#shove if you don’t know in there along with bleach and boom you’ve got my top 5

[givemea-dam-break]

my final straw was getting excited watching a “your birth month and your 5sos golden trio songs” and then proceeding to see that it was june with quite literally 3 of my favourite songs i’ve never felt such acute betrayal

#for those of you that care it was babylon waste the night and you don’t go to parties #shove if you don’t know in there along with bleach and boom you’ve got my top 5 #i am hurt tiktok is killing me #5 seconds of summer #WAIT THEYRE ALL CALUM SONGS TOO HES MY FAVOURITE MEMBER #fucks sake #givemea-dam-opinion

[nastybuckybarnes]

Deep End  -  Two

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: He’s back. After all your best efforts at getting away, he’s found you again. And this time, he’s not letting you go so easily. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you to be his. Forever.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Language, Angst, Smut (DubCon,) Manipulation, Anxiety

Word Count: 3.4K

A/n: Boom part two! I wanna hear what y’all think’s gonna happen with this series

Madness Masterlist

Bad Dream Masterlist

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

~*~

“Good morning, Darling.” Chapped lips press a kiss to your cheek, strong arms winding around your figure and a sharp chin digging into your shoulder.

“Breakfast smells delicious.” You only hum, trying to get your hands to stop shaking.

“Is it eggs?!” Sarah bounds down the stairs excitedly, running straight for your legs.

Steve intercepts her, tossing her up in the air then catching her in his arms again.

She erupts in a fit of giggles and squeals as he starts tickling her, and you find yourself biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying anything to him.

“Eggs and bacon and pancakes only for you, Princess!” He exclaims, kissing her cheek then setting her back on her feet.

“Do I still go to school?” Sarah asks, climbing up onto one of the barstools and kicking her legs.

“Yes, sweetie, you still have to go to school. We’re gonna get you back to school soon, there’s just some things that... your dad... and I need to discuss first, okay? But today, you can relax at home, eat your breakfast and explore the house if you want.” She nods her head eagerly, little hands holding her fork as you slide a plate of food over to her.

You portion some out for Steve too, grinding your teeth together in distaste.

You scoured the house for anything that could be used against him but came up completely empty-handed. Rat poison, bleach, Lysol. Nothing.

He takes his plate with a smile, his free hand gripping your waist and turning you to him slightly.

He leans down, lips pressed against yours for a brief gentle moment before pulling away and sticking his tongue out at a snickering Sarah.

He sits down beside Sarah and starts eating, his eyes boring holes into your back as you gather some food for yourself. As you’re getting ready to sit down, he stands up, unlocking a drawer by the sink and grabbing a bottle of something.

Your heart races in your chest and you hold your fork just the tiniest bit tighter, prepared to use it as a weapon if you need to.

He turns back to you with a smile, setting two small pills on your napkin, away from Sarah’s curious gaze.

“Take them with your food,” he instructs, kissing your forehead then sitting back down between you and your daughter.

"Morgan’s gonna get dropped off for a little while, Sarah. She’s around your age and I think you two will get along great. You guys can play while your mother and I talk, okay?” She bobs her head up and down, shovelling the eggs into her mouth.

“Good.”

~*~

“They’re really hitting it off,” Steve says with a smile, watching as his daughter and her new friend play in the backyard.

You hesitantly come up beside him, a small smile spreading on your lips.

“I-I’m always nervous about her making friends. She’s never really had problems with it but...” You trail off, taking a step back as he turns around to face you.

“Tony’s got Morgan enrolled in a private school, says it’s really good. I was thinking we could send Sarah there too.” You bite your bottom lip and shrug. “I-I don’t know how I feel about private schools. What are the reviews like? And are they strict? I don’t want her... all I want is for her to have a normal childhood. That’s all I want.” Steve’s face softens and he nods, taking your hand and ushering you to the living room.

“It’s all gonna be okay. I know it’s gonna take some getting used to, but it’ll all work out in the end, you’ll see.”

You take a couple of deep breaths, wanting so desperately to believe him but you know better.

“Tony says the school’s really good, and it’s not super strict. The kids still get to have fun and make friends while learning. I think we should give it a shot and if she doesn’t like it we’ll find another school for her to go to.” You nod, eyes fluttering over to the window looking over the backyard.

“Now, I think you and I need to set down some ground rules, okay?” You turn to him, your guard up in an instant.

His face is calm, but you still don’t trust him.

“Sarah’s going to be at school all day, I’ve gotta go to work, which means you’re going to be here to look after the house. My beautiful housewife.” You furrow your brows, “What am I supposed to do here all day?” He looks around with pursed lips.

“Cook and clean? Keep the house looking nice, maybe you could start a garden if you want. But soon you’ll have less time for moving around and more time for...” he trails off, his hand coming to rest on your stomach.

“You’re gonna give me another baby, gonna carry it in that beautiful body of yours. And when the baby gets here you’ll have your hands full so you may want to start planning for that now.”

You’ve got no choice in this.

“D-did you keep any of Sarah’s old baby furniture?” You ask softly, fighting back tears.

