#trucker underwear

[toxicanonymity]

THE WAX JOB

PAIRING: Bo Sinclair x f!reader WC: 1.3k words | MASTERLIST WARNINGS: I8+ Dark. Noncon/dubcon (captivity), you're into it, as usual with mine. sick & twisted use of wax. PIV, creampies, breeding, forced pregnancy, lactation, dark caretaking/mild dark fluff. Started as HCs. End note. NOTE: Inspired by the 30-second scene at 3:10.

Breeding you is something Bo must do, like a farm chore. He keeps you locked up in the basement and visits you at the end of each day. You're kept on a worn medical chair, similar to what you'd find in a dentist's office, but roomier. Each evening, you hear him roll the garage door down upstairs, and it makes your heart flutter. Within a few minutes, his heavy footsteps echo down the stairs, and the jingle of his belt unbuckling. Sometimes a groan of fatigue.

He stares you down hungrily as he approaches with slow steps, tan hand flexing as he rubs himself. His strong forearms are smeared with motor oil from working in the garage. He takes you to the bathroom and watches you go, then puts you back in the chair. Manhandles you if he has to. Sometimes he stops to take a polaroid.

He stands at the foot of the chair and lifts his trucker hat to wipe his brow with the back of his wrist, then pulls the hat down into place again. He takes off his boots and tight jeans, casually talking to himself about the day and how pretty you look.

He spreads your legs. You fall into a trance salivating over the shape in his boxer briefs as he climbs onto the chair with you. He shoves his underwear down under his balls, and holds his cock in his hand, squeezing it a few times as he ogles your body. Shame heats your face as you watch and yearn for his thick, veiny cock.

In the first days, he keeps you gagged the whole time, but once he sees how much you enjoy it, he wants to hear your pretty sounds.

He pulls your dress up over your tits - no panties. allowed. He wets his lips, and smiles darkly to himself at the sight of your glistening cunt.

As he notches himself at your entrance, sweat drips off his face. Your lips part as he begins to push in. He bottoms out with a groan. He stays there and twitches inside. Without moving yet, he mutters, "gonna be such a pretty mama," and runs his thumb over your lips.

He grunts as he fucks you, and each thrust shakes the chair and makes it squeak, echoing off the walls. Sometimes he's rough. Sometimes he's slow.

He braces a forearm above your head and his sweat wafts from the darkened pit of his uniform.

With your cunt spread open around his cock, your mouth falls open with a moan. A salty drop rolls down his chin and lands in your mouth.

After a minute, you begin to whimper and squirm as you approach your climax. The basement is dusty and humid and you're sweating.

"You're gonna cum for me now," he pants, and you spasm. "Yeah, cum for me, darlin'," he whispers darkly, and it sends you. Your hips lift, your body jerks, you moan as your walls choke his cock, and he chuckles, "good girl. . . That's my girl."

He becomes more vocal as he fucks you through it. Sighing, grunting, moaning, "Good g---oh, baby."

"Ugghh---Here we go, darlin'," he mutters as he nears his peak. He groans unrestrained as he bottoms out and pulses warmly, heat spreading deep in your cunt.

He stays all the way inside and with his face inches from yours, he admires your features. He gently wipes the sweat from your brow, then slowly thrusts again as his last spasms fade. "Mmm."

Once he pulls out, he adjusts the chair so your feet are up. He calls for Lester to bring dinner down. Bo feeds you a few bites, or let's Vincent do it. Sometimes he tells you a little about his day like you're not strapped down with your legs in the air.

And then, when Bo's hard again -- which isn't long -- he goes again. And again. Until you can't physically hold any more cum.

Once you're full of his seed, Bo dismounts the chair and calls for Vincent as he pulls his jeans back on. He doesn't buckle them.

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

Vincent comes in with an old paint can full of hot wax and stands by the chair like an assistant. He doesn't look at you. Your legs are raised again and bo spreads your thighs wide. "Good girl," he whispers, then mumbles to Vincent, "ain't she pretty?"

Vincent offers Bo a cloth. Bo braces a hand on your mound and wipes any spilled cum off your lips, getting them as dry as he can. He reassures himself, "that's okay," as he laments the lost seed.

Then, he dips his thumb in the hot wax and Vincent looks away.

Bo brings his thumb between your legs and applies the hot wax to your outer labia, one after the other. He uses his thumb to tuck your folds inside, and then he presses your outer lips together and holds them shut like a clam.

"Little more," he urges Vincent. He adjusts his left hand so two of his massive fingers are holding your cunt shut. Then he extends his right hand toward Vincent and dips two fingers into the hot wax and dribbles some on the outside. "Good," he mutters and Vincent steps away.

Still holding you shut, Bo brings his face between your legs and gently blows on the hot wax, helping it dry. He takes his time with this, and his eyes sparkle at his work. "Night sweetheart," he whispers to your cunt and plants a kiss on your mound, then one on your lower belly.

This continues until you're pregnant.

_____________

Once you're pregnant, they let you upstairs to celebrate and Lester makes a special cake. They give you a new dress.

All three of them darkly dote on you throughout your pregnancy. You're still locked up, but you're allowed upstairs with supervision.

Bo has Vincent make a wax cast of your torso every month and they're displayed throughout the main floor of the house on makeshift pedestals. Lester is the one who's responsible for making your food and taking care of your basic needs. He's polite and never tries anything.

Bo is obsessed with your pregnant body. He can't keep his hands off you. You're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he'd mad with lust.

Once your milk comes in, Bo tastes it every day. He pulls your dress up over your tits and suckles sloppily at your engorged tits.

He lets the sweet breastmilk run down over the curve of your belly and he licks it up. Once he's down there he can't resist eating you out, which makes him really hard. Sometimes he does it right after dinner, while you're still in the common area. You're laid back on a threadbare couch with your legs over his shoulders. He doesn't mind if Lester or Vincent see, although they normally don't stick around to watch.

Feasting between your legs, Bo feverishly takes his cock out with one hand as he keeps his other hand on your breast. He can't pull his mouth away until he's ready to shove himself into you. He runs his tip through your folds, then pushes into you. He fucks you slow and gentle.

He briefly sucks your tit again as he fucks you. He makes sure you cum, then when he's ready to do the same, his face hovers an inch from yours. He Looks in your eyes, then lowers his forehead to yours. He groans against the corner of his mouth, then kisses you on the lips as he cums. His lips break away with a moan, then he kisses you gently as he finishes.

He cleans you up, and lets you sleep in his bed.

----------

tagging @lunitawrites my breeding encourager

Inspired by the moment from the link and a terrible product concept - I'm haunted by Mensez Feminine Lipstick, but go have a laugh if you want. notice his logo looks like a ball sack. This man actually wants us to glue our lips shut during our period. If you have Qs about the logistics of this. Please ask that guy 💀

[transform4u]

I don’t know what’s happening to me, recently I’ve been burping non stop and no matter how much I wash I keep getting smellier. I’ve also been having urges to go to the gym and turn my twink body around plus I’m blacking out loads and the last time I can to I had some confederate flag underwear in my amazon basket

As the sharp snaaaaapppp of the sound ricochets through your room, it’s followed by an unsettling wave of smoke that billows around you. The acrid scent of burnt material invades your senses—a noxious blend of sweat-soaked gym clothes and the vile stench of rotten eggs. The smoke feels dense and suffocating, clinging to the air and coating your throat like a heavy, oppressive mist. Each breath you take feels labored, and your body convulses with a violent cough, the hacking sound mingling with the smoky haze that seems to grow thicker by the second.

