#him in them tight ass wranglers

[chrollohearttags]

y’all hear me out rq…a black!fem country singer with southern boy!jean as the love interest in her video and the tension is brazy cause he finer than a bitch and you finer than a bitch too..y’all touching all over each other so he handles it once y’all are done shooting—

[gutsby]

Mr. Dixon

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

Warnings: NSFW. Dad's friend Daryl! Drastic age gap!! Daryl's a dirty old pervert in this one :-) Voyeurism. Masturbation. Descriptions of oral sex (m!receiving). Dirty talk. Degradation. Slight misogyny. Daryl may or may not masturbate out a window at some point.

You had an old pair of Daisy Dukes and a dream.

Faded, frayed, and two times too small for your frame, the shorts hiked an inch up your ass every step you took across the room. Made it damn near pointless bending over before the man in front of you—he could see every inch of your butt regardless—but you did it all the same.

This was Mr. Dixon, after all.

Cool blue orbs illumined by candlelight took the sight of you in and flitted away just as fast. His hands busied themselves with the gun he was taking apart, while you reached for the bullet that had just rolled onto the floor.

“Here you go, Mr. Dixon.”

Your voice had a charming lilt as you held the round out to him.

“Over there,” Daryl grumbled, jerking his head toward the end of the table, “An’ what’d I say ‘bout callin’ me tha’?”

“I feel weird calling daddy’s friends by their first names.”

You shrugged and chucked the tiny piece of lead into the pile of ammunition like Daryl had told you to. Then you sat down beside it, crossing your arms.

He could be so cruel sometimes. Just fooling with his pistol and barking orders like a drill sergeant. Never looking at you longer than a second, and if he did, just shooting you a glare or wounding you with a scowl.

He’d been the toughest nut to crack out of all your father’s friends. No matter how straight-laced and upstanding the men around Mr. Grimes had made themselves out to be, you’d always found the fault line—the weak spot that got you access to the filthiest parts of each one. You’d teased and you’d flirted, earned a couple groping touches and open-mouthed caresses from the likes of the late Mr. Walsh and many others. But never Mr. Dixon.

Even now, sitting across from him in your skimpy Wrangler cut offs, wedges, and a skintight, starch white tank top stretched so tight over your tits the fabric was practically see-through, it was like you were invisible to him. You kicked your feet out in front of you as they dangled from the table and actually felt yourself pout at the feeling of frustration bubbling in your chest.

“I wanna help.” Sounding pitiful.

“No use,” Daryl said as he studied the barrel of the gun with an inscrutable expression, “Already told yer dad, ain’ no use for little girls on the range.”

Your nostrils flared as you started back on your feet.

“I am plenty useful, Mr. Dixon. And I— I’m not the little girl you think I am,” you fired back, sounding more miserable and juvenile with every word you spoke.

At the last, Daryl looked you up and down. It was hardly more than a passing glance, but deliberate enough to be expressive. Emotive.

He looked repulsed by you.

And, rather than dignify you with a response, he simply discarded his firearm on the table and left the room. You trailed behind him into the kitchen and watched him swing the refrigerator door wide on its hinges. Blue eyes surveying the shelves for a can of PBR, most likely.

“I can do anything you need me to,” you rejoined in a huff, desperate to be heard, “I’m twice the shot my old man ever was at my age, I can track if I need to— hell, I’m always doin’ stuff, Mr. Dixon. Things.”

You weren’t sure what rattling off your talents to a man who clearly had no interest in hearing them would accomplish, but you tried it anyway. You sounded like your father. When both of Mr. Dixon’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise and he plopped down on a bar stool opposite you, you wanted to melt right into the floor.

“Doin’ stuff, huh? Thangs?” he mocked your twang.

You gripped the door frame so tight your knuckles turned white. Daryl took a couple swigs of beer and stared you down through every swallow. He brought the can back to the counter, near-empty now, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I got a couple thangs for ya ta do,” he started, grinning, “Why don’t ya put those pretty hands ta work, throw a little apron on, and just...bake me a fuckin’ cake?”

“Funny,” you spat. You felt a surge of bile rise in your throat at the sight of his smug expression.

“Wash my car?”

“Fuck you.”

Daryl’s amusement only grew as the forbidden F-bomb flew from your lips—a word he knew Rick would never tolerate if you’d been in his presence. Presently, his eyes raked over your slight, shaking form at the threshold of the room and figured himself pretty lucky to have provoked such a strong reaction from you. He polished off the last of his drink in a single gulp.

“No need ta get all foul-mouthed, Ms. Grimes, I only—”

“Fuck. You.” Your reply came slower and a touch more measured than he’d expected. Even punctuated with a hint of a smile, making sure to stretch that Southern drawl when you added, “Dar-yl.”

It was the first time you’d ever used his first name.

You weren’t sure you liked it.

Daryl, on the other hand, felt quite certain the sound of his name suited your mouth just fine. A subsequent stir in his jeans wiped the smirk clean off his face, and he began to shift in his seat.

Before he could speak, you were already turning on your heels to leave. Formalities escaped quicker than your anger, and your fingers seemed to move of their own accord to flip Daryl off over your shoulder as you strode out the door, far out of his sight.

Meanwhile, and much to his chagrin, Mr. Dixon was already growing ill with the sounds of your parting wishes bouncing loud off the walls of his skull. Before the front door had even closed, his fingers, too, seemed to move involuntarily and do a thing they probably shouldn’t have done: touch the mound in his jeans.

He rubbed his clothed erection and groaned.

You were such a fucking brat.

Daryl had always thought with a father as eagle-eyed and attentive as Rick, you’d never reach this level of naughty, haughty, and straight up cunt-like, but here you were. Doing Lori proud the way you’d gotten another one of Rick’s best friends wrapped around your little finger.

You were good like that, and still too dense to understand a fraction of the effect you had on him while you did it. The way you’d been looking at him earlier, Daryl was sure you’d convinced yourself he hated you.

If you could only see him now, spitting in one hand and unzipping his fly with the other, freeing his cock, and finally, finally getting his fingers wrapped fast around his shaft with the sole thought of you on his mind as he did. If you could watch him shudder, close his eyes, draw a deep, jagged breath through his nose to scour the air for the faintest trace of your scent lingering there—maybe you’d get it.

Daryl slid his hand down his cock and exhaled a shaky breath. You would simply never “get it,” because he’d already promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen.

As his thumb grazed the head of his red-hot, leaking cock and imagined it was your tongue doing all the work, he had to remind himself this was nothing but a fantasy for him. There was just no way in hell he’d sink to Shane’s level and actually lay his hands on you, no—he was better than that.

He was a man of principle, furiously jerking his cock in his kitchen with the thought of his best friend’s daughter on his mind. He just couldn’t touch you.

Damn if those tits didn’t sit nice under that top, no bra to hold ‘em in. And those shorts…

Daryl felt his head drop back as a wave of pleasure coursed up his spine. In his mind, you were sucking him now, hollowing those soft, sweet cheeks around his member and bobbing your head up and down, again and again, eyes never leaving his. Maybe you’d know to cup his balls, use your tongue to draw a couple lazy shapes down his cock. Any way you wanted it done was exactly how Mr. Dixon needed it, he’d decided.

