#let me know if you enjoyed or have any feedback yadayada the usual

[gay-mooshrooms]

I fear to stain your clothes with blood/Stain them. I don't care

Chapter 1

Look.

Maybe Wilbur didn't love going to camp.

Maybe he would whine, and complain, and annoy the crap out of Phil and Techno on the 3-hour car ride.

But! 

That did not mean he hated it. 

Sure it was far from the most enjoyable experience in the world. 

But sue him, the kids gave him some small shred of hope for humanity that he was oh so desperately lacking. 

It also helped that Tommy adored Camp Essempi. He had practically grown up there, been tagging along every summer since he was 7 after Phil bought the place. 

So now Wilbur found himself in his dad's grey van, listening to The Artic Monkeys at a very unhealthy volume, while he could see Techno gesturing in the seat in front of him. 

If he had to guess, Tech was probably monologuing about some new book he read or what he was planning for the campers or something.

Wilbur didn't really care. 

Tommy was directly next to him, and his head was now resting on his shoulder, where it had been slowly creeping toward for the past hour, in spite of him claiming, "Fuck you Wil! I'm not tired at all bitch!"

They really needed to work on his swearing problem.

But that was for another day. 

Right now Wilbur had to worry about how to stay sane with 2 more hours left on this car trip.

He debated trying to read a book he brought but considering the last time he'd tried reading a book in the car they'd had to pull over so he could throw up, he decided not to risk it. 

Listen to Techno rant? Wilbur thinks he'd rather take the vomit at that point.

He eventually just decides to take the easy way out. 

Turning his music down slightly, he lays his head on top of Tommy's, stretching the blanket he'd been hogging across them both, and letting his eyes shut. 

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

By the time he woke up, they were only 30 minutes away from camp, and Tommy was still dead to the world. 

Techno had fallen asleep at this point too, his head lolling so his long hair fell over the edge of the car seat.

How he lived with it that long Wilbur would never know. 

He removed one of his earbuds and was met with the soft sound of Here Comes the Sun drifting from the radio, Phil humming along quietly. 

A few seconds later, his dad looked up and saw him awake. 

"Oh Wil!" Phil said, smiling, "Didn't see that you were up. We stopped at McDonald's about 15 minutes ago and got some fries for you, figured you'd be hungry."

Wilbur immediately brightened and maybe grabby hands at his father. 

"Gimme food," he said, with all the eloquence of a toddler. 

Phil chuckled and handed over the brown paper bag. 

"Save some for Tommy, you know he'll be starving when he wakes up, and who knows what that will entail."

Wilbur nodded solemnly, suddenly reminded of the last long car trip they'd taken. 

A few minutes into starting on the fries, he felt Tommy stir beside him. 

"Ugh, do I smell food?" Tommy asked, his voice slightly hoarse. 

"Always hungry never satisfied," said Wilbur, which was not entirely inaccurate. Tommy ate like a fiend. 

"Ey!" Tommy blurted out, his head immediately shooting up and his hands raising. "Just cus you're as small as a twig doesn't mean I have to be. Plus I heard Niki's running some of the sports stuff and I am NOT doing that on an empty stomach."

Wilbur had to give him that, Niki, one of his old camp friends and now first-year counselor, was one of the nicest people he'd ever met, but also incredibly badass. 

She'd been one of Techno's favorite campers, and he, in turn, had been her favorite counselor, which meant she was an expert in most combat-based camp stuff. 

She terrified Wilbur and Tommy alike. 

Techno too, but he would only admit that to her.

"Fine fine gremlin child take your food," huffed Wilbur, handing over the bag.

Tommy grinned evilly up at him and began shoveling the food into his mouth like an animal, a raccoon perhaps. Or maybe a possum. 

Wilbur couldn't help but grimace and turn his attention back towards his older brother and father, who, now that Techno had woken up too, were discussing camp setup. 

"Listen, Phil," one of Techno's quirks, he almost never called Phil dad. "We have more campers this year, we're gonna need to buy some more stuff."

Phil shook his head, "It'll be fine Tech. And if not, we'll go out and get stuff. And anyway, it's not so much supplies I'm worried about but space. I think we'll have to raid some of the unused cabins for cots. The last thing I wanna do is force kids to sleep on the floor, "said Phil, chuckling. 

"It would be good for them, " Wilbur chimed in, "Builds character."

