely useless.

"Was bringing up the lab too much?" He continued that line of questioning while still assessing you, but you just shook your head in response. Kakuzu eyed you intensely for a moment before going back to work, albeit moving a bit more quickly now. The sounds of slipping rope and running water hummed over the steady beat of his hearts as you drifted in your daze, only moving when he shifted you to free lengths of rope from your body. Once you were finally completely untied, he traced his fingertips over the dimples and intents left behind on your skin -- the ghost of the intricate pattern of knots he had painted you with. A satisfied curl pulled at the corner of his masked mouth. It was perfect.

"Alright, water's ready. Let me have the sticky fuck piñata," Hidan called from the open bathroom.

Kakuzu's eyes narrowed in slight annoyance at his partner before slipping his arms around your torso to help you to your feet, snorting with a small laugh when you wobbled like a baby giraffe. "You're going to fall on your face if I let go of you," he goaded.

"Mmnn," you mumbled, leaning heavily against his chest. Finding words required far too much brain power. Arms shuffled you around, and you groaned in protest when Hidan peeled your sticky body away from Kakuzu and hauled you into the bathroom with him. Head still cloudy and unable to focus, all you could really do was lean on him and follow his direction. There was no struggling or contesting the need for a bubble bath this time. The only sound coming from your lips was a soft, pained crackle when the warm water licked your broken skin.

"Yeah, the water always sucks afterward," Hidan mused, settling in behind you and admiring the absolute wreck they had made of you. Calloused palms smoothed over your bruised, broken skin, eliciting whimpers that made him swell with sadistic delight. "Like the new flogger?" He hummed in your ear while running his hands over your thighs.

"Mmhmm," you buzzed back, a soft smile playing at your lips as you let yourself sink into the warmth of the water with Hidan's arms tangled around you. "Good choice."

Hidan couldn't get much else out of you word-wise, as two syllables seemed to be the limit of your brainpower at the moment. Instead, he just enjoyed the quiet, pained sounds you made every time he ran his hands over your bruises, wanting to savor them before they really began to fade. Despite it being a bit painful, that motion almost seemed to be lulling you to sleep. Exhaustion was singing her siren's song for you, and it was so difficult to ignore. You must have dozed off because the next thing you knew, you were being helped out of the water and wrapped tightly in a large towel.

"Sit," Hidan directed while parking you on the closed toilet.

"Clothes?" you mumbled tiredly, leaning into the hands on your shoulders that were keeping you upright as you felt a very real sense of deja vu.

"Already got 'em," Hidan smirked, letting you fold forward over your legs while he dried and dressed himself first. He sat you back up and peeled your towel away to help you into yours when he was finished. Every muscle in your body ached, and your arms were especially difficult to maneuver after how you had been hanging.

"Fuck," you groaned while sticking you legs into shorts.

"Mmm, I love when you make that face," Hidan cooed, grasping your chin and thumbing your cheek with a crooked smile, admiring your adorably pained expression for a moment before getting an arm around your back and guiding you to your feet.

"I can just sleep on the floor," you grumbled, leaning most of your weight into the strong, firm body that was currently keeping you vertical.

Hidan snorted. "No. You know the old grouch has rules about that."

You glanced around, looking for aforementioned grouch. "Where'd he go?"

"Probably to get cleaned up after how much of a mess you made on him," Hidan teased.

You giggled tiredly in agreement. Upon reaching the bed, you flopped forward, sighing happily and laying face down with your legs still hanging off the edge.

"You know, you're just begging me to smack your ass when you lay like that," Hidan teased, groping a bruised cheek to make a point.

"Ow," you grumbled, crawling forward to get the rest of yourself onto the mattress.

"I could go another round if you keep wagging that at me," he hummed deviously.

"Nuh uh," you grunted into the pillow you pulled under your face. "The fuck piñata is broken."

Hidan snickered, sitting down on the edge of the bed and dragging your torso onto his lap. "Broken, eh?" He mused while running his palm up your bruised back with a bit more pressure than necessary.

"Unless you're gonna fuck my face, yeah," you groaned into his leg.

"That an offer?"

You bit his thigh in response.

"Fine, fine," he laughed, lacing his fingers into your hair and giving your scalp a satisfying scratch. You shifted into his hand, curling yourself around his legs and tucking your arms tightly to your chest. "You good?"

"Yeah, just get a little fidgety when'm tired," you mumbled into his leg.

"You're not fidgeting. You're shaking," he commented casually while slowly running his other palm up and down the length of your spine. A pained hiss rushed through your teeth as he rubbed a particularly tender spot, but you found your eyes too heavy to keep open much longer despite the lingering ache.

When the door creaked open to mark Kakuzu's return, you didn't even have it in you to lift your head from its resting place on Hidan's lap. You only cracked an eye open when the bed shifted and thick arms snaked around your body, dragging you from your spot toward the warm, familiar place you usually settled into after intense sessions. "Can Hidan stay too?" You inquired quietly as your face nestled against Kakuzu's arm that you were now wrapped around like it was your pillow.

While letting Hidan of all people spend the night in his bed was one of the last things Kakuzu would normally entertain, a deep rumble of contemplation buzzed in his chest before he finally grunted an answer. "Fine."

"Did you hear that babe? Papazu said we can have a sleepover," Hidan grinned wickedly at his partner while tousling your hair.

You felt the rolling growl build in Kakuzu's chest before he snapped and clocked Hidan with a pillow. "Don't start with me, or I'll hang your disembodied head from the hook in the ceiling for the night."

Hidan cackled, rebuffing the pillow assault with arms shielding his face. "Come on, buddy -- you're gonna hit our little bed warmer with friendly fire."

Snarling, Kakuzu lurched over you to grab Hidan by the throat and threw him down onto the bedding next to you. "If you're going to stay, then shut the hell up and let her sleep."

Still far too amused by this, Hidan laughed and held his hands up in surrender before Kakuzu could go through with any bright ideas about decapitating him. "Okay, okay."

With a crackling hum, you tiredly flopped an arm out and grabbed hold of one of Hidan's before tugging it back toward the tangle you made of your own limbs and Kakuzu's. Silently claiming the appendage for your own, you snuggled yourself down between the two of them with a soft sigh. They shifted slightly around you, quietly rearranging the blanket of strong arms encasing your body while you slowly drifted off to sleep, lulled into a pleasant dreamworld by the quiet thumps of six beating hearts.

[asset35-maya]

NOT SO FAST, HOTSHOT

Continuation of UNDERCOVER

For day 13 of G9 Kinktober: Shotgunning.

I know there’s a dr*g related interpretation of this phrase. But since I’ve already written Reed900 doing that exact thing in a fic, I chose to go with the more sexual interpretation. My point of reference for this was… ahem… certain websites;)

**NSFW CONTENT**

//

Nines threw his head back and laughed as Gavin dramatically ran around the car and opened his door with a flourish, holding his hand out like a gentleman. Nines accepted and stepped out daintily.

“Why, thank you!”

“Only the best treatment for my-”

Gavin jerked his hand to pull the android close.

“-slutty little princess.”

Nines splayed his hands out on Gavin’s chest and made a show of fluttering the fake lashes he’d glued onto his eyelids. They shared the kind of laughter that was the exactly what they did everyday at work… for the past two years… but it was somehow more… much more.

Gavin’s eyes dipped after a moment, and then he leaned in. Nines draped his arms around his neck and met him in the middle. The kiss that ensued was extremely simple… soft… and tantalisingly sweet.

Gavin bent slightly, rearranged his arms on his partner’s body, and scooped him up. Feeling unabashedly sentimental, he carried Nines over the threshold, bridal style.

“My my, who knew that it would only take a dress and wig for you to treat me right.”

There was no response from the human except a playful little nip to Nines’ throat.

The automated door swung shut behind them and the lights came on as Gavin walked through the house. He deposited Nines on the bed and crawled over him.

“I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“Wow. Sounds like you’ve been fantasising about me for quite a while.”

“Uh huh. Who’s the one that came extra prepared for class?”

Gavin lightly squeezed Nines’ fishnet-covered ass to prove his point. The android squirmed delightedly in his grasp and slowly spread his legs until the human was able to settle between them comfortably.

“So did I pass?”

Breathing quickly now, Gavin looked down with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Full score, baby…”

He leaned forward and captured Nines’ lips in a very sloppy, rather tonguey kiss… then broke away with a wet noise… and began easing the tight leather dress off the android.

In direct contrast to all his stubbornness and adamant behaviour at work, Nines had become extremely pliable in Gavin’s hands. He lay back on the pillows, long hair fanning out regally, and let himself be stripped…

down to the fishnet tights… shiny red heels… and soaked white panties…

Gavin paused to emit a guttural moan of desire that set the android’s circuits sparking with excitement. Then he knelt on the bed and removed his own leather clothing… and flimsy mesh shirt.

He flopped down between the android’s legs and wormed his way forward until the bridge of his nose rested against the clothed mound. He whispered to himself in awe and then pressed a kiss to it. He then opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out to tease the sensitive flesh through the damp layer of fabric.

Nines ran a hand through his hair, and Gavin melted at the unhurried and affectionate touch. He turned and pressed a kiss to Nines’ sticky inner thigh before tugging at the delicate ribbons keeping the lace panties in place. The fabric quickly fell away to reveal a pair of plump lips, still glazed with the remnants of their misadventures at the nightclub.

Gavin took a breather, gently thumbing over the labia and spreading the slick around. He was just in utter awe… how did he get so lucky? This was too good to be true.

A gentle hand stroked his cheek.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

He glanced up and noted some concern in the steel blue eyes he knew so well. Time to lighten the mood.

“You didn’t have to shave on my account.”

A light slap landed.

“Forgive me for playing it safe. I didn’t know what you like.”

“As long as it’s you…”

Without breaking eye contact, he dipped down and licked a thick stripe over Nines’ pussy.

“Anything.”

Nines sucked in his breath and fell back on the mattress as Gavin put his mouth to full use. He swirled his tongue over the pretty little clit and back down to the flooded entrance… where he slipped in and out a little… then went back up to clamp his mouth fully over the round knot and just… sucked.

The android’s back arched off the bed as he twisted his fingers in the sheets to steady himself. The red LED on his forehead shone bright enough to be visible through the thick layer of makeup.

Gavin felt himself grow achingly hard as he pleasured his partner. His hips began to jerk involuntarily, practically humping the mattress in an effort to get some friction.

A soft chuckle from above told him that Nines had realised and taken pity on him. Hands landed on his shoulders and guided his jaw up. Gavin went willingly, trailing spit and old cum and whatever fluids Nines was gushing.