He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and fucked his hand like a man half his age.

Someone like you.

Scarcely nineteen and so oversexed they might burst.

The difference was Daryl would explode any second now; he had only to hunch over, pump himself a few more times, and finally shoot his load, pretending it was spraying your insides and not the floor of his kitchen.

He’d intended to do just that, clenching his jaw at the filthiest thoughts of you yet, when suddenly, a sound shook the house.

Daryl dropped his cock and looked right out the window.

Down below, outside, you’d laid heavy on your car horn. Let the noise blare a couple seconds before Daryl came bounding over to the window.

When he did, the man thought his legs might buckle.

You were standing beside his truck in the driveway, sponge in hand, soaked head-to-toe in water and soap and smiling brighter than he’d ever seen you. The fabric above your tits was translucent now, clinging like a second skin and affording his lustful gaze every inch of your torso. Your free hand was waving up at him.

Daryl inched the window open with trembling hands.

“Mr. Dixon, this truck is filthy!” you shouted from down below.

Swallowing and blinking was all he knew how to do, it seemed. Finally, Daryl managed, deadpan:

“I know.”

You placed your hands on your hips and narrowed your eyes up at him.

“Have you always been such a dirty old man?”

Fuck. It was like you knew what he’d been doing, crouched over in the privacy of his home while he drooled and dreamed of fucking you stupid. He watched you cross the front of the car.

And lean down to start rubbing your sponge across the hood.

Daryl sincerely feared you might hear his loud groan the second it rose to his throat. He gritted his teeth, tried to fight the sound, but came up short with nothing to show for his efforts but a whimper slipping past his lips.

You started swirling your sponge in circles, tits shaking with every movement you made.

“Too bad little girls ain’t good for nothin’,” you sighed.

When you leaned flat across the metal surface below you, Daryl pictured himself standing behind you, taking his dick and shoving it deep between your folds. Stretching you out and making you scream into the space in front of you.

Slowly, discreetly, Daryl’s hand drifted back to his cock.

“Yeah. Too bad,” he mumbled as you bent over to soak your sponge once more. When you straightened up, you made sure to squeeze the thing over your chest so the water would douse your front. Daryl took the window frame in one hand and his cock in the other, leaning out just slightly to ask, “This the ‘stuff’ ye’s talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Thangs, really,” you answered dryly.

The two of you exchanged a brief smile, and Daryl’s hand started stroking his length.

Lucky for him, and unlucky for you, the size of the window wasn’t primed to make you privy to the sight of him pleasuring himself. At most, you saw a forearm moving gently back and forth. You bit your lower lip and kept your sponge moving in loops.

“Well these ‘thangs’ are gonna get ya in a whole heap of trouble with yer daddy if ya keep this up, girl,” Daryl warned, nodding toward your house with a wary look.

“It’s empty, Mr. Dixon. Whole place is mine for the weekend,” you replied with a sly intonation.

Finally, you stopped long enough to get a hand back down to your shorts. Facing Daryl still, you popped a button on your denim cut-offs and looked up at him with a glossy, innocent stare. You pretended to feel for something that wasn’t there, snagged the band of your light pink thong, and lifted it up to Daryl’s hungry gaze. You saw his bicep visibly strain as he jerked his cock even faster.

Back inside, Daryl was panting, groaning, reeling at the thought of you all alone in your house next door, splayed out across your bed in a baby pink panty set. He soaked in the sight of you and curled his toes into the floor as a new jolt of pleasure broke out through his body.

He was closer than he’d ever been. He rested his head against the window and watched you run your hands over your body, down your front, in your shorts. He imagined your fingers grazing your cunt and how wet you must’ve been then, imagining him right back and fucking him steady with your eyes.

For a moment, your eyelids fluttered, and a blissful look crossed your features. Daryl rutted his hips at the thought of you finding your clit in front of him—desperately wanting to be the source of that pleasure himself—and pumped himself even faster.

“Darlin’, I…I need ya. In such a bad fuckin’ way.” He couldn’t keep the tender term of endearment from dancing on his tongue. The sight of you alone had his brain on the fritz.

You slipped your hand out of your shorts and brought a couple honeyed fingertips to the edge of your lips.

“How bad, Mr. Dixon?” you asked, eyeing him intently.

Daryl whined and felt his insides churn with the threat of release. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

“So— so bad. Need to fuck ya so bad.”

That satisfied your affirmation-hungry itch well enough. You pushed two digits between your lips and started to suck.

From that point on, you didn’t need to see him or hear him or be there waiting patiently on your knees to get a mouthful of his cum—you knew it was coming. Daryl’s face contorted with a blissful, fucked-out expression, and suddenly he was pumping that space below the window full of his load, likely spraying the whole damn thing on the wall.

You stood back and admired your work. Daryl had all but collapsed with both hands planted on the windowsill, wet, brown locks hanging low in his face as the aftershocks of his arousal washed over him.

He was panting and barely able to meet your gaze. You couldn’t quite read the expression.

At any rate, you knew your job here was done.

With a hand waving sweetly back up at him once more, you eyed the mess of a man—your father’s best friend—and started to reach for your bucket and sponge. You buttoned your shorts back up and took a step from his truck. When it seemed Daryl was just then starting to open his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and called out, cheerfully,

“See ya around, Mr. Dixon!”

[delopsia]

i cannot believe it’s taken me this long to ask, but have rhett or robby ever cum untouched while eating out the reader? was either one expecting it; purposefully grinding against the bed or couch or floor while face deep? or did it happen by accident; too pent up, underestimating what happens when you hump the air in too-tight wranglers…💐✨💓💕

And I can't believe it's taken me this long to consider this 😵

Robby has done it by accident more times than anyone can count. He can't help it. He gets so worked up and lost in the heat of the moment that whatever control he has over himself dissolves in an instant.

There's so much going on that he hardly realizes he's rubbing himself against the mattress, too focused on pulling the Reader impossibly closer, whining into them as they buck up into his mouth. The way their trembling hand pulls on his hair and the sound of his name on their tongue.

So when his hips lock up all of a sudden, and stars sparkle at the corner of his vision, it surprises him as much as it does the Reader.

It's almost involuntary; it comes with the territory of being so worked up, lithe hips rolling just for the fucking sake of it. Which means that if the Reader really, really doesn't want to risk him accidentally getting himself off, they're gonna have to ride his pretty face. And even then, it's a genuine concern that one of these days, he's going to cum without the slightest touch.

Rhett's doing it intentionally. It's not the most ideal way of getting himself off, but how can you expect him to act rationally when the Reader sounds like that? When the Reader reaches that point of squeezing his head with their pretty thighs and yanking on his hair, pushing him away one minute and dragging him closer the next.

It doesn't matter where he is; if he's laid out on the bed or the couch, he's grinding down into the cushion. You've got him on his knees in a bathroom stall after a rodeo? He's pressing the heel of his palm into the bulge in his jeans. Rarely ever starts doing it with the intent of getting himself off; it's only meant to distract from the pressure in his jeans, but the moment that sweet coil starts spinning tighter in his belly, he can't help himself.