“No, I gave it to Nat and Bucky cause they were talking about adopting. But you can buy more. I’ll give you my card and that can be your task. When Sarah’s at school and you’re done with cleaning, you can start setting up the new baby’s room.” He says it like it’s the most prestigious task he could give and you should be thanking him for the opportunity.

“Now, one last thing...” He eyes you for a moment then shakes his head.

“Your old wardrobe is going to be gotten rid of. I don’t want to see you in these leggings or jeans. I’ll have Nat bring over some clothes that are more acceptable, but until then, there should be a few decent dresses still in the closet from... before.” His eyes dark the tiniest bit at the mention of how things were.

“I want you to go change, then gather up all your old clothes. Once that’s done, you can start making lunch. I’m going to run out to grab a few things for dinner, we’re having guests over tonight, so I expect you to be on your best behaviour, okay?”

You say nothing, eyes focused on the floor.

He grabs your chin roughly and forces you to look at him, his eyes blazing.

“I asked you a fucking question, dear. You’d better answer me before I get angry.”

You swallow hard then nod, “o-okay. I will.”

He nods and lets go of your face with a smile, rising to his feet and fixing the sleeves of his shirt.

“Good. I’m thinking pasta for dinner.”

~*~

You’re wearing a yellow sundress that comes just past your knees. It flows with every step you take and you’ve gotta admit that it’s quite pretty. You hate that he chose it, though.

You set the dining room table silently, mind racing. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice you’re not alone until a hand is grabbing the bottom of your dress.

“Mommy, did you hear me?” You gasp, jumping in surprise then shaking your head.

“No, Sarah, I didn’t. Mommy was just thinking. Sorry, what did you say?” She huffs a breath.

“Daddy said that Aunty Nat is coming over for dinner! Do you think she’ll bring ice cream?” Your heart clenches and you sigh.

“I uh... I don’t know. You’ll have to go ask... your father.”

“Ask me what?” Sarah turns to him and lifts her arms, giggling happily when he scoops her up in his arms.

“When Aunty Nat comes is she gonna bring ice cream?”

“Well, I don’t know if she’ll bring ice cream, but maybe after dinner we can all go out and get an ice cream cone. How does that sound?” She claps her hands together in excitement, squealing when she hears the front door open.

“Knock knock!” A female voice calls.

You swallow hard, trying not to let your anger get the better of you as Sarah shimmies out of her father’s grip and rushes to the door.

“Aunty Nat!” The redhead picks her up and spins her around.

“Hey, pumpkin! How’s my favourite girl doing?”

You walk back to the stove, stirring the noodles and imagining how satisfying it would be to dump the boiling water on the traitorous redhead.

“How’s dinner coming along?” Steve asks, his hands finding your hips.

“Just about done. Everyone can sit down, it’ll only be a minute more.” He nods, kissing your temple and opening the fridge to grab drinks.

“Hey, pal.” You stiffen, too many memories filling you at the voice.

“Hey, Buck. Glad you could make it.” You keep your back to the brunet, not wanting to see him, to remember what happened any more than you already have to.

“Aren’t you going to greet our guests, dear?” Steve asks, one hand grabbing the waistline of your dress and tugging. You reluctantly turn around to face the brunet just as the redhead walks into the room.

“Well?” Steve asks, looking at you expectantly. You say nothing, glaring daggers at Natasha. She meets your gaze for a moment then looks away, knowing full well what she’s done.

“Dinner’s ready.” Is all you say, yanking out of Steve’s grip and turning back to the stove.

“It’s nice to see you again too, (Y/n),” Bucky says, walking past you and into the dining room.

Natasha brings Sarah after him, leaving you and Steve alone.

“You and I will need to have a long conversation once they leave,” he hisses. “If your attitude doesn’t improve, then you’re going to need to be punished for it.”

You turn and look up at him with defiant eyes.

“I’m wearing your stupid dress and I’m playing your stupid game. What more do you want from me? You’ve got me and my daughter held hostage in your goddamn dollhouse and-” He grabs you by the throat, shaking his head at you.

“Fine. I’ll fucking teach you now then.”

He shoves you aside and walks into the dining room, a smile on his face.

“She’s just gonna bring dinner out. Then she and I need to have a little chat before we join you.” You reluctantly bring the food out, if only so Sarah can eat. You’ve hardly set the steaming dishes down before Steve’s grabbing your hand and yanking you through the house and up the stairs.

Your heart races in your chest, fear coursing through your veins at what he may have planned for you.

Flashes of different ways he’s punished you run through your mind and you feel your eyes fill with tears as he shoves you onto his bed.

His chest is heaving, with anger or exertion, you can’t tell.

“S-Steve I’m sorry. P-please don’t hurt me.” He watches you for a moment then shakes his head.

“You know I can’t tolerate that kind of behaviour.” You crawl back, tears dripping down your cheeks.

“I-I’m just, please! I’m scared and tired a-and I don’t have any friends and m-my dad is-is...” You shake your head, hoping he has a shred of decency left inside of himself.