Your mind, once sharp and clear, begins to dissolve into a foggy mush. The smoke isn't just suffocating your lungs; it's clouding your thoughts. Your once vivid memories of nerdy hobbies— coding, collecting comic books, or lameass role-playing games—begin to fade into a dull blur. The details that used to bring you joy are slipping away, leaving you in a state of confusion and mental numbness.

As this disorienting haze continues, you feel an uncomfortable shift in your body. You start to grow taller, your frame expanding in a grotesque, almost cartoonish manner. The weight on your body seems to melt away, replaced by an exaggerated muscular bulk. You look down and realize you're clad in a pair of ratty, unwashed boxers emblazoned with a Confederate flag. You let out a dumb, bewildered chuckle, noticing the deepening Southern twinge in your voice as your laughter grows more guttural and brash.

A deep, resonant burp escapes your throat, and a sharp ache courses through your body. Your muscles twitch involuntarily, each spasm sending waves of discomfort through your once weak and thin frame. As the transformation completes, you become a hulking figure of exaggerated Southern masculinity. Your physique is a grotesque parody of the redneck bro archetype: massive, rippling muscles straining against your skin, a tanned and greasy sheen covering every inch of your body.

Your chest is a dominant feature, each pectoral muscle resembling a slab of meat rather than mere flesh, rippling with every movement. Your abs are a rock-hard, jackhammer-sculpted six-pack that bulges unnaturally. Your arms are enormous, thick veins and sinew pulsing with raw, unrefined strength. Your legs are massive, with thighs like tree trunks and calves that bulge comically. Your glutes are a round, firm rear end, exaggerated for maximum impact.

Your skin, a tanned, ruddy shade, is slick with sweat, and your face is rugged—broad nose, square jawline, and squinting eyes. Your hair is short and unkempt, often covered by a worn-out trucker hat. A stubbly beard or unshaven chin completes your rough-hewn appearance.

As you let rip an awful, wet fart, the room fills with an even more unbearable stench, a potent mix of stale beer, unwashed clothes, and a sense of neglect. The room begins to morph into a grotesque parody of a trailer home, with beer cans scattered around, a Confederate flag hanging in the corner, and Fox News blaring in the background, amplifying the grotesque transformation and reinforcing the overwhelming sense of repugnance and exaggerated masculinity.

You let out another loud, smelly fart as you heave yourself out of bed, your fat, jiggling ass giggling with each movement. You grab a beer from the fridge, your huge hands crushing the can. You take a swig, but most of it ends up pouring down your thick, muscular chest. You slam the empty can against your head, letting out a loud, wet belch.

Suddenly, you hear a call from outside. "Chet! Now, come out here and show your wife some loving!" You step out of the trailer and see the hottest little redneck chick you've ever laid eyes on. She's wearing a tiny American flag bikini, and there's a Trump 2024 sign in the yard. You swing your MAGA hat back and lay a big, wet kiss on her.

"Damn, baby, you're looking fine as hell today," you say, flexing your massive muscles for her. "The Lord sure did bless me with a fine piece of ass like you."

She giggles and grabs you another beer. "You better believe it, sugar. Now, why don't you take me inside and fuck my brains out?"

You grin, your eyes roaming over her curves. "Oh, I'll fuck you alright. I'll fuck you so hard, you'll be seeing stars and stripes for days." You grab her ass, feeling the soft flesh fill your huge hands. "But first, I gotta show you what these muscles can do. I'll make you scream so loud, the whole damn trailer park will know who you belong to."

She shivers in anticipation, pressing her body against yours. "Then what are you waiting for, big boy? Take me now, before I explode."

[vaadalt]

Sleeping Quirk : Marco, Shanks, Kaido [GN]

Marco

Marco is the perfect sleeper, he doesn’t move often, he doesn't snore, no cold feet. Don’t steal the blanket. 

When he starts to doze off, he tends to cling to his S/O. Putting his arm around hips, mostly, loving the feeling of S/O’s back against his chest. Then he just fell asleep.

For the rest of the night, he just turns himself on his side and doesn’t move. 

Worst sleeper ever. WORST. Just move all the fcking night, hit S/O in the process. Pull S/O to keep close. BUT doesn’t snore. 

Destroy the bed, obliged to completely redo it in the morning. 

Personal heater. This guys is just fucking hot, pleasant in winter, unpleasant in summer.

He just lay on his back, cross his arm on his chest… Doesn’t change his position. Like he was in a coffin. 

Snore like a trucker. Worst when he is totally drunk, he makes Onigashima tremble. 

Dream a lot about fighting, he move in his sleep like he was swinging his club, let burst of conqueror haki escape… S/O became a professional to run away in this case. Flee to the Kitchen at 3AM to find Queen in underwear dipping cookies in milk.

[georgiapeach30513]

Can get more pics of his Calvin klein 👀

Are well talking the slutty Flaunt magazine shoot where they made him look like a dirty greasy trucker?

Colin showed us underwear all the time!

But you know Chris is a lady, and his underwear doesn’t show too often

Or…is it because he doesn’t wear underwear? @annislittleshopofhorrors can you help us figure out this quandary? @jossipgirl?

Now Sebastian Stan on the other hand….

[lizziexmeow]

[ Mingyu posted in @/calvinklein 🌟 IG ]

240816 - 08:30 KST - @/min9yu_k

> A new season of style. @/min9yu_k wears the forever icons. All about the ink trucker jacket and the blue 90s straight.

Discover fall denim and underwear at CalvinKlein.com

[ Mingyu Story 🌟 IG ]

240816 - 08:33 KST - @/min9yu_k

> CK🖤

[ SVT UPDATE 🌟 TWITTER ] 240816 - 08:30 KST

[ SVT UPDATE 🌟 TWITTER ] 240816 - 22:00 KST

[pekejscatbed]

I'm Feeling Devious (you're looking glamorous) | Dick x Jason x Roy x Wally

info/warnings: smut & fluff, ftm Dick, fingering, masturbation, filming, pseudo incest, idk what else to put

batman masterlist

I originally planned to have this posted almost two months ago, but then my cat, Cotton Candy, died. And then my other cat, KitKat, got sick a month later, and after syringe feeding her for two weeks, she died, too.

So, yeah. Fanfic author curse is real, I guess.

------

Jason is in the midst of freeing himself of the Red Hood uniform when his phone buzzes from the couch, where he haphazardly tossed it upon returning to the safe house after a night of solo patrol; he sighs and ignores it, stripping himself from the rest of his uniform and his underclothes, leaving him in nothing but his Arsenal themed boxers, a black base with little red arrows and gray trucker hats scattered about and the words "Arsenal's Property" sprawled across the ass in fancy, red cursive lettering, custom ordered by Roy as a gag Valentines Day present a couple of years ago (he also owns a pair of Nightwing and Flash boxers, gags gift from all three of his partners that he wore regularly on nights like these, when he's stuck in Gotham by himself, missing his boyfriends who all are on a mission- though normally, they aren't all on the same mission, and Jason is just a little bit salty about it).

The phone buzzes again and this time, Jason picks it up, three messages lit up on his lockscreen under Roy's contact. Jason opens his phone to view the messages, one reading, "missing you jaybaby <3", the second showing a picture of Dick in nothing but his Red Hood red underwear and sitting in Wally's fully clothed lap, the gingers hands on Dick's chest and Dick's hands buried in Wally's fluffy red hair, and the last message being of a video, the starting screen showing an imagine of Wally in all his glory, one hand closed around his erect cock and the other over his mouth, like he's trying to keep quiet, and his eyes are wide open, seemingly staring at something to the side of the camera.