They're quite fun to watch if you've got them both because they can go one of two ways.

Sometimes they'll take advantage of the opportunity to stop the other from getting themselves off, Rhett forcing Bob's pretty hips to still and Bob forcing Rhett's arm away from the tent in his jeans. Makes for some playful bickering while they're tongue-deep in the Reader, talking and chuckling directly into their core.

But then they'll also go out of their way to worsen it. Rhett loves to get behind Bobby and grind against his ass, forcing him to rub against the mattress that much harder. And Bobby's got a horrible habit of sneaking a hand through Rhett's jeans and pressing his palm to him, giving him the perfect amount of contact to buck up against.

😵I got carried away again

[coltermorning]

Since it’s Halloween, my favorite holiday, I’m giving you a little treat (not a trick!). This is a modern Arthur fic that I finished forever ago and will probably post someday if you want to see the full thing. Anyway here is a spicy little scene from it that takes place on Halloween night in reader’s office at the library when they’re the only two left in the building 😉

Tags: 18+, Arthur Morgan x female reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, smut, semi-rough sex

👻🕷️🕸️🎃

“Hello?” a man’s voice rang out, and you nearly jumped out of your skin before realizing it was Arthur.

You checked yourself in the mirror one more time before leaving the bathroom, grinning like crazy as you went out to meet him. He had wandered toward the back office and had his back to you, and as excited as you were to show off your costume to him, you took a beat to admire him from behind, your eyes raking down his back. Lower. He must have been dressed as a cowboy with the black hat he wore and the boots and spurs, but your eyes were too busy with the wranglers he wore, how perfectly they fit his ass.

He whirled on you. “Jesus, don’t sneak up on a…man.” He cleared his throat, his eyes scaling your body as yours had done to him. “On Halloween.”

“What do you think?” you asked, posing, batting your eyes.

“You’re- it’s…uh,” he mumbled, his voice low enough for you to know exactly what he thought. “Shit, I need to come see you here more often.”

You laughed, the sound echoing through the tall building. “Don’t get used to it, cowboy,” you said with a wink at his costume. “It’s not the regular uniform, I’m afraid. Come on, come see my desk.” You took his hand and led him into the back office crammed with two desks, yours and your coworker’s.

“It’s not much,” you admitted, picking your bag up off the floor, stuffing your clothes from earlier into it. “But it-”

You felt Arthur’s hands tug on your hips, making you forget all thought as he pulled you into him. He was hard beneath those jeans, his arousal pushing against you.

“They got cameras in here?” he whispered, his voice rough in your ear. You felt your knees go weak.

“No, not cameras, but…” You pointed at the two windows, at their lack of blinds.

He let out a solitary chuckle before you felt him move, the pressure of him behind you gone. You turned to see what he had in mind, your thoughts reeling with your own feelings on the matter, when he hit the light switch. It plunged you both into darkness as he shut the door, the only light remaining the moonlight streaming in through the windows, how it reflected in his hungry eyes.

He stalked back over like a wolf, his gaze never leaving your body. “Can’t be dressing like that in front of me, darlin’.”

It took everything in you to speak as he pinned you down with that stare. “Or what?”

He didn’t respond, closing the gap between you and kissing you greedily, hungrily, his hands roaming everywhere they could find skin.

In seconds, he parted from you and stepped around you, pushing back books and stacks of paper and whatever else he could before he lifted you, setting you down on the desk. Then his lips were on yours again as his body pushed against you, forcing your legs around his waist. You gladly let him, wrapping your legs around him so you could feel his hardness again, the lack of space between you making you needy.

His hands found your vest, its buttons, as he began to undo them with a fervor that would tear them all off if he wasn’t careful.

“Easy,” you said into his mouth, on his tongue.

This only seemed to spur him on, as his hands worked faster, his mouth briefly leaving yours so he could see what he was doing. “Too many goddamn buttons,” he mumbled before he finally pulled the last free and ripped the vest from your shoulders. Your shirt followed soon after, and his hands kneaded against your bra as he kissed you again, wound tight as a coil.

You plucked the hat from his head and dropped it on yours, noting that it didn’t feel light enough to be made from cheap foam like most costume hats were. It was leather. It was real.

He continued to kiss you as best as he could with what little focus he had as he he hiked your skirt up your thighs. You fumbled with the button on his pants, needing him so badly it hurt. He yanked your underwear down just as you got his jeans undone, just as you pushed them and his boxers down enough to free his cock. He was hard as steel in your hand, but he didn’t give you a second to pleasure him before he leaned over you, lining himself up with you.

You leaned back and caught yourself with your hands, papers crushing beneath your grip. He pushed into you without restraint, making you moan into his mouth. He split you wide before he seated himself fully, starting a pace so brutal and full of desire he would tear you apart with it. He was sinfully long, something that pleasantly surprised you every time, but this was different. This was harsh, unbridled need. And as he rocked his hips into you, you had to fight the need to cry out at how deep he drove, how painfully good it felt.

His kiss got sloppy, so you broke it. “You got a thing for librarians then?” you teased. He didn’t respond, buried beneath his pleasure. You loved watching him let go of his restraint for once, taking instead of giving. It turned you on so bad that you were suddenly willing to forfeit any pleasure of your own just to watch him come apart.

You smiled as you thought of what to say to drive him over the edge. “You like fucking me over my desk, Arthur?” you asked lowly, right into his ear. He grunted and pulled your hips impossibly closer, his pace speeding up and pounding into you so hard you moaned for him.

“Saw this little outfit and couldn’t take it?” you muttered. “Had to be inside me so bad you couldn’t wait, had to take me right here?”

His pace faltered, just barely. “Fuck,” he mumbled, his voice so shot through with pleasure you felt yourself tighten around him.

With this he leaned you back. He lowered you onto the desk before he straightened, setting a brutal pace and an even more brutal angle that had your mouth open wide with pleasure. He gripped your hips so hard it hurt and slammed into you, and as close as you could tell the man was, you were suddenly fighting back your own high, wanting this to be about him. But you couldn’t help it—he was hitting a spot so perfectly deep within you that you would be reaching your end in seconds.

“Arthur,” you whined, reaching for him, clinging to his arms. His breathing grew labored and rattled through him with that word, and when you were close enough to be straining every muscle in your body, you felt his thumb come down on your clit. You cried out from the sharp pressure and came, clenching down on him as he fucked you through it.

Within seconds, he lost it, coming inside of you with a deep groan of his own. You could only lay there and attempt to breathe—think—again, watching him. He was so goddamn attractive like that, prone and spent. All yours.

His chest heaved with each breath, and he finally met your eyes, smirking when he saw his hat on your head. He leaned over you and kissed you sweetly, lifting you back up as he pulled out of you.