“Please!” He stares at you long and hard then sighs. “You know I love you, and I love Sarah with my entire heart. But I can’t tolerate this rude behaviour. I know it’s a big transition for you, and I’m willing to be patient, but you can’t treat our guests that way. Rudeness directed at me is different, but you have no right to treat Bucky and Natasha the way you did. That’s why you’re being punished. I’ll forgive the snappy behaviour towards me, but not them.”

You shake your head and shove your face in your hands, sobs bubbling free from your chest.

“Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry.” He nods, turning to the dresser and pulling out a familiar box.

It’s the box he keeps his torture toys in, you realize.

“Lay down on your stomach. If you listen, your punishment won’t be nearly as severe.” You sniffle and nod, rolling over and laying down on your tummy.

He flips your dress up and yanks your panties down your legs, eyeing your ass for a moment.

“Bucky and Nat are important members of this family, and you will treat them as such, do you understand?” You nod, crying out in pain and thrashing away from him as a leather paddle comes down hard on your ass.

“Am I going to have to tie you to the bed?” You can’t answer, you’re too busy trying not to choke on your own snot.

He grabs your wrists roughly and ties them to a hoop on the headboard, successfully leaving you at his mercy.

He smacks you again, and again, then a fourth time, and you squirm away as much as you can.

“When you’re good, you don’t get punished.”

He delivers sixteen more impossibly hard hits, then tosses the paddle onto the ground and climbs onto the bed, cock raging in his pants.

His knees push your legs apart and you shake your head, tugging against your restraints desperately as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“Huh, would ya look at that?” You press your face into the mattress, humiliation filling you as he rubs his cock through your wet folds.

“Feels like somebody enjoyed that a bit more than they were letting on, huh?” You shake your head, crying out as he sheaths himself fully with only one thrust.

Your walls burn at the intrusion, body instinctively creating more moisture to lubricate the violation, but that’s not how Steve sees it.

“Fuck, your body misses me, huh? Hates it when my cock isn’t fucking you.” He grabs your hips and hoists them up, then starts a punishing pace, forcing you to take every painful inch of him.

“Fuck, feel how tight you are... squeezin’ me so nice...” Every hit of his hips against your ass makes you cry out in pain, your entire lower half on fire.

“M’gonna fill you with my cum then lock it in. You’re gonna give me another fucking baby. Gonna grow nice and big.” He picks up the pace, eyebrows furrowed and face screwed up with pleasure.

His hips still, warmth exploding within you as he reaches his climax.

He stays inside you for a long while, catching his breath while his cock softens, then he slowly pulls out.

“You know,” he begins, rooting around in the box for something, “it’s much more effective if you orgasm too. Really sucks it all up in you and improves the chances of fertilization.” A switch flips and then there’s a constant buzzing noise filling your ears.

Right as you realize what it is, he’s got the vibrator pressed against your clit.

You jolt away from it, hips wiggling at the stimulation.

“N-no,” you whisper uselessly, inhaling sharply when he grabs your waist with one hand to keep you steady, forcing the vibrator against you.

“Look at that... feels good, huh?” You don’t reply, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as the coil in your belly tightens, your toes curling and your back arching, forcing the device against you even more.

Your mouth drops open and your eyes roll back as your body starts to convulse, a powerful orgasm tearing through your entire being.

“There it is,” Steve whispers, watching with dark eyes as he forces an orgasm out of you.

Your pussy flutters and clenches, clit swollen and aching when he finally removes the vibrator.

You’re still recovering from the intensity of your climax when he presses something cool to your entrance.

He forces the plug inside of you, despite your protests, then yanks your underwear back up your legs.

“Now c’mon. We’ve got guests to entertain.” He unties your wrists then helps you to your feet, watching in satisfaction as you struggle to walk down the stairs.

You rub your raw wrists, heart racing in your chest as you slowly walk into the dining room.

Bucky and Nat each look up at you, the redhead turning away while the brunet eyes you, a dark look in his eyes.

Steve’s hand remains possessively on the small of your back, and you carefully sit down, wincing at the burn in your backside and the throbbing of your core.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Steve says, a smile on his face as you portion out some food for him and yourself.

“It’s alright. Things happen,” Bucky replies, eyes stuck on your face.

“It’s been a while since we... since I last saw you, (Y/n). How have you been?” You swallow hard, eyes focused on your plate as you answer Bucky’s question.

“I’ve been fine. How have you been?” He takes a moment to answer, and in the thick silence of the room you can hear the metal plates in his arm whirring.

“I’ve been good. Happy that Steve has you back now.” You nod, forcing yourself to chew and swallow a mouthful of pasta.

“Mommy I’m full! Can we go for ice cream now? Aunty Nat and Uncle Bucky said we could!” You nod, pushing your almost untouched food away and standing up quickly.

“J-just let me clean up, then we can go for ice cream.” You start gathering the dishes, eager to leave the room and put some distance between yourself and the people at the table.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Nat says, rising to her feet and gathering the other half of the dishes.

You ignore her, grabbing the remainder of the food and starting to pack it up in containers in the kitchen.

“(Y/n), I’m sorry.” You shove the food into the fridge and turn to face her, tears welling up in your eyes.

