Genuinely I don't know what I'm doing anymore, anyways, Ticci Toby smut!
Basically Tim and Brian brought you and Toby alongside them on a mission. Except they expect you two to watch over the truck and stay there. But you both get bored and well...
WARNINGS: Smut, fucking in a vehicle, p in v, headlock, biting, oral fem receiving, description of genitalia, mentions of breeding, fingering, nipple play, mating press, doggy style, Toby being a needy little perv.
Toby's hands gripped your plush thighs, using them for leverage as his tongue dove into your wet folds. He was hungry.
He slobbered all over your cunt like a desperate puppy, saliva leaked from his cheek gash and you only encourage him by gripping his brown locks desperately.
"F-Fuck...." He groaned and lapped with a strong need, he needed you. His bulge was already pressing up against the floor of the truck bed and precum leaked in his pants.
He looked up at you, his cute tired eyes stared at you with such love and desperation.
His fingers were shoved into your throbbing hot cunt, insistently curling to get you off. He fingers were so invasive.
The dual stimulation of his mouth and fingers really built up your orgasm, until your release came crashing down.
Toby latched his needy mouth around your plush mound and swallowed everything, his eyes rolled back and he groaned deeply.
Once he finished eating, he pulled back and licked his lips before diving down onto you to kiss your lips. It was more like he was eating your face.
You could feel his bulge throbbing against you, and he started really rubbing himself on you. Letting you feel just how horny he was for you, reduced to a needy mindless dog.
He panted and began undoing his jeans, pulling them down and his underwear was tented. A wet sticky spot had formed around his tip.
You reached out and palmed his cock, he moaned and rutted his cock against your hand.
You pulled it out of his underwear and it stood eagerly.
His tip was broad and mushroom shaped, glistening with precum and throbbing hot.
"P-Please...I need to...." He didn't even finish speaking before he recklessly pushed you back and lined his tip up with your wet hole.
His hips stuttered in and frantically fucked deeper into you.
"T-Toby~" he held you down in a mating press, most convenient for him to fuck both of you mindless.
He had a strong grip on your hips, and he just wouldn't stop ramming into you.
His cock fully nested inside of you, the only time he even paused was to press down on your soft tummy to make you feel every inch.
Toby then used his strength to manhandle you to lay face down and he hitched your ass up. He was gonna fully mount you
He slammed his cock back into you, he penetrated deeper in this new angle, and his arm went around your neck to keep you in a headlock.
He kept you underneath him, mounted like he was trying to breed you and keep you all to himself.
His mouth found your shoulder and munched down. His cock insistently slammed into you, causing these delicious moans to come from your lips.
Toby was a bit reckless but oh how he fucked...
His other arm that wasn't keeping you in a headlock went to go grasp your tits. He playfully squeezed them and salivated once he touched your nipples through your bra. He palmed them until they hardened, every thrust and movement caused your bra to shift and add even more friction.
This was so...so...so-
The truck started and drove quickly. Tim and Brian had returned, didn't even want to look at the disgusting scene going on in the truck bed. Tim was so fucking pissed off, he didn't want to be considerate.
He just started driving off, even rapidly turning left and right to make the truck shake. Driving recklessly just to throw the two of you around.
You and Toby panicked, you were both so utterly fucked when Tim gets his hands on you both.
Worth it.
~~~~~~~~~
Hey it's Capra, I don't have much to say. Sorry if this sucked, but I hope you all enjoyed this maybe kinda not really!
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tagged by @kunstpause @dismalzelenka @midnightprelude, thanks! I started writing this yesterday, some smutty smut smut smut down in the sin bin.
Context of this: Lydia is tied up and blindfolded.
He nods, cock already hard as she’s been fucking him with his eyes since she stripped and laid herself on the bed, since he watched her toy with herself while he up the sleeves of his white tunic. He lets her for the time being, knowing she’ll be restrained soon and take her pleasure only from him. He’s all too willing a giver.
He resists the urge to palm himself before asking if she wants to start. Her reply is a nod, enthusiastic. She wants him this much, wants her world to be consumed till it’s only him. She gasps as he first blindfolds her, having her rise her head a little so he can secure it. The bright red matches her painted lips. He takes both her hands and secures her wrist together with the rope, placing them over her head. He breathes heavily at the sight of her. From her travels and time in the sun she radiates cold, pinkish and silver scars here and there from their sort of life. The most prominent is the one between her breasts, and he traces it lightly with the pad of his finger, his breath hitching. She stirs, the blindofold and restraints attuning her to the most gossamer touches. She basks under his eyes—she can feel his gaze even through the blindfold.