Relieved, he pumped his cock a few times with his hand and scooted closer to the android, getting ready to line up and penetrate that tight wet hole once more. The tip of his penis barely brushed Nines… and then all the wind was knocked out of him, and he was flat on his back with Nines hovering over him. Surprised but not displeased, Gavin lay back and waited for the comfortable heat of Nines’ pussy to envelop his cock from above.

The heat came… not from Nines’ riding him, but his hands and mouth.

“Hey… why…?”

“Mfffwanna return the ffffavour… fffsh…”

“But you seemed so close.”

“Lemme play with your body too.”

“Baby…”

Nines took him in all the way to the back of his throat and made the most atrocious gagging noise, effectively ending the conversation.

He bobbed up and down the length, with his fingers following up and skating over every vein, every ridge in perfect harmony with the luscious tongue. When he paused to hollow his cheeks out and suck on the tip like a vacuum cleaner… Gavin nearly came right there. He narrowly avoided the orgasm by dint of having already come once that night at the club.

Nines’ mascara-laden eyes flashed mischievously. He finally withdrew his mouth, leaving lipstick stains all over Gavin’s cock, and sat up on his haunches.

The human propped himself up on his elbows in eager anticipation of what would come next…

But still no pussy.

Nines curled a hand around his cock and held steady… dipped the forefingers of his other hand inside himself… withdrew a glob of slick… and then reached between Gavin’s legs.

As the android’s long fingers slid along his taint, Gavin knew exactly what was coming. He didn’t fight it. Grinning, he lay back and spread out for his partner.

The android’s fingers circled the puckered hole, gently rubbing and teasing… and then one dipped in, just up to the first knuckle… and then down to the second knuckle…

Gavin exhaled as he felt the slight stretch.

“Good boy…”

The hand on his cock began to move as the hand in his ass explored further. Another finger went in… then both scissored apart… came back together… scratched around… and then…

“OH!”

Tiny stars burst into Gavin’s vision as his prostate was greeted for the first time that night. Nines looked thoroughly pleased with himself. He bent down and caught the human’s lips in a swift kiss as both his hands built up a steady momentum. Loading a shotgun, as they called it. Nines’ right hand thrust in and out… while his left slipped up and down the shaft.

Gavin grunted and moaned and whined until all coherent thoughts left his head… with the exception of one.

“Hnghhhh…”

“Use your words, darling.”

“Youuuu… I wanna… phck…”

“You want me?”

“Mmm!!!”

Another simple kiss was bestowed on Gavin, but he was too far gone to reciprocate.

“How do you want me?”

“Wanna come… in you!”

“Where? My hands… my mouth… you can come all over my chest if you want…”

Nines’ hand was now practically gliding along Gavin’s cock while he finger-fucked his ass. The end was near… and after such a magical night, Gavin was terrified of just finishing in his partner’s clenched fist.

“Hmm, Gavin? Where? My ass is available too.”

“PPPussy…”

After that shameless and utterly vulnerable admission, Nines didn’t tease further. He withdrew his hands and straddled the human. He caught Gavin’s painfully red cock in the circle of his index finger and thumb, just above his balls, and held on tight while he lowered himself down gently, careful to not overstimulate even further.

He gently released his grip and the human’s hips snapped upwards… fucking desperately into the heat of his cunt. Gavin didn’t last much beyond a few deep thrusts and groaned loudly as he finally came inside Nines.

Lightning.

Thunder.

Heavy rain.

Nines.

Only Nines.

He blacked out for a few seconds.

When he came to, he found his partner still on top of him. Dark wig in utter disarray… lipstick smeared everywhere… torn fishnet… and a white sticky mess oozing in excess from where their bodies were joined.

Smirking, Nines moved his hips up and down a few times and the slush oozed out around the human’s softening cock. It was the single most erotic, most beautiful sight to ever grace the bedroom of Detective Gavin Reed.

Nines lifted his hips high and Gavin’s cock slipped out of him and landed back on his abdomen with a wet thump. They stared at each other, the sound making the reality of the situation come back to both of them.

The night had been beyond both their wildest imaginations. Having dreamt of it for so long, neither seemed to want to let it end… even though they now had years and years to live out every single fantasy that had tortured them till that seemingly innocuous undercover mission.

Gavin cleared his throat and gestured as if he was guiding someone backing into a parking lot.

“Sit on my face. Let me finish you off.”

Lips met lips, and so on, so forth.

[aworldofyou]

Anne, tangling her fist in Wan’s shirt, dragging him down to her level and sinking her lips on him. Sloppy tonguey kiss, then flounces off. @freedomhasfangs​ / Anne being Anne.

           He knew that she was up to something when she marched up to him with that mischievous glint reflecting in mismatched eyes. He almost had a bit of snark waiting for her as his own grin started to grow. That was until her fingers snatched his shirt and she tugs him down into a kiss. HIs eyes widen briefly when his hands clutch into her hips before shoulders slacken under her arms. John’s head tilting to soften his kiss and opens himself to her with the meet of tongue against tongue. Exhaling through his nose as his arms slide around her hips to drag her chest right against his as he leans over her- fully enveloping her against him.

            And just when he gets into it more, just when he feels that excitement shiver into his hips and makes him push them forward - just as a small noise rumbles at the bottom of his throat. The tease of a woman pulls away - his face trying to follow her retreating kiss. That hand still on her hip as she makes her escape. 

           “Hold on there Mama- I don’t think so-” He teases and snatches her wrist, spinning her around on her heel just to tug her back into him so he can keep kissing her.

[howdoyousleep3]

Do you think tongue length was something the casting directors considered for Pam and Tommy. Did they ask Sebastian to stick his tonguey out real far. "Make your best rocker face" and he just :PPP This idea is just so funny to me literally just cause I can't stop thinking about how LONG his tongue is in all these pics. Sebastian got that venom tongue.

Ahahahaaaaaa, oh my gosh. That’s so funny, they’re all, “Can you please do this for us?” And he goes 🤘🏻😜 and they shout, “HIRE THIS MAN!” Lmao. He’s always had a wild tongue! Remember??

I mean not that his tongue has changed lmaooo but how could we forget?? We can’t! Every time I close my eyes I see that tongue! 🥴

[lady-of-the-lotus]

WHASTA DAT TONGUE DO?: Jiang Cheng x Jar Jar Wedding Night

There are some stories the world needs told.

This is not one of those stories.

Here it is anyway.

Jar Jar removes his inner robe, and Jiang Cheng inhales sharply.

He’s beautiful.

Every inch of the tall, stately Gungan is pure perfection.

Jarcheng - E - Read on AO3!!! 1st Fic - 1st Fic podfic

* * * * * NSFW * * * * *

The sun sinks beneath the distant mountains, painting the sky with a riot of pink and gold as the river settles in for the night.

The moon rises slowly as the sky darkens. The brilliant silver disc fills the star-studded sky, faintly illuminating the room with silver radiance and infusing everything it touches with a sense of peace.

A night bird hoots in the distance.

The breeze rustles through the treetops.

Lying in bed, Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, savoring the stillness even as his heart pounds in delicious anticipation.

“HEYO! MEESA SHU JIANGA CHENGI! DID YOUSA MISS MEESA?” Jar Jar Binks stands in the doorway of the bridal suite, arms filled with wildflowers. “LOOKY WHAT MEESA BROUGHT MEESA BOOTIFUL HUBBY!”

He locks the door and strides across the room to where Jiang Cheng is lying in bed. As always while watching his husband, Jiang Cheng is struck by the Gungan’s effortless grace, by the grandeur of his noble bearing, by the majestic flapping of his vast ears as his entire body bobs up and down like a tall, handsome stork.

“HAIR, JIANGA CHENGI! A LOB FOR MEESA MELLI SHU!”

“Thank you, A-Jar.” Jiang Cheng accepts the bouquet with a bashful smile, marveling again at what a captivating creature his husband is. He buries his face in the flowers, inhaling their sweet aroma. “They’re very beautiful.” Almost as beautiful as you are, he wants to add, but he’s still shy about saying things like that. Instead, he plucks a flower from the bouquet and tucks it under one of Jar Jar’s impressively fan-like ears.

Jar Jar giggles, coyly batting his bulbous yellow eyes. “OH, JIANGA CHENGI, YOUSA SO CUTE! LIKE DHA ITTY-BITTY FROGS IN LAKE PAONGA!” Leaning forward, he kisses Jiang Cheng, the tip of his long pink tongue just brushing Jiang Cheng’s.

A sudden rush of heat turns Jiang Cheng’s body into a blazing inferno of desire.

“Are you ready, A-Jar?” he asks, almost pants.

“AM YOUSA READY, MEESA BEAUTIFUL JIANGA CHENGI?” Jar Jar responds seductively. “MEESA’VE BEEN READY SINCE DHA MOMENT MEESA SAW YOUSA! MEESA JUST WANT TO MAKEN SHU TO YOUSA AND MAKEN YOUSA SMILIN AND TAKEN CARE OF YOUSA DHA GUNGAN WAY!”

Dha Gungan way. Jiang Cheng shivers with anticipation at the words. Dha Gungan way…

With teasing slowness, Jar Jar removes his red and gold wedding robes, one layer at a time. Jiang Cheng is in an agony of suspense as he watches, arousal burgeoning with greater and greater urgency as each layer reveals another enticing glimpse of moist orange skin.

“Faster!” Jiang Cheng begs. “Please!”

“WELL EXSQUEEZE MEESA!” Jar Jar wags a playful finger at him. “HOW WUDE! JUST FOR DAT, MEESA’LL GOS SLOWER!”

Jiang Cheng groans to himself, his mouth suddenly dry. He’s been waiting for this moment for months.

Months of anticipation, of fantasizing, of dreaming of the moment when A-Jar would fully be his—

Jar Jar removes his inner robe, and Jiang Cheng inhales sharply.

He’s beautiful.

Every inch of the tall, stately Gungan is pure perfection.

His narrow shoulders.

His muscular orange legs with their thick, meaty ankles.

The saggy yellow-white skin on his chest and inner thighs.

The blue nails of his saucer-like feet.

His buttocks, like two large, firm oranges wedged tightly together.

The meaty flesh dangling between his legs, like an awe-inspiring carrot.

He’s truly breathtaking.

Jiang Cheng only hopes he can live up to Jar Jar’s expectations in return.

Trying to hide his shyness, Jiang Cheng pulls invitingly at the bedcovers beside him.