“You’re sorry? That’s it? You’re fucking sorry?! I’m right back where I fought tooth and fucking nail to escape because of you! You’re the reason I’m back here with him, why Sarah’s back here and why he’s hurting me all over again and all you have to say for yourself is ‘I’m sorry’?!” Your voice is whispered, but the words may as well be shouted.

She shakes her head, hating the truth behind your words.

“Y-you don’t understand, (Y/n). I had to.” You sniffle and scrub a fallen tear off of your cheek.

“Or what? Would he kill that rapist boyfriend of yours? You swore you’d keep it a secret and now, because of you, my father’s dead and I’m stuck with a man who’s going to torture me and possibly my daughter as well. So don’t you fucking dare tell me you had to or that you’re sorry because those are both lies.”

You take a few deep breaths, walking to the sink and starting to wash the dishes.

“I trusted you. And you led him straight to us. I don’t care what you say or what you do, I’ll never fucking forgive you. If it were up to me, you’d be left at that cabin to bleed out. It’s what you fucking deserve after what you’ve done.”

She’s silent, standing there behind you for a long moment before turning and leaving the kitchen.

Your hands shake with the intensity of your outburst and you have to stop yourself from crying, chest rising and falling rapidly as your emotions get the better of you.

Your vision starts to blur, soapy hands gripping the edge of the counter tight enough to hurt. You lean over slightly, trying desperately to suck in more air as anxiety fills and overwhelms you.

“(Y/n)?” You don’t notice his hands on you until he’s pulling your hands off of the counter.

“I-I can’t.”

His hands find your waist, trying to usher you away from the sink, and your ears begin to ring.

Your knees give out and you crumble in his arms, him easily supporting your weight as you lose consciousness.

“Buck, take Sarah out for ice cream now.” His voice holds the same type of authority as it does when they go on missions, and the brunet pops his head into the kitchen to investigate for a moment before nodding.

“C’mon Sarah. Do you know what you want?” Bucky asks, taking Sarah’s hand and leading her to the front door.

“Do you?” She sasses.

“Well missy, I’m gonna get two scoops of chocolate, and Aunty Nat's getting mint chocolate chip.”

“I want cookie dough!”

The front door closes with a soft click and Steve sighs, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the bedroom.

#Steve Rogers x reader #dark!Steve Rogers x reader #dark!bucky x reader x dark!steve #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!au #dark!fic #dark!steve #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #tw: dubcon #TW: Dubious Consent #tw: noncon #tw dark themes #tw dark fic #tw dubcon #Steve Rogers smut #Steve Rogers fanfic

[langdxn]

the night we met | jim mason x reader

WARNINGS: Expect tears, that’s all I’m saying.

A/N: I finished watching 13 Reasons Why recently and this is my way of getting out all those emotions without turning to actual 13RW fics that nobody would read. Thank you to the anon that suggested writing this with Jim, it suits him so well! Italicised lyrics from Lord Huron - The Night We Met.

Jim Mason left echoes wherever he went.

His unbridled laughter reverberated against the rocks in the bay, his ecstatic cheers bounced from every tiled roof, his beaming smile reflected in the sun rays gleaming on the shore.

Everywhere in Palos Verdes held a piece of him.

Some more painful than others.

———

“You’re the new girl,” a kind voice called above the hubbub of the house party, approaching you in your assumed position of safety in the kitchen. Steering yourself away from the established crowds of friendship groups and awkward first meetings, you anchored yourself beside the mountain of solo cups and the half-empty drinks chiller.

It almost worked. Almost.

I am not the only traveler

“Fascinating observation,” you replied with a disgruntled huff before turning to see the sun-bleached blonde standing behind you, tousled beach curls framing his tanned face. “I concede, I acquiesce to the mundane introduction of awkward teenage boy to equally uncomfortable teenage girl.”

“Way too many big words, babe,” he sighed before swooping beside you to grab a beer from the icy depths of the cooler. “I’m Jim, by the way.”

Who has not repaid his debt

“Nice to meet you, ‘Jim by the way,’” you proffered a sarcastic hand which he happily shook. “I’m ‘the new girl.’”

Jim’s brows furrowed, eyes widening as he slowly processed your wordplay.

“That’s a hell of a sense of humour you got there,” he chuckled nervously, cracking his beer open and taking a deep swig. “What brings you to PV?”

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

You leaned an elbow on the nearest kitchen counter as if settling down for a long drawn-out narrative to explain what brought you to this moment — your new house filled with total strangers, your new kitchen almost entirely destroyed by high school demolition drinking games, preppy kids wading past your cardboard boxes, varsity jacket-clad football players sneaking into your new bedroom and a particularly gorgeous surfer dude trying to chat you up.

This bizarre situation called for brutal honesty.

“My last boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend, I couldn’t face seeing them both every day so—“

Take me back to the night we met

“So you came to PV for a more complicated life?” Jim interjected, his warm smile lighting up the whole room. In an instant, it was as if you and he were the only two at the party. The commotion around you muffled to a dull roar as you gazed awkwardly down at your feet.

“I assume so,” you nodded, taking a gentle sip from your cup while maintaining eye contact with your new friend. “What’s so complicated about PV? Can’t be much worse than I went through in DC.”