👻🕷️🕸️🎃

Sorry it ends a little abruptly but there’s more to the story that I don’t wanna spoil just yet. Hope you liked it and Happy Halloween! 🧡🖤

[scolbert22]

For @brandedx2 on his birthday

*DING DONG*

Kevin set down the glass bowl he’d been stirring and made the perilous walk from his kitchen to the front door. He stubbed his toe on an unpacked box labeled  “BOOKS,” cursing loudly.  I’ve been here almost two months, he thought to himself as he hobbled over to the door. I really need to finish unpacking. When he answered the door, he saw his new neighbor Hank on the front porch. Hank was a tall guy in his mid-40s, He was the gym teacher and football coach at the local high school. He was also very handsome, broadly built with a handsome stoic face. There was something different though. Every time Kevin had seen the man, he’d been wearing a snug pair of Wranglers. Now, however, the handsome older man was wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants. Kevin’s heart began to race as he suspected the reason for the change in wardrobe.

“Hey buddy,” said Hank in his deep rumbling baritone, shifting from foot to foot. He seemed a lot less confident than Kevin had ever seen him. “I, uh, I was in the neighborhood and I was just wonderin’ if you’d be willin’ to give me some advice on a...purchase...I made recently.” 

Kevin smiled warmly and stepped out of the way, inviting the bigger man inside. “Absolutely! What kind of purchase do you mean?” He loved playing dumb in these situations, forcing the straight dudes to squirm a little.

Hank cleared his throat and then sniffed. “Well, uh, it’s a long story. For a month or two, I’ve been...packin’ on a few pounds...” He adjusted his camo baseball cap, looking anywhere but Kevin. “And it is all...accumulatin’ in one spot... I guess you could say.”

“Oh? I’m not sure what you mean.” Kevin cocked his head in mock confusion. Hank’s ears were starting to turn pink. 

“Uh, well, my, uh....myasskeepsgettinbigger.” he muttered, so quietly Kevin could barely hear it. 

“What? I think I must have misheard you.” the shorter man grinned, watching the blush spread down to Hank’s neck with great enjoyment.

“I said, my...ass...keeps gettin’ bigger” He said, face burning with embarrassment. He was shifting from foot to foot again. “I can’t fit into any of my old pants anymore, or my old drawers. And I bought some replacements on the internets, and I guess I was maybe a little drunk when I did it because...” The poor man looked like he was going to have a stroke. “Well I was just wonderin’ if you could take a look and see if they’re...okay. I know that guys who are...like you...are better with that kinda stuff.” 

“Okay, well let me see the package and I’ll take a look.”

Shock flashed across Hank’s face. “The-uh, package?” 

“Yeah, the package the underwear came in?”

Kevin had never seen a person turn as red as Hank did in that moment. “Uh, I didn’t think to bring the package. I kinda, um, well I kinda wore ‘em here.” 

It took everything in Kevin not to burst out laughing, but he kept up the act. “Oh wow. Well, let’s see what we’re working with.”

Hank cleared his throat, and then turned around. He took a deep, shaky breath as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his sweatpants, and then lowered them. Kevin’s eyebrows went up in surprise. 

When Kevin had met Hank, his ass had been small, tight, and perky. In the short time since, it had become a giant pair of soft, fat globes that jiggled and bounced without the support of his pants. Buried between them was a black thong. Kevin grinned.

“Well, you want my professional opinion, as a gay guy?” He asked.

Hank gulped. “uh, yes please.”

“Well, I think they’re a little boring...”

Hank turned back, looking surprised. “...Boring?”

“Yeah! I mean where are the patterns? Where’s the lace?”

“Would you...like it more if they were...lacy?” Hank looked like he couldn’t believe the words he was saying.

Kevin smiled. “Absolutely! In fact, you should probably wait for my approval next time.” Hank blushed more and nodded.

It was clear that the “homemade punch” Kevin had served to all the men in the neighborhood at his housewarming barbecue was finally beginning to show results. The powder he’d bought online had promised that the effects would include a steady increase in gluteal growth and sensitivity, heightened sexual feelings for the same sex, submissive tendencies, lowered intellect...

Hank cleared his throat. “I was uh, I was wonderin’ if maybe you wanted to...touch ‘em?” He didn’t need to ask twice. Kevin’s hands were practically on his pale jiggling cheeks before the bashful redneck could finish the sentence. Hank’s deep rumbling voice climbed a few octaves as he yelped and whimpered in pleasure like he’d never felt before. He backed into Kevin, desperate for more. 

as Kevin teased the poor man with the floss of his own thong, he reached around, his hand slipping into the front pouch. His hand wrapped easily around Hank’s diminished tool. Kevin was happy to see the powder had delivered in that regard too.

“I-it’s....normally biiiigger!” Hank whined in his new bitched-out tone. That was certainly an understatement. The 7 inch club that had filled out the front of his Wranglers two months ago was now a two inch button boner. 

“Well, it’s much more manageable now.” Kevin taunted, working a finger between his new toy’s massive mounds.

 Hank’s eyes went crossed and he let out a whine so high that his voice cracked. His tiny dick erupted immediately, and he slumped back against the shorter man behind him. Kevin had to practically carry him to the sofa. Hank sat panting, red faced, trying to collect himself.

“I-I think *HUFF* somethin’s *HUFF*  happening to me!” he whined between pants, unable to articulate the transformation that had brought him here. 

“Well, you just lay there and have a deep breath and we’ll talk things through okay? I’ll make sure you have nothing to worry about.” Kevin cooed down at him like he was talking to a frightened stray dog. 

Hank looked up at him hopefully, his breath evening out. “You mean you’ll help me?”

“Of course! You just lie back and let me take care of everything.” Kevin patted him on the cheek condescendingly. ”Oh but where are my manners? You’re a guest! I just made some punch, would you care for a glass?”

[wranglerbuttboys]

When you favor twinks and rednecks, it’s nice to find them both in one pretty little package.  In case you’re wondering don’t let the baby face fool you, that sweet country-ass is almost 20 years old having graduated high school two years ago.  

Picture that boy on his knees putting those dick sucking lips of his to good use, looking up at you with discomfort in those pretty-eyes as you slam your cock down his velvety throat. Then bend him over the tailgate of his truck, pull those Wranglers down to his knees and reveal like a present on Christmas morning what I can only imagine is a smooth, tight round luscious little bubble-butt.  Squirt a little lube on his tight puckered hole, then pin him down, before you give him a hard, rough fucking while all he can do squirm, grunt and moan in pain and pleasure until you blow your load deep inside him.

[hotsexycowboysandcountryboys]

When you favor twinks and rednecks, it’s nice to find them both in one pretty little package.  In case you’re wondering don’t let the baby face fool you, that sweet country-ass is almost 20 years old having graduated high school two years ago.  

Picture that boy on his knees putting those dick sucking lips of his to good use, looking up at you with discomfort in those pretty-eyes as you slam your cock down his velvety throat. Then bend him over the tailgate of his truck, pull those Wranglers down to his knees and reveal like a present on Christmas morning what I can only imagine is a smooth, tight round luscious little bubble-butt.  Squirt a little lube on his tight puckered hole, then pin him down, before you give him a hard, rough fucking while all he can do squirm, grunt and moan in pain and pleasure until you blow your load deep inside him.

[countryboyforyou2]

When you favor twinks and rednecks, it’s nice to find them both in one pretty little package.  In case you’re wondering don’t let the baby face fool you, that sweet country-ass is almost 20 years old having graduated high school two years ago.  