“OHO, JIANGA CHENGI! MEESA BEAUTIFUL HUBBY!” Jar Jar climbs in beside him. “CAN YOUSA BELIEVE IT? WEESA HERE!”

Jiang Cheng reaches out and traces Jar Jar’s delicately-ridged neck with his finger, trailing his fingertips up over Jar Jar’s delicately curved throat and along his jaw.

Jar Jar trembles with pleasure as Jiang Cheng touches his ear.

“You like that, A-Jar?” Jiang Cheng whispers.

“MEESA LIKEN DAT BERRY MUI! A GUNGAN’S EARS ARE BOMBAD SENSITIVE!” As if unable to contain himself any longer, Jar Jar rips Jiang Cheng’s inner robe off, tearing the delicate red silk. He slides his large orange hand over Jiang Cheng’s chest, and Jiang Cheng swallows hard at the feel of the cool, clammy skin, at the sight of the beautiful blue nails against his own pale skin. “DO IT AGAIN, MEESA SHU!”

Jiang Cheng slips a hand around Jar Jar’s long narrow face and licks his ear.

Jar Jar releases a shuddering sigh. “PLEASE DON’T BE STOPPIN! YOUSA TONGUEY FEELEN LIKE AN ITTY-BITTY WORMY MAKIN SHU TO MEESA EAR!"

Paying back Jar Jar’s excruciating slowness in undressing, Jiang Cheng slowly runs his tongue along the length of Jar Jar’s ear, relishing how scaly the skin feels, the batwing-like ridges, the moans of pleasure Jar Jar releases with each teasing swipe.

Jiang Cheng’s own pleasure pump rises higher and higher with each toe-curling moan, until it stands tall and straight like the mast of a proud ship ready to set sail.

Jar Jar, ever attentive to his husband, notices right away.

“OHO, MOOLE MOOLE! LOOKY LIKE LITTLE JIANGA CHENGI IS COM OUT TO PLAY WITH MEESA PADDLEWOMPER!” He grins at Jiang Cheng, the moonlight glinting off his tombstone-like teeth and making his yellow eyes shine like opals. “MEBBE NOT SO LITTLE, HUR HUR! DHA THIRD PRIDE OF YUNMENG, INDEEDY!"

"You're not too bad yourself," Jiang Cheng mumbles, blushing.

“ISA OUR NEW FRIEND READY FOR SPLISHY-SPLASHY, AS WEESA CALLS IT ON NABOO?”

Jiang Cheng nods, blushing harder, and Jar Jar’s tongue shoots out, wrapping itself around the Third Pride of Yunmeng.

Jiang Cheng gasps as Jar Jar’s thick, pliant tongue wraps itself around the most sensitive part of him, the slippery wetness squeezing tighter and tighter, jerking up and down until he comes with a cry. As he comes, every inch of his body alight with pleasure, he reflexively bites down on Jar Jar’s thick, rubbery ear.

Jar Jar releases a long, resonant, and utterly titillating honking noise.

As soon as Jiang Cheng is spent, spluttering out onto A-Jar’s tongue, he starts to apologize, only to be stopped when something sticky squirts up at him.

Jar Jar’s cum is thick and yellow, with a fragment smell reminiscent of delicately-rotting fish. The precious fluid is splattered over Jiang Cheng’s face, dripping from his upper lip and into his mouth. Jiang Cheng licks his lips, trying to catch as much of the delicious liquid as possible.

“OHO MEESA SHU, MEESA BOMBAD SHAMED! MEESA DIDN’T MEAN FOR DAT TO BE HAPPENEN!” Jar Jar looks down at himself, eyes wide. “ITSA JUST BEEN A LONGO TIME, THAT'S ALL!” The sweet fishy liquid is still dribbling down A-Jar’s glorious “Paddlewomper,” and, seized by a sudden fit of desire even greater than the fiery passion he’d already burned with, Jiang Cheng leans down and licks Paddlewomper’s long orange side, then slides the enormous girth into his mouth and sucks hard, straining to extract every last drop of the delectable liquid from the hot slick tube of erotic delights.

“OIE BOIE! DAT FEELS SO BERRY GOOD, MEESA SHU! DON’TEN BE STOPPIN!”

Jiang Cheng raises his head. His cheeks are pink, eyes hot. “I feel—I feel—” He pounces on Jar Jar, peppering his face with kisses as he grinds his groin into the ravishing Gungan’s shapely leg. “What is this, A-Jar? What’s happening to me?”

“OHO! MEESA THINK MEESA KNOW!” Jar Jar’s opalescent yellow eyes are wide. “DERE’S AN OLD GUNGAN TELLO DAT GUNGAN SQUEEZLE IS MAKEN BOMBAD DESIRE FOR HUMANS, BUT MEESA NOSA BELIEVED IT! AND NOW IT SEEM LIKEN IT BE WORKEN DHA OTHER WAY ROUND TOO!”

Jiang Cheng’s response comes in the form of a whimpering moan. “A-Jar—A-Jar—I need more, A-Jar—I need more—”

In a flash, Jiang Cheng is flipped over onto his stomach. Jar Jar’s strong hands raise him up onto all fours, one hand around the Third Pride of Yunmeng, his other hand firmly around Jiang Cheng’s chest, holding him in place. A squelching sound, and one of Jar Jar’s thick fingers enters Jiang Cheng’s love canal, preparing him for the entrance of Jar Jar’s meaty paddlewomper.

“DISA OIL SMELLEN GOOD! ONLY DHA BEST FOR MEESA SHU! SPECIAL LOTUS SEED OIL TO HELPEN DHA WAY!”

Jiang Cheng grips the silken bed sheets as Jar Jar’s thick finger grazes the pleasure pod nestled deep within his secret place. “A-Jar—oh, A-Jar—“

Jar Jar’s paddlewomper enters him with a single quick thrust, stretching Jiang Cheng around its enormous girth. Jiang Cheng cries out at the delightful intrusion, spreading his legs slightly to allow his husband's powerful Gunganhood to enter him more fully. Jar Jar thrusts forward, sliding his thick paddlewhomper in and out of Jiang Cheng, faster and faster as the flame of their fiery passion grows into an erotic inferno of desire.

“OHO, JIANGA CHENGI, MEESA NEVER WANTS TO LETTEN YOUSA GOS!!”

Desperate for more friction, Jiang Cheng rocks his hips, grinding down into Jar Jar's hand. “Harder, A-Jar, harder—”

Jiang Cheng is cut off by a hot slick something sliding inside his open mouth, filling his throat with wet, slippery heat.

A-Jar’s tongue. A-Jar’s muscular, alluringly prehensile tongue, pink as a lotus flower, warm as honey on a summer day, wet as the morning grasses bejeweled with warm dew.

Jiang Cheng almost comes on the spot.

Frenzied with desire, Jar Jar thrusts into Jiang Cheng from both ends, the sloppy wet sounds of their lovemaking filling the room like a symphony dedicated to their passion. Jiang Cheng moans around Jar Jar’s mouth-filling tongue as Jar Jar's paddlewhomper plunges deeper and deeper into the very core of his being, activating the tender love button throbbing hotly in his depths.

Jar Jar spills himself inside Jiang Cheng, marking the innermost recesses of Jiang Cheng’s being with proof of his passion. At the feel of the wet heat inside him, Jiang Cheng comes too, his erotic instrument shuddering desperately in Jar Jar’s hand and spurting its liquidy cargo over the red silk sheets.

Jar Jar pulls free of Jiang Cheng with a loud wet pop.

“ARE YOUSA OKEY-DOKEY, MEESA SHU?” He peers down into Jiang Cheng’s flushed face. A-Jar’s beautiful yellow eyes are bright, his orange face dark with pleasure and exertion. He is the very symbol of virility, radiating potency and strength. “YOUSA NEEDEN MORE LOTUS SEED OIL OR ISA MEESA SQUEEZLE ENUFF?”

“More?” Jiang Cheng gasps.

“IF YOUSA’RE UP FOR MORE SPLISHY-SPLASHY, MEESA IS TOO!” Jar Jar glances down at his husband. Little Jiang Cheng is already back in firing position, the Gungan aphrodisiac pumping through its master's veins. “Paddlewomper” is standing up too, glistening enticingly in the moonlight and casting a long shadow on the wall.

“Yes, please, please, anything you want—"

“JUST SPAKE ‘DOPWOPEE’ IF YOUSA NOSA LIKEN, OKEEDAY, AND MEESA BE STOPPEN!” And Jar Jar’s tongue shoots out, wrapping itself around Jiang Cheng’s hands and binding his wrists to the bedframe above his head. “YOUSHA LIKEN DISH, MEESHA SHU?” Jar Jar asks around his stretched tongue. "ISHA OKEY-DOKEY?"

“Yes, yes, please—”

“AHA, MEESHA ITTY-BITTY LOTUSH FLOWER ISHA EAGER! MEESHA LIKEN TO SHEE IT!” With a coquettish toss of his ears, Jar Jar raises one of Jiang Cheng’s legs onto his shoulder and, coating his magnificent paddlewomper with more fragrant lotus seed oil, thrusts deep inside his husband with a juicy squelching sound.

Back arching, Jiang Cheng strains at his slippery pink bonds. “Don’t stop, A-Jar, never stop—”

It’s almost dawn before either of them are satisfied. The bed broke somewhere between their fifth and sixth rounds, and now they lie in the sticky tangle of sheets on the floor, hand in hand.

“YOUSA HAPPY, MEESA SHU?” Jar Jar asks Jiang Cheng, smoothing his sweaty hair away from his face. “ALL BEING GOOD? NOSA OUCHIES?”

Jiang Cheng laughs. His throat is sore from hours of screaming in the throes of carnal ecstasy, his feet are cramping from all the toe-curling, his back hurts from when the bed collapsed, he’s dehydrated, chafed inside and out, and limp as a wet rag, but despite that he’s filled with a sense of bone-deep peace.

“Nosa ouchies, A-Jar,” he says.

And there never will be, not ever again. Not ones that truly matter.

Not so long as he has A-Jar beside him.

Snuggling up against his husband, Jiang Cheng falls asleep.

* * * *

TANKEN FOR READING!! COMMENTS MAKEN MEESA BERRY SMILIN! DON'T BE SHY!!

[daylighteclipsed]

did... did varian get rid of his hair stripe?

Ah

It looks like he might have! (Also he sticks his little tonguey out here when he’s pushing the lever and it’s really cute)

Varian has his hair stripe again in the almost-last scene though. It might be an animation error.