And then I can tell myself

“Yeah, you say that,” Jim scratched his neck, his attempt at diverting an uncomfortable truth. “You haven’t met the Bay Boys yet.”

“The Bay Boys? Sounds like a horrendous tribute band,” you sighed through a subtle pout. “You’re not one of them?”

“Hell no,” Jim scoffed with a grin. “I’ve got a life, believe it or not—“

What the hell I'm supposed to do

“Jimmy!” A booming male voice swooped toward you before two big palms landed square on Jim’s shoulders. A stereotypical high school jock had just invited himself into your quiet conversation. “Who’s the hot chick?”

And then I can tell myself

“This is... the new girl,” Jim smiled that same innocent smile that captivated you not moments earlier. “New girl, this is Danny, king of the Bay Boys.”

The heat prickling at your cheeks wasn’t a response to meeting one of the supposedly fabled Bay Boys, nor to his reference to you as ‘the hot chick,’ but to Jim. The guy who sauntered into your life and actually gave you the time of day. The guy who smiled like the first rays of sun across the ocean in the morning.

“Come with me, babe,” Jim snapped you out of your daze, his fingers suddenly entwining with yours and pulling you across the room. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Not to ride along with you

———

“Come on, babe,” he pressed as you lay together on the beach, gazing up at the glistening stars in the PV night sky. A sharp elbow jabbing into your ribs indicated his impatience. “You know… you know I’ll look after you, just give me a chance?”

I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you

“Jim, you’re too drunk,” you sighed, a playful tap landing on his wetsuit-clad chest beside you. “Ask me when you’re sober.”

“I’ll be sober in the morning and you’ll still be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he smiled to himself, scooping an arm under your head and cinching you into his chest. “And the only one that understands me. Definitely the only one that would lay with me and watch the stars like this.”

Take me back to the night we met

“That was shockingly coherent for your state of inebriation, Mason.”

“Fuck me, that was one too many big words,” Jim chuckled heartily. “You’re still avoiding the question, princess. I’m not like your ex, you’ve known that since we first met last year. Why not just see whether we can be happy together?”

I don't know what I'm supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you

You sighed wistfully, turning on your side to gaze at the beach-tousled blonde laying beside you, the moonlight bathing his features in an angelic glow.

“It’s just,” you stuttered. “What if we didn’t work out? What if we fought and fell out? I couldn’t lose you, Jim, I’d be a mess without you.”

Oh, take me back to the night we met

“You won’t lose me,” he cooed gently, drawing you in to plant a peck atop your hair. “I love you too much to let you go.”

Slowly pulling away, Jim’s gaze locked with yours. The sparkle in his eyes as the moonlight beamed down on you both, the sweet grin tugging at the corners of his lips, the hopeful hitch in his breath; his words held so much sincerity, so much meaning, that he hung on every syllable that left your tongue in response.

When the night was full of terrors

“Jim, please,” you pleaded reservedly, clenching your eyes shut as if to dismiss all thought of returning his affections. “Don’t say that unless you really mean it.”

He leaned in to hover his lips over yours.

“Baby, I’ve never meant anything more—“

And your eyes were filled with tears

Suddenly, frantic footfalls slipping on the sand approached from behind you, startling you both to attention.

“Mason, get your ass back up here,” called a male voice, no doubt one of the Bay Boys. “The party’s dying without you!”

When you had not touched me yet

Jim stuttered weakly, caught off-guard and unprepared to stand his ground for fear of looking flaky in front of you.

“Uh... yeah, sure,” he shouted back, nervously clearing his throat and weaving his hand from beneath your neck. “I’ll be right there.”

“Jim, wait—“

“Babe, I gotta go,” he insisted, staggering to his feet and helping you up to meet him, cupping your face in both trembling hands. “Look, I’ll tell you when I’m sober, just like you asked right?”

Oh, take me back to the night we met

You couldn’t conceal an eye roll as you nodded contentedly, swallowing hard as he turned to leave. A few paces across the sand, he turned to gaze at you once again.

“I’ll tell you when I’m sober!”

———

Not every echo recalled happy times.

“Jim, I’m worried about you,” you sighed, watching him sweep together another line on the bathroom counter.  

I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you

“Well quit it, okay?” He hissed, a snarl skewing his once radiant smile as he looked at you in the mirror. “You’re not my mom, you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Babe I know I’m not, I’m just trying to hel—“

“You’re not helping anybody! What is it with you, huh? You got a crush on me or something?!”

Take me back to the night we met

His hands balled into fists atop the counter, puffing furiously like a bull about to charge.

“You? I don’t even know who you are anymore, Jim,” you spat furiously through gritted teeth, arms gesticulating in the tense air between you. “You’re so out of your skull all the time, I don’t even recognise you.”

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

“Oh thanks very much, babe,” he mocked your tone, swinging around and pushing past you to leave the bathroom. “It’s nice to know how you felt about me this entire time, and it didn’t even come out with big ridiculous fucking words! That explains why you were so goddamn evasive whenever I tried to make a move on you.”

Racing behind him as he stormed through the bedroom, your vision clouded with hysteria, words you needed to say but couldn’t find, sentences you couldn’t bring yourself to form, phrases that pained you to produce into sounds.

