#dismissing

Gaming Ellie

Dismissive, strap on, while playing video games, cursing ac your gf Ellie is playing cod when you get needy for her cock 

Not original idea

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*

The glow of the TV screen flickers across Ellie's face, her green eyes narrowed in fury as she mashes the controller buttons. “Fucking bullshit,” she mutters under her breath, her body tense on the edge of the couch. The room is dim candle light and the soft glow of the moon light from the window. The game's gunfire blasts through the speakers in her headphones, but her frustration is noticeable, shoulders hunched, jaw clenched. You're lounging nearby, watching her, heat building in your core from the way her tank top clings to her toned arms, the hem riding up to show a sliver of her abs

You slide closer, your hand trailing up her thigh. She doesn't look away from the screen. “Not now,” she snaps, but her voice lacks real bite, roughened by irritation rather than rejection. Her free hand, though, grabs your wrist not to push you away, but to guide it higher, under the waistband of her shorts. She's already half hard under the fabric the bulge of the strap harness pressing against her boxers.

“I'm in the middle of this raid babe, These assholes are dying left and right” Another curse flies from her lips as her character takes a hit on screen. She shifts her hips, grinding subtly against your palm. You can feel the silicone cock through the layers, thick and ready. Your pussy aches at the thought, wetness soaking your panties.

You lean in, nipping at her neck, but she tilts her head away just enough. “Don't distract me,” she growls, yet her fingers dig into your thigh, pulling you onto her lap. The controller stays glued to her other hand, thumb flying over the sticks. You straddle her, grinding down, and she bucks up once demanding before refocusing on the game.

“Fuck, respawn already,” she hisses at the screen. Her dismissive tone only fuels you, the way she acts like this is an inconvenience but her body betrays her hunger. You tug at her shorts, freeing the strap. It's veined, realistic, the base nestled against her clit through the harness. She doesn't help, eyes locked on the screen but when you line it up with your entrance, she thrusts her hips forward, burying the first few inches inside you without warning.

You gasp, walls clenching around her. “Ellie—“She cuts you off with a grunt. “Quiet babe. I'm carrying the team here” But her thrusts don't stop she rocks up into you steadily, the motion synced almost unconsciously with her gameplay rhythm. Each time her character dodges a bullet, she drives deeper, the strap stretching your pussy wide, filling you completely.

Her free hand finally abandons the controller armrest to grip your hip, nails biting in as she pulls you down harder. “Goddamn lag” she snarls slamming the d pad and in the same beat, she fucks up into you with force, the base grinding against her own clit. You moan riding her, your breasts bouncing under your shirt. She glances at you then, just a flicker, lips curling in a smirk that's all possession. “You want it that bad? Take it then. But don't fuck me up “

The game's chaos mirrors the building tension between you her curses punctuating each deep plunge, the strap pistoning in and out, slick with your arousal. She angles her hips, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. “Shit-yes—“ you whimper, but she shushes you roughly. “Focus. I'm close to winning this.” Her breaths come faster, ragged, her dismissiveness cracking as her thrusts turn erratic, chasing her own release through the friction on her clit.

Sweat beads on her forehead, controller slipping in her grip, but she doesn't let go until the victory screen flashes. Only then does she toss it aside, both hands clamping your ass to yank you down fully. “Fuck this shit,” she breathes finally giving in, pounding up into you with unrestrained fury. Her mouth crashes against yours, all teeth and tongue, as she rails your pussy relentlessly the strap slamming home until you shatter around it, clenching and crying out.

She follows seconds later grinding hard against the base her body shuddering as she comes with a low, guttural moan. Even spent she holds you there, cock still buried deep, her arms wrapping around you possessively. “Told you I wanted to win,” she murmurs against your skin kissing it softy, a lazy grin breaking through the post rage haze.

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Via: Shanaka Anslem Perera 

You do not fire your Army Chief of Staff in the middle of a war for no reason. You fire him because of what comes next. Pete Hegseth called General Randy George on April 2 and told him to retire immediately. The Pentagon confirmed it within hours. No reason was given—publicly or privately. A senior Army official told Fox News that Hegseth offered George nothing: no misconduct, no operational failure, no policy disagreement on the record. Just a phone call and a career ending in the middle of the most significant American combat posture in decades.

George is described as the 24th general or admiral Hegseth has removed. But he is not just another number—he is the one that matters. The Army Chief of Staff. The man whose signature sits between a president’s intent and the order that sends soldiers into combat. The 82nd Airborne Division is deploying. Marines from the 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit are staged aboard the USS Tripoli. Joint Special Operations Command operators are positioned across the Middle East. Kharg Island—through which most of Iran’s oil exports flow—sits just offshore, a strategic flashpoint requiring careful judgment.

And the four-star general whose role is to advise on such decisions was removed just days after Donald Trump signaled continued military engagement. The replacement is Vice Chief General Christopher LaNeve. Previously a senior aide, he now leads the Army. The chain of command did not break—it compressed. The distance between political leadership and battlefield execution narrowed significantly.

No explanation was given. In moments of crisis, silence itself raises questions. Leadership changes at that level typically come with context—strategic, operational, or disciplinary. Without it, observers speculate about disagreements behind closed doors or differing views on military options. Whether related to escalation risks, targeting decisions, or broader strategy, such transitions carry weight.