Picture that boy on his knees putting those dick sucking lips of his to good use, looking up at you with discomfort in those pretty-eyes as you slam your cock down his velvety throat. Then bend him over the tailgate of his truck, pull those Wranglers down to his knees and reveal like a present on Christmas morning what I can only imagine is a smooth, tight round luscious little bubble-butt.  Squirt a little lube on his tight puckered hole, then pin him down, before you give him a hard, rough fucking while all he can do squirm, grunt and moan in pain and pleasure until you blow your load deep inside him.

[lthrcwby63]

Last Hanging

So, I plan a plane trip to South Carolina, with a layover in Houston. Overnighting at a Motel outside of town. I have 1 duffle bag with me, I hold a new pair of Dark blue Wrangler Jeans, a black leather fringed jacket, a pair of tall cowboy boots, a pair of Spanish spurs with jingle Bobb’s, and a pair of gauntlet gloves. Also, my shaving kit and a carton of Marlboro Reds.

The taxi driver from the airport makes a stop for me to get a bottle of Jack Daniels for the night on the way to the Motel. I check in to the Motel and go to my room,

I get into the room and unpack, take some time to relax and then take a shower, shave, and get my new Jeans and boots and a t-shirt back on. Have a couple slugs of Jack and smoke a pack. After the sun goes down and traffic isn't heavy, I get my jacket on and cowboy hat, grab my duffle with the spurs, chaps and glove and head over to the phone booth and call a number, leave a message that I am here and then start walking down the road.

A pick-up truck slows down and passes me and stops and the passenger door opens and I throw the duffle in the back and climb into the cab.

The driver is the hangman, and on the bottom of the floor is a coil rope with a noose. He points out to rope and tells me everything is ready for tomorrow.

We drive outside of the city limits to a fence to his ranch. Gets out and opens the gate and we drive through.

He stops in front of a farm house; lights are on and he walks me through the front door. His boy takes my duffle and they lead me to a room with a bed. I am told to strip and get ready for getting lots of fuck time in as they both then take turns shooting loads into my ass. They leave and the door is locked and they take all my gear.

Morning comes, they come in and I am up, we walk out the door and down a path to an old barn and step inside. My gear is laid out on a platform about 4' tall with a short 3 step stair on top of a trap door. Noose is hanging over the stool and the end is tied to one of the upright posts.

They tell me to get dressed, no jeans, they want to see my ass and cock and balls clench and balls bounce around while I swing.

Once I am dressed, they give me some Jack Daniels and a smoke. The boy leans me over the platform and slowly starts to fuck me again. This time he reaches up and takes an arm at a time and pulls my arms back and ties my hands behind my back.

The Hangman walks over to the stairs of the platform and gets to the top, walks over to my head and his boy orders me to lick my hangman's boots. And I do, long, slow, and loving passes with my tongue on his boots.

Hangman says it's time and I get stood up, cum dripping out my ass and my cock, stiff and dripping precum. The sounds of my boots on the platform and the jingle of my spurs, I can hear. The boy reaches over and grabs a western gun belt and straps it on my waist and says they only hang outlaws.

The hangman places the noose around my neck and sinches it up tight with the knot against my left ear. Both of them help me up the 3 stairs, stair case on the trap door. Hangman, unties the other end and start to take up the slack until I am standing on the toes of my boots.

Hangman then tells his boy to start sucking my cock and as soon as I start shooting to drop his hand and that will signal him to open the trap.

It doesn't take long, but he waits to get my whole load, as I am coming down from the orgasm, trap opens, stair falls through the trap and my boots are pumping air and spurs are jingling loud.

The boy holds me in place so I don't spin and jacks off on my boots.

30 minutes later they strip me, cut me down and get dumped in a hole, face down, noose still around my neck. Fill in the hole and walk away.

[sebsxphia]

GOOOD MORNING BESTIE (it’s 5am we won’t talk about that though)💐💐💐 I hope you slept well!!! How are we today?

Today’s thot: dirty nasty hotel sex with Rhett 💥💳💥💳💥💳

Fucking you in front of the mirror and making u keep eye contact through it 😩 maybe that’s when he finally takes your virginity, when you can watch him ruin u gn

GOOOOD MORNINGGGG / AFTERNOOOON BESTIEEEE!!!! 💐💐💐💐

i woke up then fell back asleep, whoops! 5 AM!!!!!!!!! bestie i’m so sorry 🥺

thank you so much!! i’m okay today!! how are you today?? i hope you slept well too!! 💖

DUDE NASTY DIRTY HOTEL SEX IS SUCH A KINK OF MINE AND IT JUST GOES SO WELL HAND IN HAND WITH RHETT

and taking your virginity too??? hoo boy. even though rhett has been edging you for months at the idea of finally fucking you, you would’ve at least thought the first time would’ve been in your bed, or in the back of his truck looking up at the stars.

wrong! so very, very wrong. it’s not unlike rhett to take you to a sleazy motel. he’s done it before and he’ll only get you to suck him off or play with your folds a little bit, but it’s just nice to have you all to himself without daddy hearing.

he has you pinned up against the door as soon as it clicks shut behind you. his wranglers wedged in between your thighs as you grind down on them mindlessly. it’s been a week since he last touched you and your nerve endings are on fire.

you can already tell this is different by the way he has a hold under your jaw bone with his calloused fingers as he runs his tongue along your bottom lip, needy for you. “you’ve been so impatient angel face. i think it’s time you watch the torture you’ve put me through. come here.”

your flimsy dress is bunched around your hips and your breasts spilling out, rhett’s fingers tugging over your sensitive nipples making you mewl. he hasn’t even bothered to undress you for your first time, neither has he. his wranglers unzipped and his shirt only unbuttoned by a couple.

his tip is kissing the sweet spot inside of you and it’s making your thoughts fuzzy and your eyelids heavy. you never thought you could feel so full or feel so good.

he’s snapping his pelvis against the squishy flesh of your ass. all you can hear is the sound of skin slapping on top of each other and lewd moans from you both, the occasional curse and groan slipping from rhett’s lips as he feels your tight walls clench around him.

rhett doesn’t let your eyelids droop however and he’s smacking your ass with a grunt to bring you back to him, before gripping your cheeks with a vice grip to match his gaze in the mirror he’s currently taking you in front of. “don’t you dare break eye contact with me, angel face. watch as i finally take your fragile virginity and wreck that pretty, little cunt.”