Haunted by the ghost of you

“Jim, you only made a move on me when you were drunk or high on some fucking substance you shoved up your nose with the Bay Boys!”

“Yeah? Well you won’t have to worry about that anymore,” he paused at the front door, hand clasped around the doorknob and turning to face you. His face scrunched into a scowl, his bottom lip trembling frantically. “I’m done here, I’m done with PV and I’m fucking done with you.”

Take me back to the night we met

In a blink of an eye and a slam of the door, he was gone. Hours later, the beach sweeper found his body, face down in the sand where he once lay beside you.

———

Jim died thinking I hated him. He died not knowing I loved him.

I’m leaving Palos Verdes today.

Because Jim Mason left echoes wherever he went.

Some infinitely more painful than others.

#jim mason x reader #the tribes of palos verdes #cody fern fanfiction #jim mason fanfiction #jim mason imagines

[ourladytamara]

Contraband (3.1k words)

Tamara  3/23/2021 - @_ourladytamara

cw’s: CNC, vomit, throatfucking, betrayal, systemic/state violence, demons, gross alien horsecock, guns (but no live rounds)

With trembling motions you shuffle to the front of your apartment and lean against the door, draped in the moonlight seeping in from the single, prison-like window behind you. You’d woken up mere minutes ago to the unmistakably stomach-churning clack of Demonic heels marching up your domicile block’s central stairway, and already the fear’s driven you to sweat. Blocks like these were explicitly human-only, servicing the slaves in the surrounding ammunition plants; Demonic hooves never graced the overcrowded slum without very compelling reasons.

Unfortunately for you, they clearly had one. Their steps were audibly burdened, heavier than the freakish things usually sounded as they marched over the shoddy linoleum flooring. A glance back at the clock read 2:30 AM – you had work in three and a half hours. Nausea struck like a knife. It cut deep and quick into your stomach as you pulled back from the doorway – just in time to jump against the body of your roommate, Ninety-Seven.

That wasn’t actually her name, of course, just like yours wasn’t actually Twenty-Two; it was easier to say than your full designations of 117-654-882-28-97 and 009-655-119-18-22, respectively. Unlike you, though, Ninety-Seven refused to tell you her actual, human name, adamant on her designation. She always weirded you out, obviously still doing so after waking up in the dead of night. Still, she told you she’d been here for years longer, and you chalked her high strangeness to the insurmountable trauma certainly weighing on her young mind.

“Why are you awake, Twenty-Two? It’s just some commotion, isn’t it?” she asked, only the slightest twinge of sleep in her words.

“Ninety, are you fuckin’ for real? Listen.” you hiss, gesturing for her to approach. For a moment she seems to hesitate, fixated on your hand. She shakes her head and comes closer, pressing her ear to the door as you’d been seconds earlier while you hold her shoulder. She cocks her eyes, turning to a scowl; you can hear the Demonic footsteps even standing, now.

“I… okay? What’s the problem?” she replies, almost… befuddled by something. You don’t understand.

“Do you not hear the literal Demons goose-stepping up our stairwell? Why the fuck would they be coming in here so -”

Before you can even finish speaking the alarms begin to blare. You’d lived here a year without even hearing them, and the instant they begin your mind starts to panic. It’s nothing like a human warning signal – it’s essentially a mechanical caterwaul, like the dying yell of someone caught in a machine and ground into paste. Every second it throbs against your skull.

“- early.”

Ninety-Seven looks up at you and widens her eyes, as if elated. The noise blocks your ability to yell at her, every word from your lips now totally drowned beneath the din. You gesticulate, pleading physically where your verbal ones had fallen short.

Without another word she opens her mouth and speaks in tune to the Demonic voice now echoing off every surface.

“BADH AN MARAB QA-ALADAV. YA DAEKAVA MA KADAR FA MAKH.

You cover your ears in pain and lean back against the wall, totally overwhelmed by the panic, noise, and exhaustion. Without thinking you dart away from the door, rushing to the pile of loose blankets and pillows allotted as “furniture” by your Demonic overlords. Ninety-Seven cocks her head and tracks you as you move, still repeating the announcement by heart as it begins to loop in English.

“A CONTRABAND SEARCH IS UNDERWAY.” it, and by extension Ninety-Seven, booms. “COOPERATION WITH ONSITE JUDGES WILL BE REWARDED.”

For a minute longer the Hellish alarm wails before its steel throat closes up – only to reveal just how loud the Demonic footfalls outside have truly grown. Each sounds only a single room away.

You shoot a look at Ninety-Seven, a mix of anger and ringing pain.

“You’ve been through this before?” you ask, darting from the pile of pillows you’d buried your head in for safety towards the girl.

“Of course – they used to be a lot more regular.” she replies, rubbing her legs together. “It was a lot more exciting back then, I think.”

Now beside her, you grab her by the shoulder as to speak more quietly. Knocking – on the door beside yours! It snaps you out of the conversation and draws your eyes inextricably to your own apartment’s flimsy defenses. Ninety-Seven stood between it and you, now glaring at you.