Phil laughed. 

"C'mon Wil, let's not give them scoliosis too early on in the summer."

"As I just stated, character building."

"Wilbur I swear to god."

The last 20 minutes of the drive were spent bickering about random topics or singing along to Hamilton.

The latter was, of course, Wilbur's request. 

But Tommy joined in too. 

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The sudden sound of crunching gravel alerted Wilbur to their imminent arrival at Essempi, a sound that bore equal parts joy and pain in his mind. 

It was at this point Tommy began bouncing off the walls, it was honestly a miracle he's lasted this long.

Usually about 2 hours in they had to stop for 15 minutes and just putter around a gas station.

Fortunately, Tommy had stayed up late last night with Wilbur, going over rules and his luggage over and over again to make sure he didn't forget anything. 

But once rested, Tommy's energy made a full recovery, and as soon as they had gotten their luggage out of the car he was full-on sprinting towards their cabin. 

Wilbur however, did not not follow so eagerly. 

Unlike Tommy, car trips didn't make him stir crazy, but rather tired, lethargic, and dead on his feet.

So, grumbling, he hoisted his backpack over his shoulders and grabbed his duffle, before trudging down the path behind his little brother. 

It didn't take long for his dad and Techno to catch up, his older brother giving him a small pat on his shoulder before moving past. 

Phil on the other hand, fell into stride alongside Wilbur and started humming Dear Theodosia, one of his favorites. 

"How are you feeling Wil?"

The words startled him, he hadn't exactly been expecting conversation. 

"Uh, fine?" he said, with a slight question in his tone. 

"I mean, a bit tired but nothing horrible."

Phil nodded, "OK. Just let us know if you need anything."

Wilbur couldn't help the small sigh that escaped him. 

He understood that his dad meant well. That he genuinely cared and wanted to help. But this was not what Wilbur needed. 

He never did well at the whole talking about your feelings thing. That was definitely Phil's department, and something he always encouraged in his kids. But somehow Wilbur never got the hand of that particular skill.

He didn't think any of them did really.

But he didn't say this, or anything remotely similar. 

Instead, he just nodded and said softly, "Alright, thanks dad."

Phil smiled, laid a hand on Wilbur's shoulder, gave a small squeeze, and then he was gone. 

Wilbur paused for a second, looking around at the slowly darkening sky, where the first glimpses of stars were visible.

He glanced at the trees, shaking in the slight breeze that was making him glad he wore a hoodie.

And finally, he looked back down the path, where beams of warm light could now be seen.

Wilbur took a deep inhale, readjusted his bag, and continued walking.

It was gonna be a long couple of months.

[impala-dreamer]

Unskinny Bop

SPN FanFic

~A mysterious stranger swings by your club one night and he's hard for you to resist.~

John Winchester x stripper!Reader

2,107 Words

Warnings: NSFW! Stripping, Hoeing, Prostitution, Fornication. YadaYada. John's a sexy motherfucker.

A/N: So, this happened. lol.  "I don't write John!" oops... This was a request made by Cindy Jo on Patreon for kinktober "lapdance". Hope you all enjoy...

Feedback is Gold ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

He walks in and the air in the room shifts. You can feel it hit you all the way up on the stage.

He’s tall and handsome, collar of his leather jacket popped up against the nape of his neck. His hair is dark, almost black, just like the look in his eyes. He’s bruised and scruffy, dangerous.

Mama always told you to stay away from men that looked like him, but Mama wasn’t there.

You hook your left leg around the pole and spin, slowly, just enough to show your wares and grab his attention. You get it; his eyes are glued to you as he sits in the dark corner of the club and lights a smoke. The match flares and you see hazel and lust flash up at you. His thin lips part as he exhales and you can almost feel the smoke in your head, making everything else fade away.

A man at the edge of the stage waves a twenty at you so you dip down to recieve it, popping your hip and offering him the string of your thong. The cash is cold and scratches your skin as it slides beneath the elastic. The man’s fingers linger on your thigh as you stand and back away with a sexy smile. You give him a moment of your attention but your mind is in the back of the room.

Your song ends and the crowd looks away, uninterested with applause, instead looking for the next dancer as she lingers behind the curtain. That’s fine with you, your dance is done and your intentions are set.

“Hey there.” You smile as he looks up, runt of a cigarette dangling between his lips.