Jason flushes, warmth beginning to swirl around inside his gut as he sits down on the couch, tapping the play button.

------

Roy hums into Wally's clothed stomach as the speedster runs his fingers through the other man's greasy hair and asks about the science behind some of Roy's trick arrows, the archer nodding in affirmation to Wally's most recent question, when Wally suddenly stops playing with the others hair and ceases his questioning, and Roy looks up at him in question only to see him staring at something behind Roy with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. Turning his head, Roy wolf whistles at the sight before his eyes, a grin settling on his face; Dick is standing in front of the bed bare ass naked, and what a fine ass it is, back turned to his two ginger boyfriends as he rummages through his suitcase, pulling out a pair of red boxer shorts- the same exact shade as Jason's Red Hood helmet- and turns around, showing off his bush and smirking at the sight of the others as he steps into the underwear, pulling them up his legs. He doesn't put on a shirt, breasts on full display.

"You're drooling, Walls."

Wally wipes at his mouth with his hand. "You're just that hot, babe."

"Yeah," Roy nods in agreement and sits up from his place between Wally's thick speedster thighs, grin still on his face "I'd kill to be in that bush."

"Go take a shower, Roy." Dick smiles as he speaks, walking to the bed to lightly shove the archer off, who dramatically stumbles for a second before catching himself. The ravenette pulls him into a quick kiss then shoos him away, watching him walk to the bathroom Dick had just exited and listening for the sound of the water turning back on.

Dick crawls into Wally's lap at the sound of the water running, legs on either side of the latter's strong thighs. Wally is fully clothed, preferring the comfort of his Nightwing themed lounge pants and one of his old Flash t-shirts from before he became The Flash himself, the logo faded to almost nothing, while Dick prefers little clothes after bathing. Wally's hands easily find his boyfriends hips, Dicks hands running over Wally's shoulders to the back of his neck, curling the gingers hair around his fingers, and they both lean in, capturing each other's lips in a soft kiss.

"You taste like cookies." Dick speaks as he pulls away from the kiss, eyes roaming Wally's face, silently counting the freckles dusting his skin.

Wally hums, eyes closed as he soaks in his lover's attention, content. "Flavored lip balm. Do you like it?"

Leaning in for another kiss, Dick whispers "yes" against the speedsters' lips. His tongue darts out to lick at Wally's flavored lips, savoring the sweet taste of cookie lip balm, and Wally lets out a small groan into Dick's mouth, who takes the chance to slip his tongue inside the gingers mouth. As they kiss, the ravenette reaches for one of the hands on his waist, slowly guiding Wally to his chest, and he shivers as the hand cups his breast and thumbs over his nipple, bringing his own hand back to Wally's neck and burying his fingers in the others hair, lightly gripping as Wally begins to tweak his nipple. Dick's body reacts to his boyfriends' touch, hips rolling and grinding against Wally, who bucks his own hips up to meet Dicks, the movement and pressure going straight to the pair's groins, Wally's length hardening within the confines of his pants and moisture growing between Dicks legs.

As the pair continue to grind against one another, kissing and groping and moaning, Roy finishes his shower, exiting the hotel bathroom in nothing but a white towel that sits low on his waist, happy trail on display. He whistles again as he takes in the beauty that is his lovers moving together through gasps and pants, hands roaming each other's bodies. He wants to preserve the moment, to capture the charm and elegance that his boyfriends possess, that their bodies emit as passion and pleasure takes over and bubbles around them, spilling over their surroundings and filling the air with a pure, unfiltered lust that has Roy's whole body enveloped in warmth. The archer leans against the dresser/TV stand combo that sits on the wall across from the bed and grabs his phone from the corner where he set it when they came in, opening his camera to capture his lover's passion in a photograph- Dick's near naked body in Wally's lap, the two kissing and grinding as Wally gropes at Dick's bare skin and Dick tugs at Wally's ginger locks.

"Jay's gonna love this." Roy speaks as the picture is taken, then sets his phone back down, admiring his present boyfriend's bodies, their love, and the two take a minute to keep pressing against one another before they're pulling away to catch their breaths, and Dick turns his head to look at Roy, panting as he smiles.

"Wanna make him a movie, baby?" Wally whines and buries his head in the crevice between Dicks neck and shoulder, pressing kisses to his naturally tan skin. "You like that, Walls?"

Wally nods into the ravenettes neck, teeth grazing skin as he begins to lick and suck and nip.

"I think we should make him the star, yeah?" Roy's voice is deep, raspy with lust, and the words force another whine from Wally's throat.

Dick smirks in agreement. "Yeah." And then he's lifting himself from Wally's lap and off the bed, standing despite Wally's protesting, hands grabbing at Dick's arms in attempt to keep him there, held against Wally's warm body. Leaning down, Dick presses a soft kiss to Wally's lips and holds his face in his hands, forcing Wally to look up at him from his spot on the bed. "Wanna put on a show for Jason, baby?" Wally nods. "Be a good boy and listen to me then, okay?"

Wally nods again, a soft "okay" leaving his lips as he nuzzles into his boyfriend's hands.

"Good boy." Dick holds Wally's head against his chest for a moment, petting his ginger locks as Wally gives a sweet kiss to his breast. Then, Dick is pulling away, ordering Wally to strip as he walks towards where Roy is still leaning up against the dresser, watching them with a look of fondness.

He greets Roy with a kiss that ends as quick as it started, then stands pressed up against him, wrapping an arm around Roy's waist as an arm twice the size of Dick's own is wrapping around his shoulder, the two leaning on one another. Roy has his phone out again before Dick even has to ask, but Wally is already out of his clothes by the time he presses record; no matter, more interesting things will be happening tonight.

"What should we have him do first, doll?" The question is directed towards Dick, and he hums at Roy's words.

"I wanna see how long he can touch himself without cumming." Dick pauses to gauge Wally's reaction, who's erect cock twitches at the words. "You think Jason will like that?

Roy nods, because Jason is into that (especially when Jason himself is the one not allowed to cum). "Jaybird will love it."

"You heard him, Walls, be a good boy and touch yourself for us. For Jay."

Wally does as told, hand taking hold of his cock, thumb swiping over the slit and rubbing pre over himself, beginning to jerk himself as he watches Dick and Roy watch him. Dicks fingers rub lazy circles around his clit through his boxers, though his eyes are trained on Wally, watching the way the speedster strokes himself. Roy isn't touching himself, but the towel is gone, polling around his feet on the floor, and his cock is erect, standing tall and curved slightly to the left. He presses hot kisses into the skin of Dicks neck, pausing occasionally to suck and bite until a red mark blossoms like roses in the spring, and when Wally looks at Roy, Roy looks right back instantly, staring into Wally's eyes despite his mouth being attached to their boyfriend's neck. Wally's cock twitches in his hand, more pre beading from the tip and spilling over, dribbling down his cock and over his hand.

When he looks back over to Dick, he has to squeeze the base of his shaft, because Dick's underwear have been pushed halfway down his thighs and he has three fingers inside his pussy, and when he pulls them out, they're covered in a sheen liquid, before he pushes them right back in, and then Roy is moving his hand from around Dicks shoulder and down his back, then to his ass, then between his legs; Dick moans as the tip of Roy's index finger enters his already full cunt, and Wally groans in response as he throws his free hand over his mouth to quiet himself, the scene, the sounds all too much-

Spurts of cum erupt from Wally's cock, coating his stomach and hand in milky white: the first of many orgasms this night.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Anecdotes from Baby Let’s Play House

“Vernon thought he was a stud,” remembers Lamar Fike. “Elvis used to say that Vernon knew when Elvis was conceived, because afterwards, he blacked out.”