Then again. Eugene describes everyone’s happy ending like they happen in the future, after this almost-closing scene, and part of Varian’s is fixing the boilers/bringing hot running water to Corona. So it’s possible the little scene we get with Varian and Quirin takes place a bit in the future, and Varian has decided to get rid of his hair stripe.

You know, I kind of like the idea of Varian getting rid of it. I like when characters change appearence as they age. It feels realistic and he looks good without it

[latetotherant]

Negotiating Remix Culture through Steve Oedekerk’s “Kung Pow” ••• By Lissa Heineman

In “Encoding and Decoding in the Television Discourse”, Stuart Hall explains the three ways we consume media texts: dominant, oppositional, and negotiated modes. The dominant model upholds society’s norms. These works don’t break barriers, and often entertain and reassert hegemonic ideas . The oppositional model, as its name suggests, identifies and critiques the dominant notions. Oliver Moore notes that these readings are often met with hostility from those supportive of the dominant framework. Finally, negotiated works lie between these extremes, allowing consumers to choose to accept or reject elements of a text. This mode employs dominant performances without subscribing to them. Negotiation twists popular notions into something new and subversive, while allowing them to be consumable by those in the dominant sphere.

Steve Oedekerk’s Kung Pow! Enter the Fist (2002) is one of many pastiches of the kung fu genre. The film follows in the footsteps of What’s Up, Tiger Lily? (1966), and the Can Dialectics Break Bricks? (1973), films famous for their own remixes (here meaning media that draws inspiration and shape from pre-existing works). Kung Pow opens with a production note: 

This motion picture contains some footage from Hu He Shuang Xing aka “Tiger & Crane Fists,” a motion picture made in Hong Kong in 1976, but the voices and soundtrack were eliminated, and new voices and soundtrack were inserted by the producers of this motion picture.

While a bit clunky, this opening does what it needed to do: the Jimmy Neutron and Barnyard creator acknowledges the work of Jimmy Wang Yu (Tiger & Crane’s director), and prefaces the remix and remediation that Tiger & Crane Fists underwent in this movie.

As described within the production note, Kung Pow is a very literal remix. Oedekerk remastered Tiger & Crane Fists: he successfully took poorly preserved footage and had it saved digitally. He then scrambled this footage, filmed himself in front of a green screen, and reshaped the film around him. The process of remastering an old film is incredibly time-consuming and expensive, and yet he did it. Why? This is emblematic of his own fanboyishness. Oedekerk replaces the hero of a film he evidently loves in a very expensive form of fanfiction. Further, as noted in the movie’s preface, the film employs gag dubbing, a controversial redubbing technique used mainly for comedy. In the film’s commentary, Oedekerk notes that when any new characters or stand-ins were inserted into the remastered Tiger and Crane Fist footage, they wouldn’t record the script’s dialogue. Instead, they’d often be filmed speaking nonsense, and then the film’s audio was post-synced once filming and editing was completed. This ultimately made the film cohesively re-dubbed, with the entire film lacking sly lip-synching. Most films look to hide any issues with editing, and it’s clear Oedekerk’s choice was an intentional part of the film’s final result. This is poignant when one recognizes that the entire process of making Kung Pow! Enter the Fist is reminiscent of the production history of Godzilla: King of the Monsters (1954).

Godzilla: King of the Monsters was a heavily re-edited American adaptation, commonly referred to as an Americanization of the 1954 Japanese film Gojira. In the West, the original Gojira had initially only been shown in America in Japanese community theatres, and the re-edited version became the known Godzilla to the Western world. Gojira was a film that was made to cope with the nuclear fallout in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and when it was remixed for American and other Western audiences, this plotline was entirely removed. This process is reminiscent of Kung Pow’s removal of Tiger and Crane Fists’ anti-Japanese colonization narrative. Further, this exemplifies a dominant mode of remix. The hegemonic order of American politics at the time would want a film that could create positive relations to Japan through a fun spectacle, the inclusion of an anti-American dialogue was oppositional to that structure and therefore something that was censored as it was brought Westward. One can see then, in turn, how Kung Pow! Enter the Fist intentionally mimicked the style of dubbing, which could then mock Godzilla: King of the Monsters and other re-dubbed works that remove narrative elements from their stories. This American film is often recognized as the original Godzilla, but it was actually a remix of the 1954 Gojira. In this remix, like Kung Pow, a white savior is literally superimposed into the narrative, suggesting to an unknowing Western viewer that he was in Gojira all along. Oedekerk, in Kung Pow, seems to acknowledge this historical remixing of Asian cinema. The film’s apparent self-awareness and its transparency to the audience gives the film the opportunity to be negotiatory pastiche, and, with that, instead of invoking literal meaning through its more stereotypical comedy, we instead might see the more problematic nature of such performances in mainstream media. This being said, there are then two questions: does Oedekerk take advantage of his window to perform pastiche rather than parody? And, further, why would this film’s stereotyping be more excusable than other works?

On the topic of pastiche versus parody, it is most appropriate to look at scenes from Kung Pow! Enter the Fist. The film opens on an original six-minute scene by Oedekerk that sets the tone of the film: a man, known as the Chosen One, and his sentient tongue, Tonguey, seek revenge on Master Pain, the person who murdered his family and attempted to kill him. The scene uses a CGI baby that has a powerful knack for kung-fu and seeming immortality (displayed by not dying while being flung down a steep hill). This scene explicitly presents what is to be anticipated for the rest of the 81 minute movie: this film is absurd, parodic, hyper-masculine, and hyper-violent. The cartoonish exploits paint the comedy of the work, from the CGI Tonguey to the over-the-top redubbing for the main antagonist. The film is obviously ridiculous, and everything about the over-dramatic, cliched narration and equally contrived action demands the audience to recognize that the film is absurd. There’s no denying that it absolutely is an inherently dumb film—the humor is juvenile, and often much closer to straight-up mockery than thoughtful pastiche—yet the film reveals itself as more deliberate than its surface-level silliness. Across the following scene in Kung Pow, country-rock music mixes with moments of flute-playing reminiscent of traditional kung-fu scenes. This transcultural moment highlights how Eastern and Western action cinema influences the other. Looking at Jimmy Wang Yu’s work, as well as other kung fu films and anime, one can see how American rock-n-roll has become embedded as marker of “the Chosen One” archetype; he’s a badass loner. Similarly, the Western genre plays into the same markers of the solitary hero, often with a tragic backstory.

The scene ultimately continues to an abandoned dojo where the Chosen One encounters other adversaries. The actors, all Asian, are dubbed-over in ridiculous American accents, and perform dramatic Kung-fu style moves. The fighting choreography revels in the extreme. At one point, rather than attacking the main pursuer, the Chosen One speedily tears apart a man’s black robe, resulting in the garb resembling a tasseled bikini, which causes the man, mortified, to run away whimpering. Soon after, the Chosen One literally punches a circular hole through one of his attackers’ chest, the camera peering through the maimed body to see Oedekerk’s fist retract from the man-made cavity, and we see the missing-cylindrical bulge of flesh in the background. It’s impossible not to recognize the scene’s cinematic violence and hyper-masculinity. There is contrast between Oedekerk’s clothed body and how the shirtless or stripped villains are put on display. This is one example of how the film notes that many films promote Caucasian masculinity dominating Asian masculinity. 

Narratively, Kung Pow! Enter the Fist does significantly more to perpetuate problematic Asian stereotypes than many other kung fu remixes. However, the films’ genres are considerably different. Oedekerk’s work is well defined by the term “transgressive”, meaning that the film is oppositional and deliberate in its offensiveness. In the San Francisco Chronicle, Edward Guthmann wrote that “Kung Pow! is the kind of movie that's critic-proof, simply because it aims so low.” Guthmann suggests that the Oedekerk purposefully looked to disgust critics with the film’s exaggerated racism, homophobia, and misogyny. By making it “critic-proof,” Oedekerk reveals the film’s agenda, which is very different from, say, Quentin Tarantino’s art house style of taking lowbrow cinema (self-proclaimed “B-Movies”) and making it tasteful, in his duty as tastemaker. Oedekerk, instead, uses the same kinds of movies but degrades them further, making Kung Pow offensive to the taste of critics.

Despite being reviled by many critics, however, Kung Pow is a quite popular film. Despite coming out close to two decades ago, the film is still engaged by active reviewers on Rotten Tomatoes and Amazon, and is still commented on in Reddit channels and on Youtube videos. Metacritic reviews from the film’s cult following reveal the movie to be, to some, “silly and creative” and “one of the funniest movies [ever]”. One fan even described the film as “unbelievabl[y] hilarious”, stating that Kung Pow’s absurdity:

“...is something to cherish. It takes masterful skill to create such comedic bliss with this spoofing style...it can be a bit childish, but most of the time, I'm laughing harder than I ever have at film... I can confidently say this was the funniest movie of the decade.” 

It becomes clear, from the film’s status as a new-age cult classic, that while Oedekerk doesn’t undermine racist representations of Asians in Kung Pow! Enter the Fist, he does ultimately mock genre and notions of the importance of critical acclaim. Even racist movies many win Oscars, but that was never Oedekerk’s plan. Steve Oedekerk, unlike Quentin Tarantino in Kill Bill, didn’t strive to make an art film. Rather, as he notes in film’s commentary, he sought to have fun, and, seemingly, had fulfilled making a “realization of his childhood dream to be in a martial-arts flick.” By taking over director and actor’s Jimmy Wang Yu’s role from Tiger and Crane Fist, Steve Oedekerk fulfills his own dream of being a kung-fu action hero and simultaneously embodying an Asian director. Oedekerk successfully takes over and embodies Jimmy Wang Yu, but then with that power he doesn’t replicate Asian cinema, but rather destroys it in a transgressive act of defiance against the politics of film criticism and connoisseurship. Ultimately, while Oedekerk doesn’t negotiate racist rhetoric, he does do substantial work in creating friction about what it means to be an auteur, and how his cult cinema and others’ art cinema operate deliberately and differently.

Kung Pow! Enter the Fist is a screwball cult film. Oedekerk’s film commentary offers insight into the film production, describing the joy and challenges of its creation. The movie ultimately presents itself as a fan-project, rather than an auteurist work. Yet, it is this structure, as described above, that allows for Kung Pow to mimic practices of problematic remix to then develop a subtextual commentary. This commentary doesn’t undermine racist representations of Asians, but rather reveals the immature-comedy-packed film to be intelligent and aware of the history it partakes in, and use this to critique the nature and importance of “critical acclaim”.