“Where would you like me to touch you?” he asks, still feather-light with his touch.
“Anywhere.”
tagging (doesn’t have to be nsfw :D) @noire-pandora @alyssalenko @queen-kass-the-writer @fiannans
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When 2020 Hands You a Staycation, Make... Everything
My family was looking forward to our trip for months. My mom was going to take all of us to a beautiful cabin at Kentucky Lake. It would have been the first time we've all gone on a family vacation in literally decades. And man, did we need it. But, of course, we forgot to consider the 2020 factor. So, literally days before we were supposed to leave, the air conditioning went out in my truck, my grandma broke her hip, my grandma-in-law was diagnosed with a terminal illness (and passed away soon after), and my mom tested positive for COVID-19. And so, in a twist of fate that we all should have seen coming, our vacation turned into a staycation. And this is how mine went…
Like any respectable week stuck at home, my family's started with donuts. And the food just kept coming all week. It was my fault, really. I decided I'd play Master Chef, and so I cooked and I cooked and I cooked, from scratch. Fettuccine alfredo, sushi (x 2), all the grilled things (including my world famous ribs with homemade BBQ sauce), breakfast yummies, pizza (for my wife's birthday), and Sunday piña coladas. We can't forget the Sunday piña coladas. My family will back up my claim that it was all wonderful (even if my wife complained about all the weight she gained), but if I'm being honest, by the end, I was a little sick of cooking. Okay, a lot sick of cooking. And that unexpected side-effect was kind of the theme of my week.
Along with cooking, I kept the Martha Stewart Living dream alive by starting an elderberry tincture, bottling up some flavored alcohol I've been working on, cleaning my fish tanks, fixing my wife's shower, and spending three days power spraying All the Things—little honey-dos and creative projects to keep my mind and body busy, to make me feel like the week wasn't completely wasted. Unfortunately, that mentality royally backfired. You see, the thing about projects is that there's an endless supply of them. There's no finish line to the things that need doing. And once you start digging into the pile, you realize just how deep it is. And then you quickly realize how little time you have left to do them before you have to go back to work for another year. At least, that's what happened to me, which tinted every day with this little feeling of desperation, like I wasn't in control of my time, my work, or my life. And as I got further into the week, I started feeling a little worthless, like none of the things I was doing, had done up to that point, or would ever do again, meant a gosh darned thing. And that kind of thinking is a royal bummer when you're on vacation, let me tell ya.
By the final Sunday, it got to the point where I was sitting on my back porch with beautiful weather, good music, a colada in my hand, my amazing wife by my side, and my kids squealing in the kiddie pool, and all I could think about as I stared up at the fluffy, white clouds was, "Why do I feel so bad?" And then I felt bad for feeling bad. At that moment, my life was perfect. So why was I searching for more? Why did I feel like I hadn't done enough on my vacation—enough work, enough relaxing, enough memory making? I'd done my best all week to stay in the moment and be appreciative of my abundant blessings. But for some reason, it hadn't helped. I'd kept dreading my return to the "real world" despite a pretty stinkin' successful staycation. So what was it? What was bothering me about that perfect week? Well, I can be a little slow sometimes. The obvious often eludes me. Remember the first paragraph of this post? The one where all the bad things happened? Yeah, I guess I had tried to bury that reality instead of deal with it. And there ain't no amount of sushi or power spraying or piña coladas that can bury 2020.
It's strange that it took me going back to work on Monday to gain some real perspective. The thing I had been dreading was the very thing that saved me—that helped me appreciate everything about my previous week spent at home. Not because work was bad or hard. Quite the opposite, actually. My first day back was busy, I felt scatterbrained, and I was thoroughly exhausted when I got home. But it felt great. Getting back with my patients and co-workers, doing what I knew so well how to do, falling into a rhythm. It all helped remind me of who I am and what all I'd learned from my staycation (yes, I'm repeating that ridiculous word to annoy everyone who hates it). And, as it turns out, I learned quite a lot.