When things progressed beyond that point, he usually stuck to intense foreplay, sometimes asking a girl to masturbate him, and then ejaculating in her hair. If his partner found it degrading, a complete act of submission and dominance, it also made sense—her head was the farthest point from potential pregnancy. Elvis’s first experience of real intercourse, which came at either age nineteen or twenty, was both traumatic and uninformed. He had met the girl only that day, and before long, he was in the hotel lobby, searching for Scotty and Bill, his face a tangle of confusion. “The rubber busted,” he said. “What do I do now?” Bill chuckled. “I think you had better marry her—or get the hell out of town.” They left him on his own to solve the crisis, and the next time they saw him, they asked what he had done. “I took her to the emergency room at the hospital.” “The emergency room?” “Yeah, I got them to give her a douche.” Soon he vowed to “never break a virgin,” and to fool around only with experienced girls. In truth, he liked everything that led up to intercourse better than the act itself— the kissing, the stroking, the darting fingers, the removal of the blouse. He preferred that a girl keep her panties on, though it drove him wild to see the slightest bit of pubic hair poking around the seams of her underwear. But he respected women, and it was always important that the girl receive more pleasure than he.

One night when Elvis’s parents came to the Hayride, he walked offstage after taking a number of encores and just about brought the house down. Gladys grabbed him up by the arm and pulled him over to the side of the stage where no one could hear them. “Elvis,” she said sternly, “don’t you have any drawers?” He thought fast, and said, “No, ma’am, the only pair I own was dirty, and Maxine wouldn’t wash ’em.” “Honey, God, he was huge!” Maxine says. “And it showed. And then when he’d shake his leg, my God! You could tell he had a hard-on. It looked like it. Hell, he knew what he was doing. Bill Black went out and said, ‘I’m going to buy Elvis some shorts.’ And he thought, ‘I’ll play a trick on him.’ He bought him some silk ones, polka dots. He thought Elvis wouldn’t wear them, but Elvis fell in love with them and wouldn’t even take ’em off. He didn’t want me to wash them. He was afraid somebody would steal them. I guarantee you, he wore silk underwear for the rest of his life, when he wore any at all. He loved them.”

When I came back, the other guys were down at the beach, looking for the cute girls. But Elvis was leaning over the grillwork on the balcony, staring at the ocean. I said, ‘Hi, honey, are you okay?’ He said, ‘Mae, I can’t get over this ocean.’ Now, he grew up on the mighty Mississippi, but he said, ‘It’s so vast, just no end to it. I’d give anything in the world if I had enough money to bring my mama and daddy to Florida and let them see the ocean.’ ” It touched her that his priority was his parents, when most twenty-year-olds would think about having fun.

“As they approached the car, they noticed a stranger glancing out the window and then disappearing. The two increased their speed and ripped open the door. His wife screamed from the passenger side and dove for the petticoats in the floorboard. Elvis fell onto the dirt parking lot, struggling to zip up. The trucker reached down with huge, burly arms and grabbed the skinny frame, shaking the stuffing out of it and driving in a couple of well-placed right hooks. “ ‘Not my face, not my face!’ the singer yelled, covering the aforementioned location. ‘I’ve gotta go back and play.’ The truck driver got in a few more gut busters, then let his quarry flee back to the club.”

Then one reporter asked Elvis if he planned to marry. “Why buy a cow when you can milk it through the fence?” he said, a comment that would be picked up by the national press and spark outrage, even as it was toned down

Then he took the chance, seeing they were so absorbed. He started shooting, keeping his distance at first, and then moved closer, closer, and closer still, until he was up on the railing of the stairway. He snapped a shot from above, looking down just as Elvis nuzzled the girl’s cheek, his arms spread wide, one above her against the wall, the other anchoring him on the railing. It was so sensual, and their bodies so eager, that if the photo were rotated, it would seem as if the two were in bed. The photographer scarcely breathed. He asked to pass them (“May I get by?”) but they were so focused they didn’t even care. Al pivoted so that the window was behind him, illuminating his subjects with front-end sunlight and fill lighting from the dangling bulb. “Betcha can’t kiss me, Elvis,” the girl said, sticking out her tongue. “Betcha I can,” he teased back. And then he made his move, sticking out his own tongue until the two were pressed together, tongues and noses, his waist pushing up against hers. By now, the girl was leaning back on the stair rail, and anything could happen. Al snapped the shutter, capturing the famous image, a distillation of the rock-and-roll road show, and Elvis at his uninhibited best. The whole thing took a tenth of a second, and then all Al heard was, “We want Elvis! We want Elvis!” A minute later, Elvis sprinted onstage to give four thousand people, mostly women and girls, the performance they had paid to see.

[aprillikesthings]

I bitched and moaned about how hard it is to write, and then nearly 900 words fell out into the google doc.

Ffs. Why am I like this.

ANYWAY this is like, multiple chapters ahead of the chapter I should be working on, and it's from my late 1960's au, and it's Catra hitchhiking from somewhere vaguely midwestern-ish to San Francisco

And yes, I had to google "when did 'family' become slang for gay people" for this bit lol

(Nothing bad happens to her other than uhhhh a bit of nasty name-calling from a trucker when she turns him down for a ride)

(usual disclaimers: this is first draft and could end up heavily edited by the time it's on ao3)

Catra packs her bag as quickly as she can. A wool blanket. A couple pairs of underwear. A couple of tee shirts. The paisley scarf she’s been wearing in her hair. She only has the one pair of jeans, it’ll have to do. The tiny amount of weed under her mattress and the few rolling papers she has left, plus her cigarettes and matches. After a bit of internal debate she puts on a bra–and tucks her wallet into it. Not that there's much money in it.

She doesn’t leave a note. How long will it even take for them to notice she’s gone? 

It takes two buses to get to the highway out of town, and she sticks her thumb out. 

Her first ride was some younger teenagers, who got her to the edge of the suburbs. She used the bathroom at the gas station and stood at the onramp to put her thumb out again. Her next ride was a trucker, and she hesitated at first but he had kind eyes and said, “Miss, I promise I’m not gonna to do any harm to your person, I just like havin’ some company.” He was true to his word, and didn’t even ask her name. He listened to country music and he tried to ask her where she was going and why, but she deflected and asked him questions about himself. Turns out he had a wife and kids at home. (I should write out the conversation)

The way he talked about them made something in Catra’s chest hurt, at the same time she could’ve listened to the love in his voice all day. 

Nobody ever talked about her that way. 

He drove her for two whole states and didn’t mind when she passed out asleep, and even insisted on paying for her breakfast the next day. “If you were my daughter, I’d hope someone would take care of you. I can tell you have a kind heart, you know. I’m sure you’ll help someone else, when you can.” Catra wasn’t able to stop the tears fast enough over her diner coffee and pancakes, and he was nice enough to pretend not to notice them as he smoked a cigarette. 

But he had to sleep himself and then he was going north, and so he left her behind at a gas station just before the California border. 

It took longer to get a ride this time, and it was hot enough that the horizon shimmered in the sun. 

The first person to offer her a ride was another trucker, but the way he leered at her made her stomach turn, and she shook her head and walked away from his truck. 

