#muscle gogo

[remixingreality]

[hallohartje]

Model: SASUKE

Brand: EGDE

[ginger-muscle-xxx]

🩶🤍🩶🤍

[turkishchumash]

His name is

@sasuke_daru

@sasuke_tokyo

He’s popular around these parts

Very nimble on the dance floor

Always secured the bag

[chrisinsuffolk]

[men-of-colors]

Watermelon fetish

mmxxiii.ix.xxii

[remixingreality]

[hallohartje]

Model: SASUKE

Brand: EGDE

[ginger-muscle-xxx]

Body Party ❤️‍🔥

[forthegothicheroine]

Henchwomen Through the Ages

The "ages" of comics are not hard and fast things, and even comic book historians argue where they begin and end. They're more like moods than time periods, and your standard game of Henchwoman RPG will probably be set in a vague time period that could be anywhere from the thirties to today with an overall Silver Age mood. Still, let's take a look at how the roll of the Henchwoman has evolved, shall we?

Goldie is a gun-toting, cigar-chomping bank robber in victory rolls and a bullet bra. She's not called a henchwoman- she's called "Look out, that broad has a grenade!" She's loyal to the boss despite his dumb penny gimmick, but if he ever finked on her in court, he wouldn't live to see the sunrise. There's no Henchwomen's Union for her to join yet, but she's provided muscle for plenty of mob-backed unions. Goldie can't afford to be soft on heroes since they'd be just as happy to throw her off a roof as to arrest her, but she might be wooed by an appeal to patriotism- she ain't no Nazi rat! Her hobbies include matinee shows, swing dancing, and blasting coppers.

Sylvia is a competitive surfer and was a cocktail waitress until they fired her for slapping too many customers. Thanks to the newly formed Henchwomen's Union, she's treated much better by her current job, which usually involves crashing parties to steal themed jewelry. She and the heroes she fights have an understanding- they'll never be rough with her, and she won't check up on them after putting them in a death trap to see if they've died. On her off hours, she can go dancing in the same outfit she worked in- a silver jumpsuit, gogo boots and a purely decorative motorcycle helmet.

Brawny is a member of the Sisterhood of Wicked Witches, and she fights for a cause- or rather, several causes. These range from the reasonable (Save the whales!) to the less reasonable (A free ray gun for every child!) The Henchwomen's Union is strong enough to get her good pay, so many of her problems are philosophical- is she a good guy or a bad guy, and what do good and bad even mean? Brawny has to be a bit more careful than she would have been ten years ago, since death may well stick- but that also means she might really kill a hero, at least for a while, and that's what matters!

Tenebra prefers to be called a Dark Muse, a member of a vampire circle dedicated to bringing art to life, painted in colors of blood. Her eyeliner is swirly and her gowns are velvet, and she wears them onstage in her sideline darkwave band. Tenebra arranges her crimes in accordance with pre-raphaelite imagery, with victims displayed in heartbreakingly beautiful and mythologically-influenced poses. Her boss may technically be the Queen of the Vampires, and she may have a card with the Henchwomen's Union, but her true loyalty is to art itself.

Ferra is a mercenary with a separate pouch for each type of bullet, and she has a lot of types of bullet. Her stilettos are tall but her hair is taller, and she can strike intimidating poses that would break a normal person's back. The Henchwomen's Union had its own back broken by the bosses, and is now more of informal underground thing, but it still hooks her up with real deal bad guys. She'll kill without a second thought for her boss, but she's only one bad day away from turning her gun on him. It might even happen accidentally, since he and the heroes dress exactly the same. Ferra somehow has a heavy metal soundtrack even when there's no music playing.

Ally got a degree in psychology but until she can afford grad school, she gigs as a henchwoman. Her bosses are sillicon valley dickheads, but the first one to offer her real benefits will have her loyalty for life. Thanks to the resurgence of the Henchwomen's Union, Ally gets to wear big stompy boots instead of high heels, but she still has to wear a big day-glo logo on her leather jacket that might as well be a target sign. Her hobbies include pop culture conventions, smoking weed and credit card fraud.

[octuscle]

Being a Gogo boy looks fun… but it’s definitely a certain kind of body you need for it.

Did you know that the basic Chronivac package does not include individual support? But I'd be happy to make an exception for you. Perhaps also to avoid further unnecessary support cases.