WHOOPS KINDA RAN AWAY WITH THAT 😵‍💫

[chrollohearttags]

buckle bunny

omg omg so I know I talk a lot about cowboy!reiner’s partner being this adorable housewife that bakes cookies and always dresses in cute outfits but I am thinking sooo hard about him meeting (y/n) in their younger days and she was wild! I’m talking baddest bitch walking, hopping out of her lifted truck with long nails, 40 inches to the ass with Wrangler booty shorts and a camo crop top. “Man, who is that?” He’s out with his friends at the bar, drinking and he sees this woman, busting out her jeans because the ass is sitting, thighs are thick and she’s killing every girl in there. You’re on the floor dancing, flirting and chatting up every dude that walks your way but not giving them more than a minute of your time. Because he’s where your attention is. His face is visibly red from how insanely attracted he is to you. He wants to approach you, say something…but his confidence is not up to par for that. You can clearly see him stealing glances from across the room, nervously nursing his beer but it’s not until it’s your turn to hop on the mechanical bull and when you start twirling around on that saddle..poor boy breaks into a cold sweat! He’s standing there in his Carhartt shaking like a freight truck. Once you finish, there’s no doubt in his mind he has to see what’s up. But before he can even walk your way..you curl your tongue over those pretty plump lips; shooting him a wink to let him know you’ll be riding him next.

so it comes as no surprise when you make your way through the bustling crowd and makeshift line dance forming near the bar, he’s surprised to see you come talk to him because no woman has ever approached him and so boldly. He loves it! “Don’t think I’ve ever see you around here before.” “I could say the same.” Fluttering those 25 MM lashes as you took a sip from your Red Dixie cup. Long nails curling it and boy, could he only dream about it being him you’d lick on like that. It’s not long before you’re running game on the shy country boy with the deep voice and sexy southern drawl. Sitting in his lap while playing with his stubbly beard..thinking about how you’ll be sitting on it before the night’s done. He compliments your dancing and how well you rode that machine. “Thanks, darling. I got a lot more skills than that.” A hand coiling your waist and an open Budweiser in the other, Reiner finally has enough of that liquid courage to ask you to go for a late night ride with him. A customary sign of a crush in these small town parts.

an hour later and your tight little outfit is sprawled all over the floorboard of his F-150. Fingernails dug in between his blonde wefts as he glided his tongue up and down that exposed clit. Flicking his tongue all around your folds and devour that sweet cunt. You’ve made a mess of those leather seats that he just replaced in his old beater but it’s just fine by him..as long you keep coming all over his face. “Shit!…I didn’t expect you to be like this, Mr. Reiner…” laughing as you cover your mouth in shock from being forced into squirting twice. He’s so impressed that he can’t stop kissing and caressing on that pretty pussy. “Stick around, sugar. There’s more where that came from.” You always knew the quiet ones were the type to look out for but he was no joke. So after returning the favor and sucking him up with your ass nearly seated on his dash, he finds himself stroking that big, thick cock in his palm, waving you towards him. “So about those tricks, darling? Why don’t ya’ climb on top of me and show me what you can do?”

[drinkingpoison]

Proselfshipadvent day two: putting up decorations 🎄

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ 📓

Gonna admit, I'm not caught up on this show and am a little shy about this one. But I want to do something cute and silly with Hughie and Homelander ☆

(Homelander is the kin insert in this scenario, Hughie is my guy ♡)

With another holiday fast approaching came another meeting about public relations, Homelander readily being volunteered by his boss to help set up Christmas decorations for the city. A clear waste of his time and talents, one that had him rolling his eyes and protesting immediately, only to be shut down with the "this will help people like you, do it for the cameras-" argument.

Of course. Everything was for the cameras, every cute little tradition he dredged his way through. It became increasingly depressing every year, grinning and bullshitting about the citizens being like family to him, floating around like some kind of fairy stringing up tinsel and sparkling bows on every street lamp.

He could have done this in thirty minutes, had this entire city lit up in twinkling lights before these idiots could blink, but he had to be patient. All part of the show, he was an enthusiastic helper, not taking the actual logical route to getting shit done.

As if he should be wasting his time on this at all, regular old pigs could have been hired by the city to complete such a simple task. It didn't take long for his frustration to bubble to the point of distraction, lazily drifting off to the side while his wranglers were arguing about something, quickly scanning the faces of each passerby on the street. He'd linger on a single civilian that caught his attention, his bright gaze drilling directly into the back of a dark grey hood, taking notice of the few strands of dark curly hair poking out from under the rim.

Aha! Someone he knew, someone's who's company he enjoyed to a reasonable degree, annoying Hughie could provide a bit of entertainment on a boring, dreary day, one that loomed with the threat of Homelander becoming a bit too reflective about his own upbringing.

"Taking a piss break, I'll be right back!"

And like that, he was off, leaving the crew confused and shouting after him for a good few minutes. He'd ignore them quite easily, hovering behind his target for now, keeping his distance for the time being. He seemed to be headed off towards the park, taking a shortcut through a more secluded area. How convenient.

Couldn't waste too much time, what with Voughts' ability to track him if he did stray for too long. Not that anyone would butt too far into his business.

"Hi there." Sure to startle the poor man, Homelander dropped right in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Jesus fucking Christ -!!" As expected, Hughie nearly fell on his ass stumbling back, only to be caught by a strong arm around his waist, cheeks that were already red from the cold going a few shades darker as his eyes flicked back and forth across the face of the grinning blond now holding him uncomfortably close.

"Careful, it's pretty icy out here. Wouldn't want to hit your head, handsome civilian."

"Please let me go, Homelander. I have somewhere to be."

"Blah blah blah- Everyone has somewhere to be. Why don't I just get you there faster?"

"Ahahah yeah, no. I'm not telling you where I'm going - Mmph!"

Any protest was immediately muffled by Homelander leaning forward and all but mashing their lips together, easily holding the slightly taller human tight against his chest. They both knew he had no chance of escape once in his arms, but he did find the squirming absolutely adorable. Bringing one hand up to push up under the hood and lace his fingers through curly hair, he easily ignored the pounding and shoving on his padded chest.

"Oh, don't be like that, I'm just being a good Samaritan and helping to decorate the city!"

"I can't really bring myself to - Fuck, stop it- care what you're doing."

The words were hissed through gritted teeth, the superhuman having nuzzled his face against Hughie's throat, peppering the skin there with little nips and feather light kisses. His hands stayed occupied, fingers tugging gently at messy hair, the other hand wandering down skinny man's waist to cup his ass with a rough squeeze. The yelp let out was like music to his ears.

"Good boy. I should be getting back to "work". Don't keep your little friends waiting."

[xenclev]

Leaux, I need to know.. which one of your faves has the squishiest butt.. and do it jiggle?

Bokuto has a squishy butt. Ass so fat it make thunder clap. The jiggle is immaculate. I'm saying, volleyball shorts had to be exchanged cause his asscheeks were practically hanging out of them. When he runs or jumps, booty has that mesmerizing jiggle.

And then there's...

Kita whose dumpy be poking. We're talking voluptuous booty. Bending down in those rice fields got that thang thanging. Not to mention the Wrangler pants and tight belt around his waist. It accentuates the wagon, but ass doesn't jiggle in Wranglers... sadly.

[Bonus: Lev has a butt, but it ain't as squishy nor does it jiggle. I cannot put him on a high horse when it comes to his ass.]

[ambrial-blog]

My Devoted Guardian: All Hell Breaks Loose Part 3.

Weary eyes peer up, glimpsing a pair of shiny black boots, ripped jeans, bronze skin, a red bandanna  and a tight package. Blitzo groans eyeing his open jacket.