“Hippie bitch! So much for free love, huh?” A few people stared and her face burned. She tried to go back into the gas station just for the little bit of air conditioning, but the woman behind the counter looked up from her magazine and said, “If you’re not going to buy anything, you can’t be in here.”

And so Catra stood on the onramp again, thumb out, hoping to get a ride before she died of heat stroke.

A half an hour later a little pale blue sedan pulled over. Another older man. But he smiled at her. 

“San Francisco, huh? Going to the summer of love are we, honey?” But he said “honey” the way the diner waitress said it, so with a quick silent prayer she got in. 

“You poor thing, it’s so hot outside. I bought a couple of Cokes, and one of them should still be cold, if you want it.” 

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you?” 

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it!” 

It was the best-tasting thing she’d had since that diner breakfast. Finally refreshed a little, she looked over at him. He had a silk scarf around his neck as a tie of sorts, and his clothes were as immaculately neat as his car, even in the heat. 

“So, uh, are you going to the summer of love, too?”

“Oh, no!” He laughed, but not in a mean way. “No, I live there. I’ve just been visiting some…family.” He said that last word oddly.

He looked at her in sideways glances. “Hm. Speaking of which. Are you…Oh gosh. I don’t know the way young people say this anymore. But are you family, yourself?”

Catra looked at him with confusion. “What?”

He cleared his throat and his face turned pink. “Now, I don’t know whether this will reassure you or not, in regards to your safety. But while you’re a lovely young lady; I, shall we say, have no interest in women. If that bothers you, I can let you off at the next gas station.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine.” Then his words sunk in. “You’re gay?”

He glanced at her again, then took a deep breath. “To my mother’s chagrin, yes; I’m a homophile.” He was smiling again, but it was strained. “Is that a problem for you?”

“No.” She bit her lip. “I am, too.”

His smile became wider and far more genuine. “I knew it! I knew you were family.”

“What!! How?”

“Just a vibe, honey. We often know our own.” 

Catra relaxed into the bench seat and laughed. “You’re only, like, the third person I’ve ever told.” 

“Really? Well, I feel honored!”

[Author's note: As far as I can understand from what I read, "homophile" was the preferred term by a lot of people for several decades. "Homosexual" was sometimes disliked because it was used as a diagnosis of mental illness, back when it was thought you could cure it--it also reduced our orientations to just sex as opposed to romantic love that included sex. By the late 1960's it wasn't quite as popular, "gay" becoming the preferred term, but some older people and organizations still used it.

Also as of right now, at this point in the story, the other people who Catra's told are Scorpia (because she came out to Catra first) and Entrapta.]

[famcamp]

he just couldn't have his baby-girl out and about through the american roads; he knew exactly what nasty, sleazy truckers thought (and, sometimes, did) when they saw a pretty thing like lysa on the side of the road, baggage on hand, sweet face pleading for a ride. so he added some miles to his count on the way to the camp, to make sure the only shady driver to take his girl somewhere would be himself.

and what a lovely ride it was. the time away on those fancy labs and busy college dorms made him forgot just how much he enjoyed his kid's company, even beyond any carnal desires. as smart and funny as she's pretty... but god, that kid could be a tease. sudden interest in sucking her lollipop as sloppy as it could sound, hands unafraid to rest on his bicep finding their way lower (i'm on a driveway, lysa, fuck-), deciding to strip down to skimpy underwear on a particularly hot day, cuddling painfully close when they slept at the back of his truck.

so he couldn't help but be nearing manic on the last day of their road trip, adjusting his boner a constant part of his driving. they were finally arriving to camp, when they could finally do whatever and whoever they wanted; and mano wanted hard. when he arrived, he didn't even think of checking on the other families, or to see if any of his other relatives were there either. he grabbed his and lysa's bags with one hand, his girl by the other, and went directly to their long-assigned cabin.

and, when he crossed the door and closed it behind him, the bags were already on the ground, and his manly hands were over his boy's beautiful body. lips find lips, and his strong grip pulls their waists together, his erection reaching for that pussy even under layers of jeans and fabric.

@camppeached.

[ladydeath-vanserra]

"lol what's in Iowa besides CORN" u know what. I don't care. Iowa has been a backbone for feeding your asses for generations and is one of the biggest corn distributors of the world. Farmers are some of the hardest working people I know. some of yall wouldn't know hard work and hard labor if it showed up and bit u in the ass

the smell of corn after the rain makes my chest swell. it reminds me of home. its sweet and earthy. We feed your asses and we're proud of the hard work they do.

My great grandpa was one of the sweetest old men who ran a farm and then was a cattle truck driver with his boys. He was always working until he died. he died from a fall in his 80s while he was fixing up his house. He had the respect of my entire family and the respect of our town and community. he wore bib-overalls and long underwear and a truckers cap and always had a smile on his face and my entire family gathered for his birthday every year despite having beef with each other

farmers are the backbone of Iowa and a large chunk of the Midwest. I moved to Minnesota, to the Twin Cities, and these clowns had the audacity to mock my accent. very bold words from the people who sound like the moose from brother bear 🤨

the open skies, and beautiful sunsets. The smell of corn and earth after rain. The Loess Hills, where the only other landscape like it is in CHINA. The native prairies. The cows with shiny fur in the sun, grazing. The Trails, the rivers where people sneak out to fish without a fishing license. The crickets, the fireflies

Iowa is BEAUTIFUL. it has its problems, JUST like everyone else. but it's not boring, for me. it's peaceful and quiet. Keep my home out of yalls mouth. The amount of classism and people calling us stupid and ignorant with no understanding of what has been done To the people of rural areas is ridiculous

Sure. people can get bored and stir crazy but my family has been here working their asses off for generations and we have the stubbornness and pride to prove it

[agracefulfall]

Dancer in the Dark

"You traveled far. What have you found? That there's no time, there's no time to analyse, to think things through, to make sense. There's no spark, no light in the dark. It gets you down."

Moments from before dripped like burnt coffee. Slow and stale. The taste of metal lingered on the tongue. Different ghosts for a different season. The phone pulled me from whatever empty room I had left myself in. Another fish caught, another trail to follow.

One hundred twenty one. I carried the weight of each day like the month of November, in stoic silence. Whispers and lingering eyes followed day in and day out. Bait for the madman caged inside. I'd rather the loneliness and solitude than to give them satisfaction. When it got to be too much, I'd crawl into the basement and let the fog take me back to green fields.

Every step, breath, and pulse counted. No matter the task or it's severity. Clinging to frayed threads. Desperate eyes found at trucker bars, the only comfort I sought rattled a pretty penny per pill. Anything to settle the ghosts. She pulled her shorts tight, enough for me to catch what color underwear she chose. It wasn't like that and never would be.

I wasn't sleeping, only dreaming. But a fish was caught and I was tired of ghosts in the dark. Work needed to be done. I had a debt to pay.

[britcision]

Y’know what it’s 4am and I am In Pain while my doc thinks I can just “go to bed earlier” so I’m gonna tell you about the Dhurfucks

I love the Dhurfucks

That’s their last name

It came from a name generator so I’m not responsible for it

They are two of my NPCs from my homebrew world’s previous Level 20 Fight (because it’s a magical world and the players are not the first people to stir shit up, worlds need Legends)

And the Dhurfucks? The Dhurfucks are legends

The Dhurfucks are more legendary than the rest of their most recent adventuring party but to be fair, they are also at least 600 years older than most of those whipper snappers

The Dhurfucks are so legendary that the entire island continent they came from has been renamed to reflect What They Have Done

The Dhurfucks are a pair of dwarf twins, Hudran (he/him) and Guthrun (she/her)

Guthrun is a warlock of Freyr

Hudran is a passion cleric of Freya

They may or may not trade off on deities occasionally because if anyone can get in on some good twins bullshit, it is Freyr and Freya

Now, how do a pair of dwarfs get themselves legendary status in a world that, again, is magical and has had plenty of bullshit done before?