The be-all and end-all of a good transformation is a sensible prompt that you enter for the transformation. For example, the desired result could be "A twenty-year-old athletic go-go boy with excellent dancing skills in erotic leather clothing". You should perhaps add what and where your new self is. I'm assuming that you don't suddenly want to be sitting at your grandma's coffee table in high leather boots. So let's add "On the dance floor of a dimly lit nightclub at 02:00 in the morning". If the journey is the destination for you, you have to describe that too. For example, "Immediately beginning a steady transformation that ends in 48 hours." To summarize: "Immediately beginning uniform transformation into a twenty-year-old athletic go-go boy with excellent dancing skills in erotic leather clothing, ending in 48 hours on the dance floor of a dimly lit nightclub at 02:00 in the morning." Attention, the AI only implements what you write, so the dance floor will be where it is in 48 hours at 02:00 in the morning.

It is 13:00 in Amsterdam when you press "Enter". Congratulations! The nightclub where you're whipping up the masses is obviously in Honolulu. However, you look like anything but a gogo boy. Slightly overweight office worker in his mid-40s… I'm curious. The change in your routines starts right at lunchtime. No quick stop at the burger joint across the street. Instead, three quarters of an hour on the cross trainer in the company gym. And then a small salad. No dressing. And a liter and a half of still mineral water. You've been taking almost manic care of your body for six months now. And it shows. You've really lost weight. Your skin is much better. And your taste in clothes has also improved. Nice suit!

You listen to music at work during the afternoon. Unusual for you. You actually need peace and quiet. Now you can only concentrate with music… Well… Concentrate… Actually, you surf the Internet more. And checking out horny guys on Grindr. You have your first date right after work at 5 pm. Just before that, a quick check in the toilet. Yes, for a man in his early 40s, you're pretty darn tight. Bright smile, always slightly tanned. And a tight butt. That's what you're known for in your department.

A hot fuck like this on the way home is a great way to switch off after work. When you get home, you quickly get changed and then it's off to the gym. Boxing arobics is on the schedule today. Perfect training for strength, muscle building and fitness. And most of the participants are to your taste. After the workout, you spend some time on the free weights. And then in the sauna. It's almost 10 p.m. by the time you're in the shower. Fortunately, you're not alone. Time to drop the soap.

The alarm clock rings at 11:00. Still, it was a short night… Since you work as a bartender in the club, you're one of the last to call it a night. In your mid-30s, you're too old for a job on stage or at the pole bars. But you're definitely a looker. Says the guest whose bed you've just woken up in. Awesome apartment with a view of the beach and the sea. And even if it's a really old geezer: Great morning wood! You'll be happy to let him fuck you and then put a few dollar bills in your panties. Yes, you are a whore. But a very successful one!

Unfortunately, even the hottest guy in Honolulu has to do things like laundry or shopping and cooking dinner. Especially when you're on such a strict diet as you are. Luckily you got the last appointment for a manicure and eyebrow correction at Agnes. Nothing stands in the way of a successful evening.

The time from 22:00, when the club opens, to 24:00, when you have your first gig, is usually the most lucrative. The men who are there that early are usually very solvent and very generous. Especially with the king of lap dancing. But your real hour is when all the spotlights are on you. For the first few minutes, the dance floor is all yours. And then you'll bring the club on fire!

[rakurairagnarok]

I can’t believe that I’m already done with college I feel like I didn’t do any fun and just did schoolwork instead. I wonder what my college life would have been if I had joined the himbo club?

You want to know what would happen if the past had been different?

You march on home from your boring 9-5 job. You haven't been happy for a while, and you have been regretting the choices you made in the past.

You had been a bookworm, a studious ass, and a pretentious douchebag your whole college life. Yeah you had a tight body and a well paying job but you were lonely.

Color you surprised when you found a box sitting in your frontlawn with the words Rakurai Inc. on it.

As you opened it up you found it was a large leather harness, fit for those leather bears and circuit parties you never went to.

You sighed and figured you might as well put it on, seeing as you never do anything fun.

You take of your crisp shirt and begin to put on the harness. As you get to your bathroom you can't help but laugh.

The harness is hanging from your body, barely haning on to your bony shoulders. You had a tight bod, not a well developed one after all.

You sigh as scratch your chest, and continue to scratch it as the itch intensifies.

You watch in horror as big patches of hair start to spread over your chest.

You were always well shaven. Not a hair out of place, you always went to bed early to make sure you had time to fix yourself... Right?