"Rough night Blitzy?" he hisses from the shadows. "I could watch you all night darlin, what's the matter Bossman plans with prince charming not work out for ya" "Fuck off Cowboy, I'm not in the mood tonight" snarls the Boss imp. "Sorry darlin but Stella wants a word wit ya,  you can come quietly Sugar-cube or I could take ya by force" The snake imp warns. his golden tooth glinting in the darkness as he grins down his eyes hidden by his cowboy hat. "I should really give ya a bath come home smelling like a filthy blueblood, he snarls flicking his tongue out. "Is there something you ain't telling me? Blitzy he hisses pulling Blitzo up by his shirt and smashing his mouth against his in a fierce power play for dominance. Leaving Blitzo both stunned and breathless. "Blitzy, your playing with fire, I've warned you about messing thing up for me, Your  caught up in a dangerous cat-and mouse game darlin.  "By assassinating the prince you gain your freedom the ablity to do what you want when you want, isn't that what you wanted in the first place. "A book, Stolas grimoire nothing more, nothing less- what if I say, I can get it for you, all you have to do is relinquish IMP.  "Its the only way we can be together, you should stick to your own kind: your of a superior breed and its time you start acting like it"

Lucky for you I've managed to pull of few strings. By removing you for the city. Blitzo made a move to get up but Striker pushes him back down. "Hear me out Blitzy,  I've mended a few fences and earned back some trust on the Ranch, spoke highly of ya to Joe and Lin told them how much you love horses and really worked ya up had Joe practically salivating at the prospect of a new hand on the farm.

"You didn't! I agreed to this arrangement to keep Stolas safe and now, your trying to get rid of me to finish off the job you started back at the Festival! Blitzo accused. As Striker continues on with an edge to his voice.

"They're looking forward to seeing ya again he grits past serrated teeth, "willing to take ya on as their new hired hand his boys will teach ya the ropes."  The Cowboy reassured.

"Think about it Blitzy, you've compromised yourself and go to close to the enemy" "He is not the enemy! Blitzo grits. "I have your ticket out of this lifestyle  the you've made for yourself and as soon as I'm finished up here I'll meet you back at the farm.  By then, I'll have a surprise for ya upon my return.

"Did you not hear me asshole!" Blitzo growls. "Not only will Stella pay handsomely for her husband's demise but she could wipe the slate clean once she see's the mating mark I'm about to give ya" "Take the offer Blitz" Striker snarls winding the rope around his hands.  Blitzo growls demonically up at him. "I'm not leaving my employees in your sadistic hands! for starters and two: I have I have too much riding here to  even consider running my ass back to wrath. Only to be fucked by an inbred hick!" seethes Blitzo.  Ire flickering in his eyes: "So the short answer is no-cowboy and that's final.

"You think I'm giving you a choice Bossman, after everything we've been through Striker growls. "Don't ya care about the trouble your in- what if you get caught in the crossfires,  do ya think anyone would miss ya" the snake hisses.

"I don't see your vermin here, if they care about ya they would've been here wit ya" "Heck, they would've stood up to ya back there" says the Wrangler.

"Your acting as if you were there!" Blitzo sneers. accusations flying.

"Trust me, Blitzy if I were there I'd showed everyone in  the disease riddled, overpriced playhouse  who you truly belonged to, apparently I'm the only one seeing reason tonight"

"The point is Boss, you have no say in the matter you must go where your Alpha goes,  Striker hisses backing Blitzo up against the musty couch.  Blitzo could feel the heat radiating off of the snake-imp's body. "Hmm,  a nice bath ought to also cool ya down a bit" Striker sneers

Blitzo hisses as the cowboy snaps the coiled rope.

"You'll be happier there, once your out of the city your little vermin won't come lookin for ya until the sun rises"

"Snap"

"In a few hours I'll have ya back home tucked neatly away until this whole thing blows over, your vermin will be too late"

"Snap"

"You understand  the cost I can't afford to lose you, Blitzy where cut from the same cloth you and I" Striker whispers caressing his face while wiping the tears away with the pad of his thumb.

Blitzo leans into the touch: loving those peach-Skinned hand: rough and calloused but warm  and tender.  As easy as it could've been just to give into the Cowboy's ludicurus demands and let the wrangler do whatever he wanted to him. He couldn't live with himself if something were to happen to Stolas. Octavia would a father, he had already felt immense guilt in the part he played in the affair.  But running and hiding wasn't in him.

Okay, that was a bold-faced lie. but, tonight was different.

Blitzo could feel the Cowboy's hard pecs as the assassin crawls onto his lap, the snake imp could feel heat radiating off his mate's body as he slides his leg up and in-between Blitzo's

"We ought to get going partner, miss Stella can get really cranky"  spoke the Cowboy in-between kisses. His voice deep and rich, Blitzo felt the tickle of Striker's mustache, the electric touch of his skin. "Darlin-" the snake imp spoke turning the Boss  imp's head to the scratched out pictures.  "I never want to see,  your handsome face scratched out of any more pictures"  "you mean more to me than my own brothers do" Blitzo's hisses as Striker buries his snout into Blitzo's neck. The Boss imp gasps as Striker suckles on his neck.

"It would be so easy, to bite you, to fill you up so full of my venom: I could leave you a drooling mess. Before throwing ya over my shoulders."

"What is left for ya here but a dying company and few fleas and a mongrel, who I heard likes chasing married tail. Like Father like daughter I presume" The spell was broken, and Blitzo's senses came rushing back to him at the mention of his daughter. " Get off me!" Blitzo growls throwing the cowboy off him, Blitzo punches him right in the family jewels. The Wrangler's eyes water as he falls to his knees clutching himself making a high-pitched noise. For an intense moment all Striker could see was white blanketed haze. The Cowoboy reaches for Blitzo as the former harlequin slips through his fingers.  

"You'll pay for that Blitzy!, Striker snarls recovering enough to leap over the couch, tackling the Boss imp to the ground pinning his shoulders while picking up the blade from the ground.  He brings it to the Boss imp's neck.

Blitzo's body stiffens as the snake imp straddles his waist grinding his pelvis into Blitzo's crotch.

"You son of a bitch! snarls Blitzo there is nothing you can do to  change my mind, you limp dick snake!"

Blitzo could feel Striker's tail coiling around his neck constricting against him. his tail rattling dangerously. The Harlequin  struggles to strain his neck, The outlaw chuckles darkly his hot breath coasting along his mate's slender neck.

A gleam of clear venom shone dripping from Striker's large fangs. Blitzo vigorously struggles pushing against the wrangler, who was laughing  in his face. Twisting his body feeling the cool metal of the blade press against his skin. Blitzo let out an irritable hiss as Striker mouth inches closer and closer to his neck.

Blitzo screams as Striker sinks his fangs into the Boss imp's collarbone  grinding his pelvis into his stomach. The crimson devils works his arm free gripping the cowboy by the bicep. the scarlet devil could feel the burning friction spike  as the cowboy continues to ride him.

Striker growls approvingly feeling Blitzo's nails sink into his skin, the knife Knicks his neck as ruby red droplets fell onto an eager tongue. Blitzo moans closing his eyes as Striker's tongues suckles on his neck.

"Nngh! Striker!,  The Cowboy hisses in pain as the Boss imp runs his  claws across Striker's face  before cracking him hard across the face: his knuckles grind into his face. Blitzo's tail whips out winding around the Cowboy's waist.