[furboizz]

This is tonguey boi. He just had a surgery, so he's having a hard time keeping his tongue in his mouth. We love him🐱

Look at him drool😻

[duelingdestiny]

So then why mention tongue at all to him? Do you plan on getting tonguey? Initiating some French kissing? I mean obviously you remember how long his tongue is.

“Because it is generally how people kiss one another in this time? I was giving him all the facts? And no, I do not PLAN on getting tonguey as you say. For all I know he won’t like kissing at all, and certainly not kissing the likes of me. All I’m hoping for is to keep all my organs in tact. 

[honeylikewords]

If you haven't done it already could you do the kisses with Philip Altman??

sure thing, jellybean! one order of Altman, coming right up!

(tagging my girl @kylokiwi for Obvious Reasons)

Phillip is super handsy. He’s unashamed and unabashed, very uninhibited. He seems to have no concept of decency or privacy, and is completely fine with performing gropey, tonguey kisses with his girl in broad daylight, anytime, anywhere. Phillip is gross, and has no problem making the most disgusting noises during his kisses, including but not limited to: sucking noises, groaning, whining through his nose, muffled swearing, giggles and laughter, growling, et cetera. 

He also bites a LOT. He tends to wander, taking frequent breaks from kissing his girl’s lips to go off and bite her neck, her earlobes, her throat, her shoulders, and may even wander down to her chest or down to her belly if he’s feeling particularly scandalous. All the while, his hands are finding her softest, squishiest places and giving her deep squeezes, palming and fondling her butt and thighs often. He also likes to paw at her breasts but she tends to swat him away from doing that when they’re in public, so he contents himself with a quick kiss to her collarbones and a promise to come back to them later.

Phillip is easily distracted and will jump between locations on his girl’s body during his smoochie sessions. One minute he’ll be ravishing her mouth with his tongue, then he’ll have his head under her shirt as he nibbles at her ribs, sucking hickies into her tummy. He bounces from place to place on her, so sometimes she’ll have to take his face into her hands, palms holding his cheeks, and steer him back to her lips, which he excitedly jumps at, ready to French her until they’re both breathless.

Though, as rowdy and lusty as Phillip can be, he’s mellowing with age and with real love. Once he’s fallen into a real kind of love, the kind that makes him slow down and smell the roses, he finds he has an appreciation for forehead kisses. He loves to give them to his girl, placing his enormous hands on her jaw and holding her still while he closes his eyes and plants his lips on her brow, calm and quiet.

He also adores receiving them, and admires his girl’s persistence in giving them to him: she’s too short to reach him on her own, so she puts her hands on his shoulders, tugs hims down, and pecks the crown of his dark, wavy hair, reassuring him that, yes, he is loved and, yes, it’s because of his heart and soul, not because he’s a sexual maniac.

Phillip is the kind of guy who likes to pick his girl up in his arm and put her over his shoulder like a sack of flour, too, so sometimes, if he’s got her like that and she’s thrashing around too much, he’ll turn his head to the side and plant a smooch on her tushie or her thigh or hip, making her squirm shyly and making him laugh his big, booming laugh that shakes the leaves on trees and makes the sun shine a little brighter.

He likes kissing up and down her spine, all along each ridge of her vertebrae, his large nose tracing down the shivery column of her back. He moves slowly, his lips like feathers that just barely gaze her skin, teasing but intimate. He enjoys kissing each mole and freckle on her back, as if connecting them by the thread of his affections, a mosaic of love.

Sometimes, if she’s asleep on the couch, Phillip will squat down next to her and just look at her. He’ll look at her glowing warmth, her shut eyes, her matted hair. He likes the way she feels comfortable and safe around him, and he’ll lean in to place a sweet kiss on her cheek, reminding himself that he’s capable of feeling this immense, great, simple thing called love, and that he doesn’t have to make a big splashy deal of it in order for it to mean the world. He comes to appreciate the small things, and she is the most wonderful, powerful small thing of all.

(Now Taking Requests For How Would They Kiss!)

(Read About Other Kisses Here!)

[anime-dub-transcripts]

Hetalia: Axis Powers Episode #13 Transcript

This episode has Britain summoning Russia with black magic.

Germany: Count off!

Italy: Just me!

Germany: It’s time to start our training. We’ll begin with the proper way to treat your subordinates.

Italy: Sieg heil!

(Sieg heil!: Hail victory! → German)

Italy: I mean, yes, sir!

Germany: Sehr gut.

(Sehr gut: Very good → German)

Germany: First, remember that other people are humans. You have to treat them with both kindness and respect.

Italy: With kindness. Right, Pookie?

Germany: But sometimes with discipline!

Italy: Discipline, got it. Naughty Pookie, naughty, naughty, naughty Pookie, Pookie, sweetie, naughty, naughty! Aah, that really hurts! Help me, Germany! He’s attacking me! Make it stop! Oh, it hurts so bad!

Germany: WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM, ITALY?!

(Italy: Why are you doing this to me? What did I do to you?)

{Caption: A cat’s tongue feels rough!}

Italy: Remember the catnip I gave you? Why are you hurting me with your little tonguey?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Italy: Hahahahahaha! That was great, Germany! Hahahahaha!

Britain: Damn them both! If I wasn’t bested by that (beep) German blitzkrieg again! Hehe. I let them beat me without much of a fight this time, but next time won’t be so easy. They don’t know it, but…I still have a top-secret weapon left. More powerful than conventional bombs, even. Gentlemen, it is time to attack with black magic!

Men: Ooooooooooooohhhhhhh!

Britain: Hehehehehe! Germany will learn the power of the dark side which fears no man---AUGH!

America: Britain! What’re you doin’?

Britain: I say, haven’t you ever heard of knocking?

British man: Where did you put the eye of newt?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Britain: Hetalia!

{Caption: Hetalia}

Britain: Dammit! Since I was interrupted before, I’ll do it at my place this time. Our family’s magic is number one in the world. You’re no match for me, stupid America! Euhm…santa, rita, mita, meada. Ringo, Jonah, Tito, Marlon. Jack, La Toya, Janet, Michael, Dumbledora the Explorer. Santa, rita, mita, meada. Ringo, Jonah, Tito, Marlon. Jack, La Toya, Janet, Michael, Dumbledora the Explorer. I’ve summoned you from the depths of hell. SHOW YOURSELF!

Russia: You called?

Britain: Nnh…nnnh…I wasn’t calling you!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Russia: Hetalia!

{Caption: Hetalia}

Britain: Why must you insist upon interrupting me all the time? Do you have some kind of grudge against me?

Russia: No. Ahhhhhhhhhh, wait a second. Yes, I do.

Britain: Well, my grudge is more important than your grudge! I won’t let you revengus interruptus. Now, the British curse of food! And bad tea!

Russia: Ha! Ahhhhhh!

Britain: No! Stop! I’m cursing!

Russia: Ahhhhhhh!

Japan: Nom!

Russia: Ahhhhhhhh!

Japan: Nnhn…my belly…

Russia: Ha! All right, ready to begin!

Britain: Hahaha! That’s some really spooky stuff there, chap!

{Caption: Russia’s Curse}

{Caption: During the Russo-Japanese War, Russia, together with the Orthodox Churches throughout the country, continuously cursed Japan. However, Russia was easily defeated. 18 years later, the Great Kanto earthquake struck Japan. Each time Russia cursed, Japan got put under that curse 18 years later. So in Russia, it was said that God was 18 light years away. By the way, they say that ads saying “I will execute your curse” even now openly appear in Russian newspapers...}

Britain: That’s freaky.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Britain: Hetalia!

{Caption: Hetalia}

France: Hey, Russia.

Russia: Hm?

France: I thought you might be mad with the way the meeting turned out.

Russia: No, not at all. I’m just happy to watch all of you talk stuff over. It’s very nice that everyone let me feel like one of the gang. Besides, I hide dark secret no one will guess because of my sweet face!

France: Ahah. You were such a cute country when you were born and now you are all grown up.

Russia: An evil secret.

France: Ahuh?

Russia: When I look into all of your stupid faces, I think of how much fun it will be to pound them into dust.

France: I knew it! Mmhf!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

{Caption: When I started cleaning my storage room on a whim, it brought back that memory}

Man [narrating]: Hetalia. America’s Storage Room Cleaning.

{Caption #1: Hetalia}

{Caption #2: America’s Storage Room Cleaning}

Teenage America: You were so great.

{Caption: You were so great…}

{Caption: Production is going smoothly!!}

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Italy: 🎵Germany, Germany, Germany is a really, really nice place. Even though I’m your prisoner, you give me food, and it doesn’t suck like English food! Sausages with cheeses always taste so good! It’d be heaven for a dog; yeah, that’s Germany! Tell me, how is it you Germans are so robust? You’re crushing me with your intimidation. My fragility causes me to openly weep out of fear. Your women terrify me. Is it the norm to drink a barrel of beer and then bust it on somebody’s heaaad? Please don’t come to my place in large mobs; German tourists are scary! Even the girls that are from Germany are more rugged than I am! Yahoo!🎵

Chibitalia: By any chance do you serve pasta he---

Austria: No, we don’t.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

{Caption: When I started cleaning my storage room on a whim, it brought back that memory}

Man [narrating]: Hetalia. America’s Storage Room Cleaning.

{Caption #1: Hetalia}

{Caption #2: America’s Storage Room Cleaning}

{Caption: All the good things and bad things…}

{Caption: All the good things and bad things…are in this place (storage room)}

Teenage America: Hey, Britain.

{Caption: Hey, England}

Teenage America: All I want is my freedom!

{Caption: After all, I want freedom!}

{Caption: On that day, surely, we took each other’s hands}

Man [narrating]: Hetalia. America’s Storage Room Cleaning.

{Caption #1: Hetalia}

{Caption #2: America’s Storage Room Cleaning}

Britain: I won’t allow it!

{Caption: I won’t allow it!}

{Caption: The decision has been made. It will be shown on this show!!}

{Caption: We sincerely hope you all will join us for the show --- Hetalia Staff}

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Beyond the Coming Age of Networked MatterBy Bruce Sterling

I wasn’t too chuffed about the weird changes I saw in my favorite start-up guy. Crawferd was a techie I knew from my circuit: GE Industrial Internet, IBM Smart Cities, the Internet-of-Things in Hackney hackathons. The kind of guy I thought I understood.

I relied on Crawferd to deliver an out-there networked-matter pitch to my potential investors. He was great at this, since he was imaginative, inventive, fearless, tireless, and he had no formal education. Crawferd wore unlaced Converse shoes and a lot of Armani. He had all the bumbling sincerity of a Twitter Arab Spring.