He takes a puff and pulls it away, snuffing it out in the ashtray as he sits back in his chair and looks you over. “Hey yourself, Princess.” His voice is pure sex and gravel and your pussy throbs as it washes over you.

“Rough night?” you ask, looking down at the dried blood caking the knuckles of his right hand. There’s a ring on the left, thin band of yellow gold, but that doesn’t turn you away. You’ve seen husbands come and go, all with the same idea in their heads. It was nothing new and you were nothing if not discreet.

He smirks and rubs at the back of his hand. “You could say that.”

He’s not offering any more or asking, but he doesn’t look away. He licks his bottom lip slowly and your pulse quickens.

“Maybe a dance will distract you,” you tease, crossing your arms so your tits pop, nearly escaping the thin white babydoll you’d thrown on after your set. The lace can barely hold you in, but he doesn’t seem to mind, eyes falling quickly to your cleavage.

“I think that would be delightful,” he grins.

You can feel your nipples stiffen as his gaze draws across your chest. Leaning down to give him a better look, you place your palms on the table next to his hand. “Twenty for a quick one out here,” you explain with a sweet bat of your eyes. “Forty if you want some privacy…”

He sits all the way back in his seat and cocks his head to look you over, eyes dropping from your tits down to your barely covered pussy and down, lingering on your naked thighs. He smacks his lips and dips into his jeans, pulling a wad of cash from his pocket. Five wrinkled twenty dollar bills fan out on the sticky tabletop.

“How much will that buy me?” His eyes flash up to yours and everything your Mama ever told you about dangerous strangers suddenly disappeared into oblivion, lost forever.

The VIP room is covered floor to ceiling in crushed red velvet and black leather, the lights are dim and tinted with pink gels, and wall length mirrors are strategically placed across from the round couch, giving customers the perfect view.

He followed you inside, heavy boots thudding on the thin carpet behind you.

“Have a seat,” you offer, waving a hand over the leather couch.

He sits in the middle, spreading his long legs and resting his palms on the worn denim. He watches silently as you shut the door and flip the light switch, turning on the pink lights.

“Classy,” he jokes, looking up at the spotlights.

You laugh and flip a second switch, flooding the room with music. A hard, familiar guitar riff flows through hidden speakers behind the couch and you start to move, rocking your hips to the song.

“Nice choice,” he comments, nodding in approval at the song.

“You don’t strike me as a Poison fan,” you tease, moving closer, smoothing your hands down over your lace bodice.

He sits back and sighs happily, eyes fixed on your tits. “Really? How do I strike you, then?” His lips turn slowly at the edges, daring you to answer honestly.

You bite your lip and dip your chin, looking him over. There’s scratches on his cheek, a bruise on his neck, cuts on his knuckles. His jacket is old and worn, cuffs of his jeans muddy and frayed. Still, there’s something in his face that tells you he’s OK, he’s a good guy, just rough and tumble.

“I don’t know,” you answer coyly, peeling the strap from your left shoulder. “You seem dangerous...mysterious...sexy.” The right side falls as well and you inch the lace down off of your tits, swaying your hips as you strip for him.

He smiles and rubs his thighs, clearly enjoying your display.

“Did I get close?” you laugh, pulling your tits free, nipples hard in the cool air.

He nods and bites his lip. “Pretty close.”

The babydoll pools at your feet and you step out of it, slowly lifting each leg as you do, giving him a nice long look. “Well, maybe I can get closer.” You watch his eyes glaze over at your words and keep dancing, moving your body faster with the hard beat. “I like being close, don’t you?”

The tip of his tongue presses against his top teeth and he nods subtly. “I do.” His right hand dips between his thighs, fingers teasing his cock. You watch the bulge twitch and rub your tits for him, moaning as you pinch your nipples hard.

“Good. So do I.”

You turn quickly and shake your ass a bit, backing up until your legs are against his knees. The denim is soft and you lean back, placing your hands on his firm thighs. He feels so solid, so thick, and your pussy drips as you rub against him.

He lifts a hand to tease down your spine, forcing your back to arch away instinctively. It tickles, but fuck, his touch is so warm you melt into it. Scooting back, you set your ass against his crotch and start to grind, rubbing hard with the music, rolling your hips. You can feel your tiny panties soak and hope he can feel it as well. It’s not every day a customer actually turns you on like this.

“What’s your name?” he growls, hand suddenly tight on your hip.