Well, you have to do your bullshit harder. With more vigour. And subvert every expectation of society, with precise timing so as not to get yourself killed

They’re in their 700s. They’ve got it down to an art, and are fucking hard to kill

The rest of their previous party have all retired now, settled down throughout the world and let themselves fade from the limelight (mostly) in the aftermath of their big godfight 130 years ago

The Dhurfucks wished them well, visit regularly, gamble for the paladin’s kids in bars, and kept right on fucking trucking

Because when a level 20 warlock/cleric combo roll up on your city and decide to have a god-off in the undead swamp outside, there isn’t a lot you can (or should) do about it

(Freyr leant divine energy for the god off, but the cleric won for obvious Destroy Undead reasons)

It is possible that before they reached around level 17 the Dhurfucks had to restrain themselves and behave, but again, since it’s been 130+ years since then, those days are a distant memory

These days, they are the only members of Former Hero Party Rolling Thunder (fuck the trucker convoy I had the name first and I’ll give it up when I die and not before) that everyone is completely sure is still alive because You Still Hear Stories

(The paladin specifically is assumed dead for tragedy reasons and one of her kids is a PC)

The Dhurfucks drink. They party. They have a pretty Cohen-the-barbarian relationship with gold; it’s very easy to come by when you’re an official Hero, and easy to spend out to every town you come across and boost the economy of bars, shops, and varying entertainment

They do not hold on to money, they are the siphon through which it passes

Sometimes they will be hired escorts. Sometimes they will be paid not to come to certain places or events. Sometimes they Planeshift and go bother all the other dimensions for a while and people quietly hope they have stopped

They have not stopped

They will not stop

They are simply putting the Fear of Dhurfucks into everyone else as well

Dwarfs live a long time, and they see no reason not to have as much fun as is physically possible for the entirety of that time, and their patrons? Well, they’re fertility gods

They’re all about the good times, and spreading the bounty of wealth

And if that includes a little showmanship, the occasional truly stupid stunt to see what will happen, that is all party of the bounty of life

They’ll fight dragons in their underwear. They’ll head butt beholders for fun. And if only one of them dies, the other has a way to bring them back and no one’s managed to get both at once yet

They’re adrenaline junkies but past a certain level actual danger and the ensuing adrenaline rush is pretty hard to come by, so the stories just get bigger and bigger, and they will egg each other on to make it worse

Half the stuff they try and do is actually impossible, and they fail

However, when what you are trying to do is “hold the moving island in place and make it move backwards”, even fucking trying leads to a great story, no matter how much everyone knows how it ends

It’s whether or not people noticed the heartbeat when the movement stuttered

The Dhurfucks are big, ridiculous personalities in dwarf sized glasses to give my players something to aspire to, and they’re so much fun to dot around the world

None of the players have asked about them yet

None of them know what is coming

The Dhurfucks will find them soon

After all, their dear little nephew is travelling with the party, and it’s been too long since their last visit. Poor kid was kidnapped 11 years ago

[hardfireluminary]

Whenever it comes to BBC I always try to be a bigger and better slut then I was last time I have done some really slutty things over the years at a young age remember I was 15 I got tired of obsessing about interracial p*** and I posted a ad for BBC and if I am not mistaken I had Tony respond first and he was a big black guy with a huge black cock whenever he picked me up we drove to some wooded area off the road he knew or something and I remember he pulled out his cock and jammed it all the way down my young throat until I was gagging I spit on his cock and we got in the back of his SUV and he gave me my very first BBC ever in true slut fashion after he unloaded in me and drop me back home I actually got up with another BBC it was a trucker I remember my young fat white ass being grabbed by his strong hands and pulling down my mom's tight booty short thong underwear in the back of his truck cab I remember sucking him off and him fuckin my young ass all night cuz I had snuck off in the middle of the night like I'd maybe left around like 2:00 well I woke up around 10:00 or 11:00 with his dick still semi hard in my creamy ass he had clearly came inside of I watched the cock come out of my ass and I got on my knees with my ass in the air on the side and wrap my lips around his black cock and woke him up with my throat well my mom went through my emails and even called my real dad and they were just giving me all this hassle about you know being a guy and gay and this and that but really if I could go back now I would have no problem sucking a fat black dick right in front of my mom and my dad because from my experiences and my understanding and my life there is no comparison to a black cock a black man as a God and my ass is definitely his property BBC is King BBC deserves all white holes so that's why I've done things like Tony used to pick me up whenever my girlfriend would go to work and literally maybe not even 10 minutes after she left I would be in his front seat with his big black dick down my throat and my fat white ass in the air facing out the window for anybody to see I love getting pounded out by BBC with my mom in the house right in the other room right outside the door it is so hot having a big black man thrusting deep into my ass while I'm hanging off the bed as he's drilling me holding me up by my neck or my shoulder and as I'm getting my cheeks beat down hanging all off the bed with my ass in the air my mom walks by in the hallway where my room is I can hear her footsteps as the black man continues to fuck my ass first time I ever did that my mom was working and in the room right beside hers I invited him in while she was on a conference call with her job and I of course ended up with my mouth on his cut and basically he drilled me and I know she heard it cuz I wasn't silent and then I introduced her to him with his cum still running out of my ass hell my girlfriend got off work one day and couldn't find me anywhere and that's because I was at a ghetto hotel room right by where we stayed and I was literally dancing for some bbcs I had gotten my eyes and I ended up shaking my ass for the dealer and his two friends when she called again and I answered she had no idea I had two dicks pressing against my ass as I was talking to her she had no idea that I was such a sissy for BBC for the longest so you can imagine all the BBC c** babies I've had her kiss out of my mouth I even got black cock in my backyard taking care

[olympic-paris]

STORY: Rough Riding To Baruf

Chapter 3

Exhausted and trying to escape the pain and this filthy cell, I forced myself into sleep, in a sitting position on the bench, propped on one butt cheek to relieve the pressure on my ass. It had been a truly rough ride, but it had really hit the spot. I was aroused and satisfied as I never had been before, and it had been well worth the effort and risk. I slowly came to as voices became louder from the hall of the station. One of the voices sounded familiar. As two figures came in sight, I wasn't surprised to see the guy I had settled this deal with in the Starbucks. He was wearing army fatigues now, though and he looked a good deal more 'squared away' than he had when I last saw. Another uniform. My cock took a lurch. A uniform really made a man.

'Ah, look at him,' the familiar voice was saying, 'I haven't seen one of our clients strung up like that before.'

'He was resisting,' cop number one said with a big grin.

'Yeah, I'll bet. I knew you'd do him, but you didn't rough him up like that all by yourself, did you?'

'Naw, it wasn't all me, Stretch. Dan and Jack here took a dip too. This guy got his money's worth.'

'Not quite yet,' Stretch said with a dry laugh. 'These welts look pretty nasty. Your work?'

A little giggle from the cop. 'Yeah, you know me real well, Stretch, I guess. And what I like. But he ain't none the worse for wear. I didn't do any of my black leather stuff on him. Well, not much, anyway.'

Stretch was standing over me inside the cell now, the cop right behind him, and the trucker-type dude still snoring over on the cot.