Crawferd could see no difference between physics and metaphysics. The way he had it figured, all matter was code. If you suggested that his trippy hacker mysticism was not entirely plausible—that rocks were rocks and trees were trees, they weren’t “networks”— he’d brood at length, then chase you from the hackerspace, slam the door, and blog compulsively.

Given his deep unworldliness and his intense interior life, Crawferd was a pretty easy guy for me to manage. We got along okay, while Sophia and Fatima totally loved Crawferd. S&F were my two wealthy oil widows from Dubai. Their Gulf State pin money had to go somewhere that wasn’t Cyprus or Bitcoins.

So for a while things were cozy. I’d arrange funding brunches in Gstaad, where Fatima and Sophia went skiing. I’d wheel in Mr. California Ideology while they had their mint tea and shared the hookah. The sparks would fly.

Crawferd was cool about Sophia and Fatima. He never asked them for much, and he always brought them nifty digital fitness toys. All tech chicks kind of dug Crawferd. He had this spooky geek tenderness, a possibly sensual, my bits-might-turn-to-atoms thing going on.

So S&F hung on his every word, but the truth was, the guy simply didn’t know how to cash in. He was all sci-fi and no megacorp.

Then he missed a couple of gigs and he stopped updating on LinkedIn. I was busy helping Microsoft waste some Kinect money, so I didn’t bother him.

Then I breezed through Palo Alto and he spotted me on Foursquare. He shot me a mysterious, incoherent SMS full of sick Tweet orthographics. “W3 sh4ll overl4p time, space, and dimensions,

and with0ut bodily motion, peer to the .”

I got rid of that thing pronto. I always erase after reading, my lawyer taught me that. But seeing his freaked message, I took good care to meet him F2F.

Crawferd was lurking and had gone very downside-scenario. He had tinfoiled all the windows inside a nameless AirBnB, which he’d rented from some shivering TumblrGoth who was way into, like, black candles, inverted pentagrams, and big plastic 3Dprinted gargoyles.

Fancy LED lights in Shapeways Nervous-System lamps were segueing through every color in the spectrum, while Soundcloud was streaming the shriekiest works of Grimes.

This was not his customary scene, and I further perceived that my man Crawferd had shed several kilos, dyed his hair pastel, and failed to shave. He kept compulsively stroking the filthy screen of his Chinese-knockoff fondleslab.

“Buzz, old buddy,” he croaked at me, “it used to upset me, because I couldn’t deliver a massive breakthrough in the networked- matter space. I talked a great game sometimes. But I couldn’t execute. But now I’m so freaked out! Yes! Freaky from success! I have networked matter!”

Crawferd had this thousand-mile killer-drone stare now, and also that rigid, pedantic, coder tone of voice, that grammar-nazi thing you see mostly on Ayn Rand websites.

My deliverable seemed clear to me: reduce fever, resume chill, and restore functionality.

“Crawferd, pal, listen up. You’ve been way overdoing it in an overheated tech scene. I’ve got your back, and I’m thinking Oahu. There’s this cool yoga-hula ashram out there, no Internet connectivity, no cell-phone bars, nothing. Some exercise, brown rice, and vitamin B, and you’ll be the old Crawferd in no time.”

“Buzz, this matter is about matter. We see matter because we’re constructed from matter. We imagine we’re made from matter because all we can measure with our network sensors is a narrowly materialistic set of inputs. But that is not the cosmic truth, Buzz. A new science underlies ‘matter.’ It’s about a cellular- automata framework in which all material manifestations are computationally equivalent.”

I’d seen these sad symptoms in other guys like him. My fave Californian tech boy had gone straight off the ledge into full Erik Davis techgnosis. “Oahu’s just hours away. Beaches, blue sky, maybe a sweet, understanding hippie lady with some pakalolo.”

“I have found the grail for the coming age of networked matter, Buzz. I have seized its Philosopher’s Stone. I have found a way to transform all matter into network.”

“Why?” I said.

He got that look on his face. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”

“Where is my user benefit? Where is the business model? You can’t get VC backers for that scheme! That is pure Tim Leary mystic woo-woo! You’re a coder, Crawferd. I can hear crap like that from L.A. screenwriters.”

“Do I look like I’m handwaving at you? I have built a freaking demo! I can run it for you, right here, off my phablet.”

Crawferd was a proud and touchy fanatic, but then again, so was Steve Jobs. You can take one fatal step too far into the Reality Distortion Field, and all the typewriters will vanish. They don’t come back, either. “So, what does your demo, uh, demo?”

“You remember those two Maker kids? The ones I had hacking those beehives for me?”

I remembered his interns, all right. Two cute Millennial designer kids. Their names escaped me, but she was, like, very Kevin Kelly techno-emergence, while he was very Jussi Parikka insect media. They were Crawferd’s start-up slaves. Being Makers, they worked around the clock without a salary, just like bees did.

“Your beehive kids,” I said.

“Great design research team! They went deep into the bee ‘umwelt,’ that sensory world of bees that only bees can perceive. Bees are intensely illustrative of matter-networking principles. Bees scarcely have brains, yet they still assemble and congeal all the nectar and pollen within a given area.”

“So that’s your demo? It’s bees? Cut to the chase! Where’s the humming and stinging?”

“That’s not my demo yet . . . but here, look what they did on

Kickstarter. You’ll appreciate this.”

Crawferd caressed his cruddy little “phablet”—man, I really hate that word—and there they were, Crawferd’s two favorite Maker kids. Nicely dressed up in black and yellow bee-themed cosplay duds, with that embedded video that crowdfunding projects always do.

“Hi there, people of the Internet! I’m Adrienne, a graphic interface designer from Rocky Mountain College of Art and Design, and this is Julio, my coder and Significant Other!”

There followed ninety seconds of jerky handheld from Adrienne’s iPhone. Her pitch was all about the graphic interfaces through which bees perceive and manipulate matter. Bee sensors, mostly, their compound eyes, antennae, and their big tonguey mandibles.

Then Julio horned in, to vlog about the bee-code running on their tiny bee brains.

Bee brains lacked much processing power. Just enough hardware in there to run a high-level bee-dance language where the bees could clue each other in about tasty matter resources. Adrienne had mocked this system up on a whiteboard with boxes and arrows. Julio had coded it with open-source modules.

Then they’d created these 3Dprinted plastic “bee puppets.” Their fake plastic Maker bees were, like, awesomely effective at bee dancing. Their robot bees, set dancing by Arduino, were basically Trojan Bees. They had gotten root in the hive. They had powned the hive colony superorganism. Those bees would do whatever the hackers wanted.

“Their bee-swarm pitch is out of this world!” I told Crawferd. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen this idea before!”

The Maker kids ramped up to their triumphant climax. Being new to California, they’d noticed all the window-box marijuana plants. They’d hacked their bees to go out to forage for dope pollen.

They showed the camera their existence proof: a double fistful of honey-drenched Silicon Valley hashish.

Then little Adrienne and Julio modestly asked the public for twenty grand to go 3Dprint some beehives, so they could issue some royal-jelly marijuana prescriptions. A business-model screwup that was total facepalm. Of course their Kickstarter had exploded. Just gone ballistic. It had blown past twelve million USD in capital and was heading north at high speed.

“You have created a monster,” I told Crawferd. “I can see why you’re so upset now. This is not even funny. Where are those crazy kids? They’re gonna need to lawyer up.”

“They’re no longer with me,” muttered Crawferd. “That’s the bad part. That’s why I’m hiding in here.”

“So where’d they run off to?”

Read the rest:

https://boingboing.net/2013/07/16/bruce-sterling-from-beyond.html

[sunderlorn]

Got tagged in this big long Describe Yr OC Meme by @chameleonspell because they love to make me suffer as they have suffered, toil as they have toiled. I am more merciful, which is why I am tagging no-one. (Also cos chameleonspell tagged most of everyone I’d’ve tagged anyway.)

GENERAL

Name: Simra Hishkari. Alias(es): Sim. Harmless. Flintfingers. “Hey, greyling…” Lonya, to his mum, but not for a while thank fuck. Gender: Cis male. Age: That depends where you’re reading, doesn’t it? Uhhh. He’s 11 in chapter one of part one, poking his nose around Senvalis’ shop and bothering the poor mer for paper. And now in part three, he’s recently endured his twenty-fourth birthday. Place of birth: Chiming Row, The Rigs, The Grey Quarter of Windhelm, Eastmarch, Skyrim. Spoken languages: Native Level Grey Quarter Dunmeri Patois. Fluent Marchspeak. A flexible range of Tamrielics, from the sort of versatile trade-tonguey Imperial Tamrielic you’ll hear at the docks of any major city, to something like the closest thing Skyrim has to a unifying language: an archaic version of Tamrielic with enough in common with all Skyrim’s dialects that it’s at least mutually intelligible for most people. Fluent House Dunmeris, with a few dialectic oddities picked up and understood. Relatively fluent Velothis. Some Riftspeak. Can curse a bit in Jel. Sexual orientation: Insert a withering stare and a question as to why it’s your fucking business. Practically speaking, bisexual. As in, he’s been attracted to men, women, and in the words of the warrior-poet Fred Durst, people who just don’t give a fuck. He doesn’t really have the terminology to parse that out in his own words though. Probably thinks of sexuality more in terms of activity than identity. Occupation: Murderhobo. Uhhh. I mean…freelancer. Currently, anyway. That is to say, sellsword, bounty-hunter, scavenger. Formerly? Semi-pro urchin. Carrier of heavy things on the Windhelm docks. Soldier-of-fortune. Prayer-scriv. Storyteller and sort-of-kind-of-sheriff at one point. Basically like a literal  accountant at another point too. Moral support to more qualified goatherds. Fireman — like, literally, a man who makes fires happen. Quartermaster’s assistant. Caravan guard. Itinerant herder and spokesperson of certain itinerant wisewomen. Bootleg performer of certain Temple rites and duties.

(This is long, so more under the cut.)