You were doubtfull about that last statement. After all, you always went out partying with your bros... right? You woke up super late, sometimes too late, so you would skip class and go to the gym.

You would dance all night at the gay clubs, make out with anyone and flex your muscles.

You still do actually, but now you get paid for it. You are a gogo dancer at the local gay bar, sometimes overdoing it a bit when the patrons give you shots. You have passed out on many occasion.

That doesn't sound like a person who always did their schoolwork ... right?

[remixingreality]

[hallohartje]

Model: SASUKE

Brand: EGDE

[ginger-muscle-xxx]

Stripped

[rfxiii]

Trevor x gogo dancer reader!!!!!!!???

*So, I wasn’t actually sure what exactly being a go-go dancer entailed, so I googled it and google said it was kinda similar to a stripper but they walked around the club to keep the vibes going. So, if I’m totally wrong I’m so sorry!

**TW: smut

Trevor Philips/ GoGo Dancer Reader:

You’ve worked at the club for a few months now. The nights are mostly the same- the club is crowded and the music is almost always deafening, but the tips and hourly pay are great. And frankly, you love the attention. You moved to Los Santos months ago for an opportunity to get away from the smaller, San Andreas city you used to call home, but once you found yourself here you quickly realized that to live in this fast paced, expensive city you needed a fast paced, well paying job. You’d tried several different jobs before landing here at the club on the recommendation of a friend of a friend. And you had no idea that tonight would be the best night of work in your life.

You’ve never seen him before in the club, but the presence he commands is enough to catch your attention over the blaring music and grinding bodies. You slip easily through the crowd, politely declining offers to dance from passing patrons until you’re across the room and close enough to watch him. He’d entered the club with two other men- an irritated looking, stocky man in his late forties and a young man in his twenties who’s gaze wanders to the dancers before locking on the bar. The older man follows his young companion to the bar, leaving their third companion unattended as you continue to watch his engrossing presence.

You know you’re staring, and you frankly can’t be bothered to care. He’s tall, lean and lithe muscled, his face is weathered and littered with lines, he looks unhinged, dirty, and dangerous. And when he catches you staring and a smirk twists his scarred lips to reveal dangerous, stained teeth you feel a chill run up your spine.

He’s walking toward you before you even have a chance to break away from his gaze. His stride is long and with purpose as he pushes people out of his way until he’s standing right in front of you. You’re nearly eye to eye with the heels you’re sporting but the look he gives you makes you feel inches tall as his deep, discerning gaze makes your legs tremble.

“Hey there, sugar. What’s a guy gotta do for a dance with a pretty thing like you?” he purrs dangerously- his scarred hand, littered with faded tattoos coming up to gently brush your jaw.

Everything about him has you feeling electric, your brain warring between fight or flight as you feel like prey being sized up by the most dangerous predator in Los Santos. He terrifies you and enthralls you all at the same time. And while you can tell he’s obviously dangerous, the need to get to know him overwhelms your self preservation, “You could tell me your name.” you challenge, voice barely above a whisper. Yet he still manages to hear you over the deafening music.

A smile splits his cheeks, taking your cue to continue as his hands fall to your waist- brushing smooth skin exposed by your scant little outfit, “The name’s Trevor. Trevor Philips.”

You’re pushing your luck, toeing the line between professional and personal, danger and the safety of just doing your job. But something about Trevor Philips makes you disregard everything you know to be right and sane. You’re not a stripper, this job is supposed to be safer than that. You dance for and dance with who you want to. You keep the party going. But right now the only thing you’re interested in is what the man could offer, “Alright, Trevor. Lead the way.”

His grip on your hand is like a snake coiling around its prey. And now that he has you in his split, dangerous claws, you’re not sure you’ll ever want to escape.

He’s not a “good” dancer. But what you’re both doing is much less like dancing and more like shameless grinding on the dance floor. His hands are on your waist, then at your hips, stroking up the exposed skin of your spine as he pulls you closer and closer until you’re practically the same person. Your hands wander his toned arms, against his stained shirt to brush teasingly against his chest, up his tattooed neck, before your fingers knot delicately in his greasy, thinning hair. He smells like acridic meth sweat, copper, and piss- it’s off putting but the way he touches you, the words he mutters into your ear, and the way his slimy tongue just traced up your throat has your thoughts someplace else completely.

“Hey..” you rasp against his ear, giving the front of his shirt a firm tug to catch his attention, “We have a VIP section in the back.. It’s more private..”