You rock against his palm. “Candy.”

His fingers tighten. “Really?”

“No,” you laugh and stand up, spinning around to straddle his hips, shoving your tits in his face.  The stubble on his chin scratches your breast and sends a shiver down your back. “What’s yours?”

He clicks his tongue and fits his big hands in the curve of your waist. “You can call me, Sir.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “OK, Sir,” you tease, rubbing down on his stiffness. “How’s this feel?”

He hisses and slides his hands upwards to cup your tits. His hands are huge, strong; fingers warm and rough, calluses tickling wherever they land, bringing up a forest of goosebumps across your skin. “Real nice, Princess.” His words are a rumble on his lips and your cunt closes around nothing, hungry for him.

He leans forward suddenly and flicks his tongue against your left nipple, hazel eyes staring upwards to see your reaction. Your eyes roll a bit and your jaw drops; no one’s touched you like that in a long while. Dances were usually handsfree, but every now and then…

His mouth closes around your nipple and his teeth nip, making you jerk down hard on his lap.

“Fuck!” you whimper, pushing a hand through the short hair at the nape of his neck. He pushes into you, burying his face in your chest, sucking and lapping at your sensitive flesh until you tug at his hair, yanking his face up to yours. “I really shouldn’t be doing this,” you moan, plastering on an innocent look. “I could get fired.”

He sits back, lips wet and red, curled in a sly smile. He plucks your nipples with his fingertips and tips his head to the side. “You want me to stop?”

It’s so simple, so honest. If you say yes, he’ll stop right away and let you go.

If you say no, you’re sure to get caught with his cock plugged deep in your cunt.

You can feel him, hard and ready beneath you; your cunt already soaked and aching. You rub against him, pushing down hard, making him bite his lip. Just a little tease before you answer.

“I’m not supposed to fuck the customers, Sir,” you tell him, pouting as you lock your arms around the back of his neck and lift up slowly.

He keeps his eyes on yours as he reaches into his jacket pocket, runs his tongue across your collarbone as he fumbles with a wrapper.

“Ask me,” he growls when he’s ready, cock sheathed and leaking precum into the rubber. “Ask.”

You lean in, pressing your lips to his ear. “Please, Sir. Fuck me.”

He’s inside within seconds, thrusting upwards as he pulls you down by the hips. The stretch makes you cry out, biting your lip to hold back a scream. He’s so thick, so hot, and your cunt has never felt so full and happy.

“Ride me,” he commands, leaning in to snap his teeth over your nipple. “Hard.”

“Yes, Sir.” Your head falls back as you lift up and on your knees and then slam down, desperate to find a rhythm while your body tightens around him. “Fuck, you’re huge,” you moan as you take him deeper.

He lifts his hips, meeting your downwards push and pulls his lips from your tit with a wet pop. “You fit like a glove, Sweetheart. Such a sweet little pussy.”

“Fuck!”

The music changes as you ride his cock; steady beat of the drums like a metronome for your hips. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, suckling and biting at the tender flesh that hides your pulse. You know it’s going to bruise, you know you should stop him, but he feels so good. The heaviness of his big hands on your body, the scratch of his cheek against yours, the pull of his mouth. You can’t think straight as he takes over, thrusting up into you while you roll over the edge, cunt pumping around his cock, your slick dripping down onto his old jeans.

He holds you up as you slump backwards, body convulsing as the quick orgasm flows through you. One giant arm braces your spine, a giant hand on the back of your head, holding you steady as he finishes.

He cums like a rockstar, growling through clenched teeth; dark eyes becoming slits as he takes a relaxing breath and lets you go.

There’s little small talk as he cleans himself up; making use of the box of tissues hidden behind the sofa.

“I’m here every night but Thursday,” you say sweetly, hoping he’ll be back, wondering if he’d want you again.

“That’s nice,” he says passively, fixing his belt and giving you a polite smile.

Your heart is racing as you cover yourself back up, trying to fix your hair in the mirror while keeping an eye on him. “You can also ask for me by name if you come back and don’t see me. Maybe we could-”

“Thanks, Princess,” he says, cutting you off as he reaches for the door. “But I’m just passing through.”

You never did see him again but you remember the smell of him, leather and ash, sweat and whiskey; the feel of his lips tugging at your flesh, the fullness of him pounding away at your aching cunt.

As far as customers go, Sir was one to remember.

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