APPEARANCE

Eye colour: A reddish shade of amber or an ambery shade of red. Hair colour: Cinder-white. Height: About 5’10” (178 cm or s0). Scars: Oh god I literally have a fucking like reference sheet to keep track of all these. His Velothi harrowmarks: a hornlike curl out from the corner of his left eye, and a tapering line underscored for half its length with a series of dots, curving from the right edge of his mouth up towards his ear. A deep stiff scar through the left side of his lips, diagonal, from near his nostril to the beginning of his chin. A shallow horizontal scar across the side of his throat. A ragged starburst of scar tissue, in the muscle between neck and shoulder, just above his right collarbone and again at the back of his neck, from taking an arrow and having it pushed out. A flat diagonal stab-wound, on the left side of his ribs. A torn right earlobe. A straight raised scar up the back of his ribcage, on the left. A series of silver lines on the outermost three fingers of his right hand, where the joints meet the knuckles, and lightning-scar-looking traces following from those fingers over the front and back of his hand. And a plethora of tiny nicks and burns, mostly concentrated on his forearms and hands. Does a twice-broken nose count? Overweight: Nope. Underweight: At several points in his life, yeah.

FAVOURITE

Colour: Sea colours and shades of bronze. In clothes? Leather tones, slate greys, off-whites, neutral gloomy blues, details and decals in reds, silvers, copper, brass. Doesn’t tend to wear pure blacks or whites, or any particularly saturated colour — they spoil too easy. Hair colour: Statistics suggest red, though he’d be quick to insist it’s just coincidence, not, like, a fucking Thing or anything. Eye colour: Not red. Light-coloured eyes are weird and novel. Music genre: Weirdly he doesn’t enjoy music with lyrics all that much. (In canon, anyway — he’d feel differently in a modern AU or whatever.) Finds it distracting. They can be interesting, of course, but it’s not something that makes him happy hearing it. He likes stringed instruments with an emphasis on drones or echoes and silence. Things like the Tamrielic equivalent of qanun, koto, morin khuur, etc. Side note, but in modern AUs he’s definitely the sort of person who’s physically incapable of doing anything as mundane as laundry or tidying without putting a podcast on first. Movie genre: This is AU stuff, but yeah, he might talk a big game about being into Deep Penetrating Drama and so on, but he’d most often find himself watching the feature length equivalent of all you can eat hi-octane junk food buffets. Fighty action movies, particularly with an emphasis on melee combat. Finds revenge narratives particularly rewarding. Only genres he really considers himself a buff on though are samurai cinema and westerns. He’ll yammer at length about Anti-Westerns too if you get him started. (Don’t.) TV show: Hates the idea of having to watch anything live at a particular time. Fuck letting something as petty as TV schedule and section his life. Will gladly on-demand binge on historical drama, gritty travel documentaries, and twisty-turny political and intriguey thrillers. Doesn’t like cooking shows. Doesn’t want personality with his foodporn. He’d rather wait for the book to come out. Food: The Platonic ideal of Simra food is basically like soft starchy silky carbs with something sharp and heavily spiced on top. Rice porridge and preshta-jan, maybe with a raw egg stirred in while it’s hot. Fresh soft panbreads used to mop up redspiced mutton. Meat still feels like too much of a luxury to have often though, and he has a lot of feelings about vegetables. Pickled carrots, cucumbers, turnips, greens, green tomatoes, soft or crisp, spiced or just salty. Yams roasted in embers, smashed open, drizzled with spiced honey. Dried fruit is a particular pleasure as well, with a special place in his heart for persimmons and figs. Drink: Black tea of any sort – Nordic pine-smoked, Dunmeri fermented, light or dark, toasted or not – taken with sugar or honey. Alcohol of any sort felt like a luxury to be taken whenever luck offers it, back when he was a little younger. He’s got preferences these days, though whether he sticks to them is debatable and down to circumstance. He likes red and dark beers, biscuity flavours in the former, bittersweet in the latter. Hasn’t had either in a good few years though, and mazte compares oddly, to him — too starchy and sour. He once drank some Colovian grape brandy before he realised it was expensive enough that he really should have just sold it, and liked that well enough. He’s had actual grape wine once or twice and liked the idea of being the sort of person who liked it. He doesn’t especially like sujamma except in some freak cases – almondy and subtle vanilla-y wood flavours in that one bottle that one time – but he’ll drink it anyway because at least of all the quietly awful things Morrowind might offer you to drink, you have to drink less of it to know you’ve drunk it. He can’t remember if he liked mezga better or whether he was just less fussy back then. Book: Ideally he would have a larger foundation for reference than he does, but he doesn’t. Still, his basis for comparison has grown a little since he first learnt to read and first got covetous of books, so he does at least have some preferences. He’ll still hoard up and devour literally any book he can, good or bad, because books are expensive and serious business – even the cheap ones – but there are some where he’ll fall into impressed absorbed silence and others where he’ll complain the entire time. He has a thing for treatises on use of one sort of blade or another, not because he really enjoys reading them, or really because they’re very useful. Mostly they’re awfully written and opaque to the point of being very unhelpful. But that puts a sense of the arcane around them, doesn’t it? If something’s hard to read, it must be hiding something worth knowing. Simra reads, trawls, lives in hope that one day that assumption will prove right, but really the issue is that if you never check you’ll never know. Back in Suran he read a lot of pre-Red Year devotional poetry from back during the time of the Tribunal. That and poetry the old Temple couldn’t or didn’t censor and so decided was devotional even if it wasn’t. A lot of that was just wankery – tongue twisters for the brain, either thematically or in terms of its showy prosody – but you’d occasionally get the odd scrap of lyric that was just effortlessly well-turned. There was a third era Dunmeri poetess called Anthiss for instance, the printing of whose work the Temple officially banned which only stoked its popularity. It was only after she died – mysteriously, it’s worth noting – that the Temple lifted the ban and claimed all her work had been religious allegory all along, revealing a conflicted but truly faithful sole. Simra’s pretty sure that, no, she was just writing about her girlfriend the entire god damn time. Between that and tracts on philosophy, interpretation of scripture, hagiography…he enjoyed reading it all but in retrospect couldn’t say he liked all of it. At the heart of what he really enjoys unreservedly in books is escapism. Travel narratives – little holidays for the brain – they’re what put a glint in his eyes and a lightness in his heart without really having to try much.

HAVE THEY

Passed university: Nope, nor has he had any formal education of any kind, yet. Given my headcanons about the state of the Mage’s Guild, for instance, in the 4th Era, and other Imperial institutes of higher learning there aren’t quite as many opportunities for that sort of thing as there used to be. Not in the parts of the world Simra’s kept to so far, anyway. Had sex: Currently, not in a while.   Had sex in public: Define public… The tonghouse of the Dyer’s End Few wasn’t a premises as rich in privacy as it could’ve been, but I’m inclined to say no. Gotten pregnant: Please no. Kissed a boy: Yes. Kissed a girl: Yes. Gotten tattoos: Do scarifications count? If so, yes, facial ones. Gotten piercings: Six in his left ear. Mer have more cartilage than humans. One through the lobe of his right ear too, but that doesn’t really count as a piercing anymore — just a tear. Had a broken heart: Don’t ask. Been in love: Something like that. Stayed up for more than 24 hours: Here’s where he laughs in your face and says “twenty-four?” and kisses his teeth for two minutes.

ARE THEY

A virgin: Covered this. A cuddler: There’ve been times. Sometimes being close to someone’s all you want to fill your head with, your time with, your world with, and all you can do is do that. Not many times though. They’re more anomalies than anything else. Prolonged touching, or lengthy physical intimacy — he’s pretty averse. A kisser: Mouth-on-mouthy kissing makes him nervous. Half his lips don’t really work right and he gets very conscious of it. Makes him feel ugly, clumsy, exposed. Scared easily: Terrified, yes. He doesn’t exactly keep a level head on him all that easily. Jealous easily: Statistics would suggest yes. Worth noting thought that this is less in terms of seeing everyone as someone his lover might leave him for and so being possessive and shitty and more like he feels left out easily, left behind easily, and if he sees someone he cares about sharing some sort of positive experience with someone else, he’ll feel a sense of abandonment and sadness about it. It’s not an angry or suspicious feeling so much as a melancholy self-effacing one. Trustworthy: In what sense, exactly? Depends who you are, what you’ve done to deserve Simra’s trust or respect, what the circumstances in both your lives and their mutual conjunctions are, what there is to be gained from breaking your trust, or what there is to be lost by keeping it or sticking with you. Depends how strong Simra is at this point in his life. Uhhhh…this number of variables probably suggest that, Simra is not inherently a trustworthy person by nature. But that doesn’t mean he’s never loyal, or faithful, or worth putting your trust in. Dominant: Uhhhhh. Submissive: Fuckin uhhhhhh. In love: Right now? Fuck off. Single: And ready to mingle. (God can you even imagine.)

RANDOM QUESTIONS

Have they harmed themselves: Not with anything sharp. Thought of suicide: Yes. Attempted suicide: Comments on my fic suggest that a lot of what he does, accidentally or by choose, basically constitute attempts to die. Thing is though, Simra’s pretty much more terrified of dying than of anything else. Any attempts at straightforward suicide would be impulsive cries for help or lashings-out against feeling particularly helpless. The goal wouldn’t be dying. Wanted to kill someone: Wanting to sounds way more personal than he really wants to have to deal with. Appreciating the reasons for having had to do so? Fine. (Yes, yes, yes, but funny how the people he’s really wanted to kill are for the most part still alive.) Ride a horse: He regrets to inform you that, yes, he has ride a horse. Have/had a job: We’ve covered this. Have any fears: Ghosts and bones, yes. Death, or more accurately, ceasing to be alive and existent. Being maimed; no longer being whole. Blindness, deafness, muteness. He has a pretty primal flight-or-fight response to the idea of being caught out in any sort of lie. Oh, and he’s not fond of dogs.

FAMILY

Sibling(s): Yes, Soraya. Does she still count? Parents: Sambidal Dunsamsi Hishkari nas Mabudani nas Zainab, his babu, Windhelm dockworker and former adventurer. Ishar Dunsamsi Hishkari nas Nem nas Zainab, his ammu, Grey Quarter spellwright, seller of medicines, and former adventurer. Children: No. Pets: No. A cat might be good, but he’d get terrified of it deciding to abandon him, and would take it very personally if it was ever gone for very long.

[goodnightallwhites]

Midtown High's Newest Snowbunnies By BlackingPacking

Midtown High's Newest Snowbunnies 

By BlackingPacking 

Submitted: July 10, 2020 Updated: July 10, 2020 

Mary Jane Watson and Gwen Stacy want to buy some weed for the first time. They end up joining the ever-growing ranks of thotty teen snowbunny party freaks. A bit of subversion of expectations 

Provided by Hentai Foundry. 

Chapter 1 - Aaron Davis, Part one 2 

1 - Aaron Davis, Part one 

Gwen Stacy and Mary Jane Watson were, among other things, very different types of rebellious. 