The grin on his lips is Cheshire-like and devious, his fingers digging into your hips as he leans in until his nose brushes with yours, “Ooh really? Well,-.. Lead the way, angel.”

This could get you fired in a heartbeat, it’s probably the stupidest thing you've ever done. But god, you just can't resist one dangerous, taboo night with the most insane looking man you’ve ever met. Maybe Los Santos life was getting to you.

The curtains of the VIP section snap shut and as soon as you’re given the little privacy the velvety curtains afford you he’s on you, devouring you like a starving man. You meet his intensity with your own vigor, pulling him closer and clashing your tongue and teeth with his. He tastes like booze and something chemical, and you drink it all in. His fingers fall to the ties on the back of your top, tugging it off without finesse while he nips and sucks at the delicate skin of your throat. Your little skirt is next, shoved higher up your waist as he tugs down your panties, leaving your skin stinging from the forceful friction.

His pants are jerked down his hips in seconds, dropping carelessly around his ankles alongside his underwear. He’s a little below average but his thickness is more than enough, you can already tell. He catches you eyeing him and a smug grin creeps to his lips, “Like what ya see, sugar?”

This is your last chance to back out, to come up with some excuse or turn him down. But when you meet his eyes and see that flaming aura of danger and lust in his gaze you decide there’s no way in hell you’re running away from this, “Trevor~ Shut up and fuck me.”

You don’t even make it to the large, leather couch in the VIP section. He simply snatches you off your feet like you’re weightless, pinning you to the wall and forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist while he grinds the pulsing cock against your wet, needy entrance, “You don’t gotta tell me twice, angel. Now hang on and be good for Uncle T.”

And really, hanging on is all you can do. He pushes into you all at once, pressing you firmly against the wall and digging his split nails into your bare thighs as he sets the harshest, dizziest pace you’ve ever had. He huffs loudly against your ear, his hips jerking erratically as he pumps inside you. One of his rough, cracked hands leaves your hip and finds your chest, kneading at soft flesh before, almost too roughly, pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You let out a shocked cry, a mix of startled pain and overwhelming pleasure as your back arches and you press yourself further into him.

He’s loud, and a talker. You should be worried about getting caught with how excessive his volume is, but your brain is too hazy with pleasure to care. He growls against your neck, planting bruising bites on soft skin, “Fuuuck.. That’s it, sugar! Come on! You take me so fuckin’ good!” he practically whines, “Uugh, please! Mama, I love you! I love you!”

The nickname and professions of love have you tensing up in shock, but before you can think on it too long he hoists you up higher and hits a spot inside you that has you quaking in pleasure, “Trevor! Ooh fuck! Don’t stop!” you squeal, the fear of being overheard long forgotten, “You feel so good! Please! I’m gonna cum! Ooh god!”

His pace becomes so frantic and ravenous that you feel the wall shaking behind your back. And when he presses as deep inside you as he can, hitting things inside you that make your vision hazy and your loud moans string high into pathetic mewls, he cums inside you. The heat floods your body, staining your insides as you tighten around him and cum with a wail of his nail- your nails digging into his shoulders as you quiver around him.

Your breath hitches as he pulls from inside you and sets you back on your feet. You try not to stumble when you bend down to pick up your top and straighten your skirt, and when he reaches out to smooth your hair down for you and you meet his smarmy, pleased smirk, you can’t help but giggle.

You follow him back out to the main floor of the club, unsure of what to even say. But luckily for you he fills the silence before it grows too uncomfortable, “That was fun, sugar. But, I gotta say-… I think your talents are wasted here.”

You chuckle softly in confused disbelief, giving him a tilt of your head and encouraging him to elaborate, “Really? And what do you mean by that, Trev?”

He clearly likes the choice in nickname if the growing grin on his lips tells you anything. And the way he leans in and brushes hair behind your ear has you enthralled, “I'm speaking from a business perspective, angel. You’re hot as fuck, and with moves like yours I think you should work at a place deserving of your skills.” he purrs as a hand slithers against his waist, “I have a club across town. The Vanilla Unicorn. And I would kill for someone like you to dance for me full time. So-.. What do ya say, sugar?”

You’d only been in Los Santos a few months, but the longer you’re here, the crazy things get. This city is definitely getting to you, “Alright, Trev. When’s the interview?”

“You just had it. And angel- you passed with flying colors. You’re hired.”