“Twenty-Two, I feel like you’re being overly hesitant.”

“ADDAKH!” comes the scream of a Demon in the hallway. “MAR VAL YGDASH.”

Seconds later, a kick, a thud – screaming and heavy footfalls. A gunshot – the screams grow louder, turning to a howl that chills you to the bone.

“O-Overly hesitant? Hello?” you nearly scream-whisper, attention divided. Something wasn’t adding up. “I’m being overly hesitant because,” you lean in, “there are fucking armed Demons outside our door? N-Ninety, are you fully awake?”

“I’m much more than fully awake, Twenty-Two – I just think this level of recalcitrance towards our Owners is undue.”

Every hair on your neck stood on end. Few things bothered you worse than hearing another human say that word, call them that name – and now it was coming from the only one you thought you’d be able to trust in the nightmare you now knew as life. Nausea reared its ugly head through the swamp of anxiety now living inside you. Next door, the Judges finished their grim duty; their hooves clacked along the red linoleum in the hallway once again.

“W-We have to… o-oh, my God, we have to do SOMETHING, I -” you mumble. This really sets her off.

“No. I’ve heard enough – you’re just like the other ones, aren’t you?” she mutters in reply, pulling away from you and shaking her head. “Just like the ones on level 29, right?”

You blink. You… you knew a couple on level 29. They were odd, definitely unlike you – clearly victims of Hell’s penchant for population shuffling, from Iran or something, you were never sure – but one of the only other friendly faces in the basalt-and-tallow sarcophagus you were forced to call home. During your fifteen minutes of allowed recreation you’d visited them a few days ago.

Something sinks like a rock in your stomach.

“N-Ninety-sev-”

“Is religious literature permitted material, Twenty-Two? Is it?”she barks, far louder than you would’ve dreamed of being knowing who was standing just outside your thin walls. This draws the attention of the Judges, clearly; the footsteps quiet as they whisper among themselves for some time.

They’d shown you their copy of the Quran, hastily handwritten into a falling-apart notepad – their one belonging save what Hell gave them.

A knock on your door. You can’t move, you can’t think – tears well up in your eyes.

“ADDA-” begins the Demon, but her shout is interrupted as Ninety-Seven opens the door.

“Oh, good! You came quickly – I’m glad the report made it in time.”

In your door stood a hulking Demon. She was clad entirely in some kind of black metal and blacker robes, flesh almost entirely concealed. A dim red glow emanated from the lenses of her metallic facemask; you could see muscles rippling beneath the thinner parts of her robe, flexing with each subtle motion.

“Huh?” she replies, regarding the girl for a moment like one would regard a particularly-stupid dog.

A gauntlet-clad hand shoves her out of the way, long finger on the trigger of her shotgun and totally ignoring the girl as she began to undress. You panic, yelping in fear and leaping away from the Demon as she steps closer. An instant later, a gunshot rings out – are you dead? Is it over?

No, that would be far too easy, sadly, and you buckle over in pain as the rock salt pellets slam into your back. It digs into your flesh and forces you to the floor like a hogtied animal. Fuck, you thought the salt shotgun thing was a myth. In a few seconds the pain of impact begins to subside and the burning begins. Every inch of your back is on fire; you grit your teeth and crawl into a fetal position, desperate to undo your jumpsuit yet horrifyingly aware of what undressing in a room filling with Demons would entail.

“Ooooohhhhh, that was you?” replied a third, smaller being, speaking Demonic as she entered behind a second. Your state-mandated grasp on the tongue was definitely weak, but you could still listen in. “My Cliquemate in block administration told me about some overly-enthused human babbling about contraband in-between mouthfuls of cock.”

“Found it.” said the second Demon, her voice a booming, cavernous depth. They laughed together before a hand from the first, their leader, silenced all of them.

“Stop talking to the fucking animals and search – save your breath for the next hundred and ten levels.”

You lived on the fifth.

A steel-clad fist to your stomach knocks the wind out of you and intensifies every ache and burn inside your overwhelmed body. The leading Demon looms high above you, a red-glinted flashlight shining from her shoulder through your tiny shared bedroom, toilet, and closet. Jumpsuits, ration tins, tissues, lubricant – but no contraband. Other than those sun-bleached and coffee-stained pages 24 floors above you, you hadn’t seen an unapproved object in what felt like years.

It didn’t stop them, though. By now Ninety-Seven was already completely nude, a visible line of slick running down her thighs as the two Demons behind the leader began rubbing her with their metallic hands. They prodded at her nipples, slid down her thighs and abdomen toned with years of hard labor; you felt yourself rising to vomit before the leading Judge struck you down again.

“Luckily,” she hissed with a click of her flashlight, “you got stuffed up in here with a delightful little housepet who kept you nice and clean, animal. You ought to thank it for that when we’re through with you.”

“N-Ninety-Seven, what the FUCK?!” you scream, ignoring her words against your own judgment. She doesn’t reply, now taking the third Demon’s fingers into her mouth as she kneels before them on the floor. The Judge grips your jaw in her fingers and pulls your gaze back towards her glowing eyes.