Gwen was edgier, tomboyish, borderline violent with how her sense of humor was. The tomboy aspect was helped by her disappointingly small bust. She couldn’t even reach a C cup. 

Mary Jane, on the other hand, was quirkier, more nerdy, would more likely win an argument with a teacher than just annoy one. And her bust was a spot she excelled at. Or two spots. 

Both, though, did plenty of similar things, even together. Sex was one of their favorites, with plenty of steamy lesbian moments, with sloppy wet kissing, pussy licking, and ass eating shared between the two of them. Not to mention complaining about Peter Parker’s tiny little peter. One of their favorite memories was when MJ was on her last break with Peter when they both went to a party in the sluttiest clothes they wore. MJ knew Peter would be there, and wore a leather corset and dyed her hair black just to freak him out. She and Gwen had some damn good phone sex after that. They spent hours on the phone almost every night, without either’s family knowing, having the kinkiest phone sex their FBI agents could imagine. This being before they’d graduated to full on hot lesbian fucking. 

Something they’ve only done once, however, was smoke a joint. Gwen got it from a party, hid it from her father, and let Mary Jane share in enjoying the small amount of actual mary jane. They’d enjoyed it, but that was weeks ago. They wanted more. 

And what better way, thought MJ, than getting it herself? That’d show Gwen for always saying she was the cooler one. 

She wouldn’t even go to the school’s dealer, Hobie Brown. They needed a guy who could get them whatever they wanted- weed, high nick vapes, fake IDs, whatever. She’d get the good stuff from the guy who every kid in midtown was told to stay away from on their walk home, the guy Hobie wanted to be. 

Aaron Davis, garbed in a purple t-shirt under his leather jacket, smoked a vape in an alleyway. Nothing illegal, and he never got high on his own supply. He never even kept his product in the same place day to day. It was how he made himself the biggest dealer left in Midtown. He was smart, far smarter than most. And he wasn’t even 25 yet. The guy was going places. 

As for Mary Jane, she liked his confidence already. He stood there with swagger, looking more impressive than 90% of the students at Midtown, easily. He was a few inches taller than her, and almost half a foot taller than Gwen, but carried himself like he was far, far above them. They liked that. 

Best of all, they’d heard rumors that Aaron accepted sex as a payment. And sex was Gwen and MJ’s favorite thing. 

It certainly helped that he was black. Everyone knew what that meant, of course, and it’d be a welcome 

change after only having sex with all 3 inches of Peter Parker. 

MJ had a whole pervy little plan concocted. She had managed to arrange a meeting with Aaron through Hobie, set at 2:55, right after school let out. Gwen was told, though, that she should meet behind the apartment flats the students were all told to stay away from at 3:30. MJ had her stuff ready during last period, and nobody cared that she brought her backpack to class. 

Nobody but Peter, of course. 

“Hey, MJ,” he asked after the 2:50 bell rung. 

“What is it, Peter?” she asked, annoyed after spending a full 45 minutes horny beyond belief. It was a struggle for the redhead not to finger her pussy through her jeans. 

“Ah, nothing MJ. You just looked uncomfortable all class- plus you had your backpack today. In a hurry for something?” He acted so fucking cocky. As much as MJ told herself that she was a size queen who only deserved the biggest, hottest cocks, she had to admit that Peter was cute. He had that whole ‘hot nerd’ thing he was growing into since he lost the glasses, got a whole lot fitter, and had a confidence boost. She actually got wetter. She hoped the over-observant bastard didn’t notice how the wet spot in her panties felt like it was soaking into her jeans. 

“Yeah- I’m, uh, not feeling great now Peter. I’ll talk later if I can though!” She walked faster. 

“Oh. Alright. I’ll, uh, call you?” He called, stopping as she sped off. 

“Don’t bother!” she yelled. 

By 2:55, she was at the location. Her tight maroon and white t-shirt showed off her round tits perfectly, and her jeans showed off her ass like nothing else she owned. They were bell-bottoms, something that hadn’t been in style for 40 years, but she knew the curviness made her butt pop just that much more. 

And then, there he was. The purple garbed tall black man, standing behind the old apartments across the street. They were home to single mothers and school kids, none of whom would be home now. MJ wondered how many he had fucked. 

She knew the stereotypes of course. White man, small dick, but black man? Big dick. She new her mom had joked to May Parker about how MJ’s abusive asshole of a dad was just insecure about his ugly little pecker. She’d even heard him say the N word a few times. How the hell a beauty queen like MJ came from a guy who, from what she heard, had hairy little marbles for balls was a mystery to her. 

But Aaron Davis? Not only would he not have to be too impressive to dwarf Peter and Mr. Watson, but he still looked like he’d be impressive against anyone. He looked good without trying too hard, he could model if he didn’t have such rough features, especially under that tight t-shirt. 

The definition of big dick energy. And that didn’t even count the bulge in his jeans. 

“Hey there,” MJ breathed, looking around the corner to see no one followed her. Her heart felt like it 

was in her throat. She was gonna fuck thi 20-something year old dude. She didn’t know how or where or in which of her eager teen holes, but she know she would.” 

“Yo- MJ, right?” 

She nodded, “do you- have the stuff?” 

“The stuff?” He cracked up, “yeah kid, I do. But how do you know you’re not a cop?” 

MJ stopped. “A-a cop?” 

“Yeah. Ya gotta admit it’s fishy. High school bitch, askin for weed when she coulda just gone to my boy Hobie? What are you, little girl, freshman, sophomore? 14 or 15? I’m down to get some head, but not to do anything illegal. Well, that kinda illegal.” He chuckled. 

“I’m a senior, thank you! A-and look, here’s me student ID,” she flashes her wallet, showing the card and her under-21 drivers liscense. “That's enough?” 

He chuckled again. “Yeah bitch, it’s good. But, I saw you got some good money in that wallet. You ain’t just gonna by my shit like a normal thottie?” 

“I’m,” she walked up to him. Shakily she laid her fingers on his chest, “thottier than most, you might say.” 

“Oh? You’re lookin nervous babe. Ever done this?” He lifted his fat bulge. 

“I-I-I’m not a virgin! I know what to do.” 

“But you’ve never sucked off a nigga in an back alley, have ya?” 

A back alley? He wanted it here?! 

The dirtiest she’d ever done was blow Flash Thompson in his bathroom while his girlfriend was outside. And even then, Flash Thompson, while better than most at 6 or 7 inches, definitely did not compare to the thing that stretched Aaron’s pants. “N-no...” she admitted. 

“It’s ok girl,” he hummed. She looked up at him. Those tight round tits of hers nearly brushed against his chest, “I’ll show you the ropes.” 

Suddenly, with a thud, she felt a large object slap against her stomach. She looked down and saw it- a long, fat cock. 

“You can squat down right? Show me how low you can go.” 

She obeyed with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. With her ass out lots more than it needed to be, she squatted down to take his cock in her mouth. It was bigger than her face, with a thick width and thick foreskin and a nice, fat head. It’d be hard to take down. 

“Eat my ass, Peter,” she whispered as she held this big beautiful dick. 

“‘Scuse me?” He asked. 

“Oh,” MJ looked up. She was drooling. “Peters my, well, Gwen, the girl who’s coming later, Uh, our ex. He’s about this big.” She pinches her fingers together. 

Aaron just burst out laughing, “Ah, don’t make me laugh!” Despite the obvious. 

“It’s true!” she laughed too though. This big cock stared her right in the face. A real man’s cock. What the fuck was Peter gonna do about it, huh? Mary Jane had some reservations before, but as she opened her mouth all wide and breathy and nasty, she realized just how right it felt to suck on a cock this big. That’s what was really important. That a guy’s cock was big. It was a size game, and only the biggest, fattest, pants-tearingest cocks deserved to win. If Aaron took this cock away, MJ would probably curl up on the ground and cry. 

Aaron rolled his eyes, “Whatever, bitch. Just keep goin with that jb-bj.” 

“JB?” asked MJ as she popped her jaw each way to get ready to suck off that dick. 

“Jailbait.” he whispered as she slid her tonguey mouth right down his veiny cock, “And whoo damn is it worth it” 

“Mmmmgh!” said MJ happily as he started fucking his throat. Of course she was worth it- she was this close to a modelling contract, after all. She never wanted to be an airhead or some haughty bitch, but goddamn if that didn’t seem fun. Maybe if she’d joined the cheerleading squad she’d get black dick like this more often. Sally Avril probably got her ass raw dogged to nirvana. Cummed in too. 

With Peter, MJ had been used to counting the seconds until he came. With Aaron, it was minutes. But just minutes. He wasn’t going at it subtly, roughly fucking the back of her throat so she drooled and spat over his hairy crotch and thick, muscled legs. He didn’t care about her pleasure, but not because he didn’t know how. Just because he didn’t want to. She was, along with being a customer who was probably being way overcharged, a cumdump to him. But little else. And he made it work, dammit. 

He shot thick cum into her stomach. She’d heard it called ‘baby batter’ before, but now she understood this. As his balls tightened up and his truly manly cock got even veinier, she could feel how much batter-like man milk he was dumping in her. She could barely close her mouth with it all in, after he stopped. 

Baby batter. In the back of her mind, she was thankful he didn’t just shoot that up her pussy or she’d have some serious explaining to do. 

On the other hand, she really wanted to get fucked. Fucked hard. Fucked right in the pussy by this cocky, misogynistic, drug dealing black thug. With his big fucking cock. Because fuck what she needed, she’d be getting what she wanted. 

“Mmm-mmmmm!” she said, biting her lip as she sat down on the filthy alley ground, legs spread, and started shaking. She kept moaning like that until her jeans were totally soaked. She’d cum from barely even touching him. Barely even being touched. 

“You bitches are weird, you know that?” 

“I- I’m sorry, but I don’t care,” MJ stood up and began stripping, “Wanna fuck?” 

“Ah shit, girl- right here?” 

“M-hmm. C’mon, I’m so fucking horny,” she just threw her underwear down with her clothes. 

“Didn’t you just cum?” 

“Yeah- and I said I was fucking horny!” MJ’s mind told her to stop, that rawdogging this dude in this alley was a horrible choice, no matter how big he was or how wet she had gotten, but those voices quieted as she orgasmed. They’d probably go away with the next. “So, how do you want it? Face to face, or me bent over?” 

“Shit, you white bitches are all the same,” he said as he licked his lips. Aaron surely had no second thoughts. 

But it seemed not all those voices came from inside her head. 

No, one came from a thotty blonde genius who liked knives a little too much, who was walking right up to them. 

“MJ- what the fuck?” 

Oh shit- Gwen!