'Hey, kid, it's me, the guy from Starbucks.' He was talking down at me now, but he turned to the cop.

'Let's get those cuffs off him now and get him into another room. You got any salve or something we can use on him?'

'Sure thing, Stretch.' My hands were freed and I just collapsed onto the bench.

Cop number one came back with the salve and they got me into another room, some place that looked like a small interrogation room, with a small beat-up wooden table and two rickety chairs. I was still naked, but the cop brought my underwear and pants along. My T-shirt was in shreds now.

'Here, stand up and lean over this table,' Stretch ordered. I did so, and he gently applied the salve to the welts all over my body. The cop just stood there, watching, a little grin on his face and breathing pretty heavily. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him rubbing his basket from time to time. Before Stretch was finished, the cop turned and left the room; off getting his rocks off at my expense again, no doubt.

'Okay, I think that will help,' Stretch eventually said. 'Put your pants back on and let's go.'

'Go where?' I asked suspiciously. 'I was on my way down the road and plan to be back on my way down the road.'

'Well, you'll have to drive me back to Annapolis first,' Stretch said. 'I got a ride right out here from a meeting as soon as I heard you were here. I know you were having fun but any more of that and I'd have to charge you another hundred. I'm without wheels, so you're going to have to drive me back first.'

What could I say? He had sprung me from the jail and, more important, seemed to have full power to put me back there if he so decided. So, we went out the door and to the Jag. As we were leaving, I could see cop number one off in a side room, slumped in a chair, his pants off, beating himself with one hand and flicking his whip across his legs with the other.

We weren't more than a couple of miles down the road, when Stretch started gently tracing the welt marks on my chest and belly with his right hand.

'Please, don't do that,' I said.

'Do they still hurt?' He asked.

'They do sting a bit,' I answered.

His hand went down and covered my basket.

'Hey, don't do that,' I said. 'Just stop, all right?'

But it wasn't all right. He was unbuckling my belt, unzipping my jeans, and running his hand into the opening. He bypassed my cock and my balls, and his big index finger slid on across my perineum and stopped at the rim of my ass.

'Stop; just stop that,' I said. He got his left hand under my butt and pushed me forward on the seat, which gave him better entry to my ass with the fingers of his other hand, and enter he did with that index finger. He was moving it around, driving me crazy.

'We're going to have an accident if you don't stop that,' I said, trying to put irritation in my voice. But he was really turning me on.

'Then pull over,' he said huskily. 'There, up ahead. There's a closed shopping strip mall. Pull in behind that.'

'No. Certainly not!'

His finger pushed farther in and my body jerked and the car veered out of the lane.

'God, you're going to kill us!'

'Not if you do what I say. Not if you pull over where I told you to.'

'Okay, okay. Pull that finger out and I'll pull over.' He did, and I drove around and behind the closed line of stores. As soon as I'd gotten stopped, he had his hand back in my lap, this time stroking my cock, pumping me up. His mouth was on mine in a long, drawn-out kiss.

He broke away and opened his door. He was holding my right wrist in his left hand with a strong wrestler's grip.

'Here, out of the car. This side. I don't want to have to chase you down, but I could if I had to.'

I first tried to fasten my pants, but he just said, 'No, you're not going to need to do that.'

'But . . .'

'Just take the damn seatbelt off and slide in this direction.'

I did as he demanded. When he had me out of the car, he slammed the front passenger door, opened the back door, and pushed me down on the back seat. He produced a set of the cop's handcuffs from somewhere, snapped one end around my right wrist and then pushed me down along the back seat, passing the linking chain through the seat belt two-thirds down the seat, and then snapped the other cuff on my left wrist. I was stretched out on the seat, my torso and arms inside the car, my butt on the edge of the door side of the seat, and my legs hanging out of the car.

He stripped my pants off and stepped back and pulled his own clothes off. He produced his ointment and a condom from somewhere and sheathed and lathered up his cock, pumping it up to its gigantic proportions.

I should have been horrified. But my body was aching to be taken by another man in uniform.

He took a gob of ointment and started working it into my asshole. I was lying on my left side, and he lifted my right leg up to give him an good view of my channel. When he had me moistened up to his satisfaction and his own pole standing at magnificent attention, he slapped my butt and said, 'Get out here. Get your butt out here, feet on the ground, chest on the seat.' I wasn't moving fast enough for him, so he dragged me out of the car and brought my rear end up into the air.

'Stand wide,' he said. 'Stand as wide as you can for your own good.' I believed him and did so. He pulled my butt cheeks apart and brought his mouth to my asshole and tongued it briefly. Then he was only holding my left butt cheek, and I felt his cock at my hole. It reminded me of that cop's billy club. He took his time entering me, and when he was in all the way, he rocked me back and forth, pumping deep. I moaned and groaned and he grunted and sighed. After a few minutes he turned me, rotating me around his embedded cock and had me laying on my left side again, raising my right leg and side splitting me with continued deep pumps.

'So, dude. Do you like this? Do you love this?'

'Yes,' huff, puff.

'Too rough? Should I stop?'

'Oh, God, no. Don't stop.'

He rotated me yet again. This time my back was on the seat, and he was supporting my butt up in the air with both of his hands, suspending me and moving both his cock and my pelvis in a rapid, deep fuck. I got my legs and feet back in the car. My right foot was in the corner of the back window, and my left foot was on the ceiling above the passenger door.

He pumped and pumped and pumped, and then he pulled out of me. I felt his withdrawal as a loss. I was on the point of coming. I wanted to come while he was inside me.

'What do you want me to do now?' he said, knowing full well what I wanted.

Silence. 'I don't know, what do I want you to do?' I couldn't bring myself to say it.

'You want me to fuck you, fuck you hard; fuck your brains out. Say it.'

'Fuck me. Fuck me hard; fuck my brains out.'

And he did that as best he could. He got a pillow off the floor and stuffed in under my hips, and just fucked me and fucked me and fucked me. His hands came over my hips. His right hand went to my cock and he pumped me until I shot off all over his belly. His hands then traveled slowly up my torso and buried themselves in my chest. With a heave he pulled his rod out of my ass and shoot up my belly. Then he lowered his belly to mine, and moved it around, mingling my cum with his.

He stood up, put his clothes back on, made a clumsy attempt to push my pants back on as well, pushed me all the way into the car, slammed the door, and came around to the driver's side and got in.

'I'll drive the rest of the way. You can drop me off down by the harbor and then drive on back to the Academy yourself. Any problem with a check being in the mail tomorrow?'

'No,' I said with a sigh.

'Satisfied?'

'Yes, very?'

'Anything else we need to do here?'

A long pause.

'Well there is something else,' I said. 'What in the hell does baruf mean?'

He laughed and then he told me. 'BARUF is an acronym used to tell the cops along this route what you've paid to have done. It stands for bondage and rough uniformed fuck. You were just picking from the menu.'

When I dropped him off, I was happy to note that he hadn't taken the sign back. There was no telling when I might want to take a fast ride down that straight and level section of road again.

by Habu

~~

~~

+

[kurtxhummels]

top 5 fashion trends that should have never been a thing

1. Fake pockets - Fake anything, really. What is the point of fake things when it comes to fashion except to make you want to murder someone? 2. Microbags. Micro-anything. - I've never had one myself (obviously), but seriously. The fuck are you going to carry in those? Chapstick and nothing more? And genuinely, I really don't like any fashion trends that were micro. 3. Sheer clothing - I mean, if you're going to wear it why not just wear your underwear? Or nothing at all. It's basically the same thing. 4. Boob Scarf...Thing - I don't know how else to describe it, but that trend when people were wearing scarves as bras and that was just...the whole thing? (x) I don't hate scarves as fashion, most look cute, but not those things. 5. Trucker hats - Come at me all you fucking want, but trucker hates are fucking stupid.

june sleepover ask meme

[prettyhighforawhiteguyblog]

I actually went to Gobblers Knob in Punxsutawney and was close enough to see the no shadow for myself before the drunk guys in top hats told us what they saw.