"GET OFF ME!" snarls the Boss imp tossing Striker across the room, the ranch hand snarls in pain, his swirling yellow eyes locked onto Blitzo as the imp threw open the door and ran.

Unfortunately before he could make it into the stairwell a heavy lasso ensnares him from behind and with the flick of  his wrist the wrangler sends his mark flying back with enough force to give the Omega whiplash.

[thisblogisboundforglory-blog]

#8 - What Goes Around

Justin and Jason look up from their literature, suddenly, and at almost exactly the same time, because some out-of-place motion and a bit of fuss have caught their attention.

It's a girl. She's sprinted right under the spinning wheel, appearing from the lower level of the backstreet without warning, dodging the forty-passenger cabin (and the huge steel mechanism and the inattentive operators) with the grace of a dancer. With the body of a dancer, too.

"Oh my god," Justin breathes. "It's her."

Jason snatches the piece of paper from Justin's hand. He looks at the photo, looks at the girl, blinks, and looks back at the photo again.

"Can't be," he says.

"It is," asserts Justin. "And we are gettin' laid Vegas style." He adjusts his tight Wranglers, sets his hat on stun, and strides up to the girl. She is the one in the picture. Young, honey-blonde, dressed in cutoffs and a peach-colored tank top. Without makeup, feather boas, or Vaseline on the lens, she's even prettier. Younger, too. Although she must be eighteen because there are laws, right? Even in Vegas?

She's intent on getting somewhere fast, so Justin throws himself directly in her path on this tourist-clogged walkway, eases left when she does, goes right when she dodges, and smiles as if this were just one of those shall-we-dance moments. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" He asks.

"No," she says, and reverses direction.

Justin grabs her by the arm and spins her back around. He's a tall kid. Strong. Next season, he's trading in his red shirt for glory. The 'Devils are going to kick ass when he's finally in charge.

"Justin," Jason pleads. This walkway looks like a sidewalk, but it isn't. This is private property. And Jason has noted that every square inch has a camera aimed at it. And a few of the tourists are overdressed for the weather, with bulges under their Nautica jackets. And one of the half-naked Roman Centurions posing for pictures out on the real sidewalk has a haircut like—

"I was just going to call you," Justin tells the girl.

She looks all around her. Maybe like she's expecting backup. Or maybe like she's hoping nobody is following her. Either way, she doesn't look to Jason like someone out to show two cowboys a good time for the low, low price of $99.99.

Which is probably why she plants the flat of her Doc Martens into Justin's shinbone, knees him in the nuts when he crumples, and takes off like a jackrabbit, back through the big wheel from which she emerged.

And now all the characters out by the street (Roman Centurion, Cleopatra, Pikachu, three Michael Jacksons, an entourage of Elvi, some guys in skinny suits who might be the Beatles except one of them is really short and Black) are toed up to an invisible line. Obviously, there is a boundary between public sidewalk and private property that costumes cannot cross. They line up and point excitedly to where Justin is on his knees vomiting two yards of watered rum over the stamped concrete.

"Fucking cunt," Justin gasps, and staggers to his feet.

"Wait!" Jason yells. His voice is embarrassingly high and he feels like the second-string center he is when his quarterback rushes out of the pocket, jigs a wobbly left, and weaves through the oblivious crowd. 

The girl takes a shortcut down and through the five-foot drop into the ride’s mechanical pit.

Justin follows her and becomes a lanky plaid locust on the windshield of a forty-four-thousand pound enclosed cabin connected to the world's largest Ferris wheel, currently traveling at a deceptively sluggish one foot per second, which, applied to something the size and shape of, say, a human skull, has about the bite force of an American alligator—which could leave the target with just enough autonomic nervous system to twist and thrash as the body is taken up into the air no more than twenty feet until it succeeds in disengaging from the cabin. Which is when mass becomes about one hundred ninety pounds and acceleration becomes equivalent to gravity and-

At some point, Jason's brain stops calculating the Newtons of force and transfers that mental energy into the acceleration of his Ropers. He roars, skirts the wheel, and launches 225 pounds of enraged grief along the alley-like backstreet that leads to the parking lot behind these three casinos. He stumbles at the entrance to the underground tunnel – big enough to drive a truck through – and sees just beyond the gloom something that may be a girl and a dog running for their lives.

He doesn't follow.

What for?

What good would it do?

The thing he loves most in this world is already gone. The girl –

The girl was never the point.

Back at the wheel, whistles are blowing and large men in matching Nautica jackets are implementing crowd control. Here at the edge of the parking lot, Jason barely notices the old man waiting by Justin's truck.

Key.

Jason shoves a hand into his pocket, pulls out everything he’s shoved into it over the course of the afternoon: the cursed flyer, Justin’s keys, a phone, directions to the Cherry Patch Ranch, the drink receipts that always end up in his pocket because they’re on his credit card and littering makes him feel bad. He fumbles and drops the phone and receipts onto the half-gravel, half-asphalt. But he’s got the keys. They’re cutting a gash into his palm as his fist closes convulsively around them. His butt hits the ground. The jolt shakes a sob out of him.

Coyote leans against the pickup and squints into the tunnel, into the gloom that swallowed the intriguing female and her human-shaped she-pup.

Then, he unzips the fly of his jeans and calmly pisses on the truck, managing to hit the front license plate, the back license plate, the rubber testicles, and two of the four grotesquely oversized tires before he runs out of opinion to express. 

So much for the horse. Now what about the cowboy?

It isn’t easy for a one-legged Indian to sneak up on a cowboy in a gravel parking lot. Coyote manages to scoop up Jason’s dropped phone on the third attempt, cussing at his body's perverse desire to succumb to the laws of physics, and limps over to the weeping boy.

Right. Boy. Big as a cow, but mostly just boy.

"You wanna hand me up that piece of paper and go away now," Coyote growls, "Quick. And I forget I ever saw you."

Jason gulps air like it's the fourth quarter, tries to get up, fails, stalls, and clutches both fists around the keys; oblivious to anything other than the determination to dissolve into a big plaid puddle on the hot asphalt.

Coyote shrugs and pushes random tiny pictures on the smartphone screen. He holds it to his ear and a female voice on the other end sighs, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Coyote grins. "Lucky guess," he says.

The sky, he notes, is going blood red on the western horizon. It always does this time of day.

[wranglerbuttboys]

When you favor twinks and rednecks, it’s nice to find them both in one pretty little package. In case you’re wondering don’t let the baby face fool you, that sweet country-ass is almost 20 years old having graduated high school two years ago.

Picture that boy on his knees putting those dick sucking lips of his to good use, looking up at you with discomfort in those pretty-eyes as you slam your cock down his velvety throat. Then bend him over the tailgate of his truck, pull those Wranglers down to his knees and reveal like a present on Christmas morning what I can only imagine is a smooth, tight round luscious little bubble-butt. Squirt a little lube on his tight puckered hole, then pin him down, before you give him a hard, rough fucking while all he can do squirm, grunt and moan in pain and pleasure until you blow your load deep inside him.