First off, I do actually love my job. I love helping people (even if they exhaust me). I love what I do and who I work with. I get burned out from time to time, but there's no other career I would rather do on a full-time basis. It offers a sense of fulfillment and stability that I've never appreciated until now (which has also given me a greater appreciation for all those people stuck at home in quarantine. I guess putting your life on hold isn't as amazing as it sounds…). Secondly, I love my family. There are some real memories from this past week that I'll never forget. Those lazy afternoons in the back yard with my wife while my kids played in their tiny pool. The mornings getting sunburned at my six-year-old's soccer games. The movie nights, laughs, and cuddles. Oh so many cuddles. Despite the craziness and heartache looming just outside our little pocket universe, my family and I really did make the most of it. Oh, and the last thing I learned? When making homemade pizza sauce, don't add baking soda to lower the acidity and then mix the resulting science experiment in a sealed blender. That is, unless you're looking to redo your kitchen.
On the bright side, my wife figured out what she wanted for her birthday—a new blender! That, my friends, is what you do when 2020 strikes. You make lemonade out of lemons. Sure, tragedy continues to weigh on our planet, our country, our society, and our families. Yes, my grandma's hip is still broken. Yes, my family lost a wonderful woman last week, and the world will always be just a little darker for that loss. Yes, the pandemic continues to rage. Yes, my county is second in the nation for active cases, which means full protective equipment and precautions at work every day. And yes, I'm going to have to pay a few hundred dollars to have my truck's air conditioner fixed. But you know what? My mom has been essentially symptom-free as she battles the Virus Which Shall Not Be Named. In fact, she's been out doing yard work. That's the epitome of making lemonade, folks. And this past Monday, on my wife's birthday, just when I was starting to feel bad that she hadn't had the special day that she so greatly deserved because I had to work and then drop off my truck at the repair shop, something kind of neat happened. The summer rain cleared away, and a promise revealed itself—a rainbow, tip to tail. God's reminder that he's watching over us. That there is always an end to the heartache. That no darkness lasts forever. And that, even in the midst of it all, there is beauty. There is laughter. There is hope.
So keep hoping, y'all. Better times are coming. It might get choppier before things start smoothing out. The school year and the winter are going to be challenging. But it won't be the end. "If you're going through hell, keep going," seems like wonderfully appropriate advice. So let's keep going, together. Let's remind each other what we're fighting for. Let's keep praying and taking extra time to help each other out. Showing kindness and patience when both seem to be in short supply. Oh, and remember, if you're thinking about ending it all by adding tomatoes and baking soda to a blender, just say no. Instead, maybe take a deep breath and power spray a smiley face into your sidewalk as a gentle reminder that it’ll all be okay.
I was really on a roll this morning, listening to my 'Get It On' mix and really hitting my stride with this Shieldshock thing I'm working on. And I had the unfortunate luck to glance up an make purely accidental eye-contact with the man sitting near me.
He smiles so I flash a quick "Kay, leave me alone" smile back and return to my smut.
And then, for reasons I will never understand, he ignores every social cue I'm giving him and motions for my attention and for me to remove my headphones.
I do. (Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?) and he starts asking questions.
What do you do? Are you going to work or getting off? Are you from around here? Ignoring the truth behind my curt one-word answers and peppering me until he finally asks what I do for fun and I make the absolute fucking mistake of telling him that I'm a writer.
"Ohhh shit," he says. "Smart and beautiful? That's a deadly combination, miss. A deadly combination. I've been looking for a writer, you know? I've been looking for a writer to help me write my life story. See, it's a story you've never heard before. It's about truth and politics and faith and God and all the fucked up things that happened to me when I was a kid."
I reply, "Uh huh. You should put up a want-ad for a biographer at the university."
"No, no, I don't want a student. I want a real writer who's gonna help me get this story out of my soul, you know? Because, see I write too. I write about philosophy and poetry and deep shit like that. What are you writing right now, beautiful girl?"
"You know Captain America?" I ask, making sure that I'm making direct eye contact. He nods with a puzzled smile as if I've gone off-script. "Well right now, I'm writing about him going down on the girl from 2 Broke Girls."
As soon as the words leave my mouth, his friend spits out his coffee and laughs so hard the entire train shoots him a dirty look. And then he taps his friend on the shoulder and says, "You're not gonna be more interesting than that. Let her write."
Mercifully, I left my suitor without a response and I returned to my smut. But as they got up at the next stop, the spit-take stops at my seat and goes, "Seriously though, the brunette from 2 Broke Girls?" I nod with a deadly serious expression. He considers it quickly and nods with approval. "I'd read that. It sounds hot as shit."
So. You're welcome, Shieldshock community. I think I converted another one.