I experienced the whole frigid, boring, tedious, painful, boring, long, standing room only for 6 hours of physical hell, low rent, cheapass, tacky, corny, tawdry, obnoxious, fucking dry event for you.

It involved security pat downs for liquor on every man woman and child to keep out liquor. Weed was illegal by community consent thanks to Reagan. It was 10 degrees and dark in the dead of a Pennsylvania Winter. And there was absolutely no entertainment for hours till it got daylight. Then this local DJ comes on to entertain the out of towners. He's horrible.

Remember that we are the cash cow for this little group of local good old boys and their buddies. And for the entire town. And they treat us like shit. Just penned us up and hit us for cash money at every turn. This was 1998, so that wasn't unusual everyone outside major businesses required cash. I'm dead sure they have those little credit card scanners everywhere now. They milked us for everything they could think of.

And it was so fucking cold. You don't understand cold until you know standing huddled still in the dark cold. Most people never really experience cold. Insulation is really fucking good now. I overpaid so much when goose down jackets got sorta affordable. They were like miracles to me. I would have given anything for such a miraculous jacket then. I had to make do with layers of insulated flannels and long underwear. I did have true winter underwear from my Boy Scout days so I was a good bit less cold than my buddies who didn't know how to layer.

Most people only experience shoveling snow cold. Maybe skiing cold. A few hunting cold. (Real damn cold) And a mighty few who have lived in it for days just sitting around camping in tents with nice sleeping bags and a big fire to warm us. In teens or subzero temps. I have. You have to dig deep and layer well. And just accept being cold every single minute of your life outside of your sleeping bag.

So we were doing hunter cold. This was Western Pennsylvania. Everyone knew how to do hunter cold. My buddies were all suburban kids. I told them how to dress. A few listened.

That night we started at like 3am and drove 2 hours of dark Pennsylvania highway. Just darkness, trees, and sky. I can't remember if the stars were out. Something about those Appalachian Forest highways just are monotonous in a weird way. They are absolutely gorgeous. But they're so covered in deciduous trees on gentle mountains that everything looks the same like on Rt 80. That road is a hard one for truckers.

The constant flow of just changing contours covered in a static of waving green leaves for 1-2 hour intervals between truck stop interchanges and small towns that depend on that one Burger King to employ half the deserted depressed Dollar General ridden steel mill town.

And Sheetz. Sheetz was always a good choice. Every 2 hours along the entire highway. They set up shop in some small town, employ 30 people to make hot food to order and run a gas station for a pretty decent wage with benefits. Sheetz is one of the most decent employers out there. Predatory but decent and relatively generous about it all. It was a blessing and a lifeline to outside income for their little towns to keep new money coming into the local shopping mall or mechanic and their families. True trickle down economics works if the rich people spend their wealth in poor areas in poor businesses. I always tried to shop local when spending grant money even if Amazon or Firestone was cheaper/convenienter.

Convenienter is now a word. Take it as my gift to the world.

Anyway this monotonous optic flow of green static was bad as a passenger. You could only look outside for so long before you began having conversations with anyone about anything while shuffling the 10cds of shitty one hit wonders that were pretty bad. And I hated them all outside AC/DC.

As a driver it was hell. You NEEDED those Sheetz pitstops.

The monotony of the static flow outside was so monotonous yet you had to pay attention to these two little yellow lines surrounded by green static that moved with it all and you had to pay attention to in order to navigate the road. It was hell on the psyche. A loop of Appalachian road trip would break any insurgent.

Anyway we drove 2+ hours of this in snow. Thankfully it was in the dark. Always schedule Appalachian road trips for night. (Except in the Appalachian Autumn. Oh. My. God. My heaven is filled with autumn leaves.)

The darkness concealed the green static.

2+ hours of my best friends in the world talking shit to AC/DC and Ace of Base or whatever was the thing.

Those road trips are always fun. I strongly suggest. Even if you have to brave the Appalachian Static.

Anyway we arrive at Punxsutawney. It is in the middle of nowhere. Just another isolated abandoned steel town. They have a bit of a real downtown that most of these towns utterly lack. Often it's a gas station and a Dollar General and a bunch of run down houses with a school 40 minutes away it shares with the other rundown towns.

But Punxsutawney has a nice little town of happy people because of Phil and our fascination with this thing.

So of course there is not parking for 30,000 people. In a town of 5,000. So they rope off some field frozen solid and park us all charging Disney parking fees.

They subcontract school buses to haul people from the parking lot to the main event. The bus drivers are the first line of defense against alcohol and drugs.

Security is the second. Compete with pat downs and local cops along with PA Troopers with drug dogs and quotas to meet. No spoiling the fun with chemical enhancement!

Then you walk for fucking ever. Slowly. Going to the Knob.

It is deadly cold. And it begins to dawn on you what you are in for in this grassy pen with nothing but a porta potty or two for entertainment.

Look at all that fun!

This was before phones people. My friends and I were super studious and none of us owned any kind of video game. No handheld games. Maybe you thought to bring a newspaper or book. I think I brought a book. I'm sure at least one of them brought engineering notes to study. Most just talk and bitch about the cold.

Cold in the dark is different from cold in the light. It is so much deeper without the solar radiation slightly warming your surface and your spirits.

Then the dawn brings light and a little warmth and hope.

Then the dawn brings the DJ.

Small town DJs are interesting critters. They are small town famous and often they are unique personalities that can be really entertaining. At least between songs and commercials. Some of them are pretty amazing like Nipsey, Jen, and Earl in Harrisburg/Hershey/Lancaster/Lebanon area back when it was even more podunk backwater.

It was 1998 and this guy showed up.

So this small town guy is used to entertaining local venues with his shtick that everyone knows and loves with his slightly out of date look and inside local jokes.

Today he has 2 hours of just him on a stage in front of 30,000 pissed off college students who were expecting a lot more entertainment and maybe some food or drinks and tired & grumpy rural folk hoping to get in a little fun and excitement before going to work. At least half the crowd had found a way to sneak in a flask or something. So people were unruly.

And we just watch the poor guy spend 2 hours fighting for his life up there feeling bad for him trying to entertain us while hosting his fun little morning show for his listeners who are probably loving it all.

He got heckled. Badly. This was 25 years ago and we weren't very nice.

After 2 hours of this entertainment. The main event started.

My heroes arrived on the scene.

They have been partying all night long. In a nice warm place with warm food, comfy chairs/couches, running water, and a ton of alcohol. They are all drunk as skunks. The all come up on stage, wave and whip up the crowd, pull out their buddy, give him some scritches and lift him up to the crowd like he's the new Lion King, and then examine his shadow, make their proclamation, smile and wave, go back to their party, and count their money.

This is the highlight of the entire event. The peak of excitement. The best it got for the whole day.

Then they shoved the DJ back on stage, the national media and anyone with connections left, and the rest of us were kept penned up for another hour or 2 till it was our turn to take a school bus back to our frozen car, a 2+ hour drive through winter highways, and afternoon classes.

It was so much fun.