“Clearly she didn’t keep your mind as clean as your living space. What a shame – usually putting you two in a cell kills off resistant personality traits faster than this.”

She brushes a gauntlet against what you now realize is her cock, bulging up against the black fabric of her robe. “Look at this. If it weren’t for your little helper you might’ve been to rebellious to get to taste it. That’d be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

You crawl away in terror, but every tug of your jumpsuit makes the pain in your shoulders and back all the worse. By the time you manage to get an inch away, she grips you by the legs and pulls you back across the linoleum, leaving you between her powerful hooves. From here you can practically feel the heat coming off of her; it radiates like a pot of boiling water even through her armor and padding, most powerfully coming from her crotch.

All this time living in Hell and you’d – rather luckily – had until this point to really look at a Demon up close, let alone prepare yourself for what you inevitably knew came next. Obviously you would’ve preferred to keep it that way; the horror stories you’d listened to for the past years did little to compare to the reality of one standing right above you.

The Judge grips her Hellish leather belt and unhooks it from her waist, dropping the black robe – which you now see is a two-piece loincloth and hood -  around her waist to the ground, landing around your neck like a scarf. Her cock pops out unrestricted with a heavy flop. It’s easily the length of your forearm and definitely thicker, with a dripping, flared head. The entire thing reeks of blood, salt, and some savory alien stench your nostrils struggles to even make sense of. Thick strands of gooey pre drip from her slit, one of them snapping off and landing on your forehead.

“I suppose you’ll need a reward for good behavior, won’t you?” she coos, slinging the shotgun over her shoulder and taking her length in hand. “It’s not often we find an entire domicile level without a single piece of contraband!”

“N-”

She squats onto your face before you can muster a syllable. Her weight is crushing almost immediately, forcing the wind from your lungs as she leans her ass back onto you. The heat is overwhelming; buried between her cheeks you have little option but to struggle with every muscle for breath, her taut asshole pressing into your face closer with every motion. You press your entire face into it without so much as noticing, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re halfway eating her out in confusion.

You can make out a pleased chuckle from above you. The Judge’s ass begins moving rhythmically, her hips grinding into your nose. Flailing, you desperately grab at her cheeks for even the slightest leverage – but you find none, your actions coming off as little more than playful pinching; the Judge pops her hips back triumphantly before rising from your face.

“Ugh. I fuckin’ hate it when they’re too enthusiastic – not like those dipshits.”

Your vision is spinning. In a stupor you manage to slink an eye back far enough to see Ninety-Seven on her knees. With both hands she’s enthusiastically stroking the second, largest Demon off between her tits, the third balls-deep down her throat and forcing her neck to distend in a way you were pretty sure human necks weren’t meant to. Her eyes are wide-open, a deeper satisfaction in them than you’d ever seen on the girl.

By the time you return your gaze upwards the Judge is stroking her cock mere inches from your face. The tip dominates your vision, like the barrel of a loaded gun; you tremble beneath it and mutter to yourself.

“Empress, no wonder you two were so compliant. Whores – like usual.” she hisses, briefly touching the head to your cheek. A thick strand of nigh-opaque pre stretched between your face and her tip as she pulled it away. “You’re far warmer than they usually are, though, pig – keep that up, the fear makes you tighter.”

She grabs your head and spreads your lips. A scream is stifled in your throat as her enormous prick is forced down your gullet, stretching your mouth wide open. In processing, so many years ago, they outfitted you with an adjustable ring-gag to test your gag reflex – that was nothing compared to the sheer girth being forced into you now. It splits you open, fucking your mouth like a pussy; by the time she starts to pull out again you can feel the pulsating heat from her grapefruit-sized balls against your cheeks.

Your stomach growls at the intrusion. Even if you wanted to vomit, there wasn’t much place for it to even go; teary-eyed, mouth filling with water, your gag reflex continues to alert your body to the obvious intrusion even as you lay helpless to it. The Judge grips your head in both hands and adjusts her squat before thrusting forward again. She’s using you like a hole, fucking your tear-and-spit-soaked face like one of their relief stations. Just as you feel you’ve had enough, she forces herself deeper and deeper still. You can practically feel it in your stomach, now, your guts being rearranged from the opposite side. Leathery ball-skin brushes against your chin, slick with sweat and liquids you couldn’t even begin to know the origin of.

A trembling hand once again attempts to brush against her ass in defiance. It’s hard to even get a grip on her, now, hips thrusting forward with reckless abandon as she abuses your mouth. Every thought in your head is systematically fucked out of you; your head drops limp in the Judge’s hands, now relying solely on her to keep you upright. Another glimpse at Ninety-Seven; she’s covered in cum from head to toe, what seemed like gallons of it slowly seeping from her mouth and nostrils as she lay on the floor. The two other Demons stand above her, holding their cocks as they bask in the afterglow.

“Hnnf, fuck, s-stay loose like that for – there we go.”

You’re conscious for just long enough to feel the first jet of cum impact the back of your throat – and feel your vision swim as you run out of air. Everything fades to black. Anxiety, strain, and exhaustion had finally done you in – maybe this was the afterlife, after the Grim Reaper juked you out with the salt shotgun earlier?

You were never that lucky, of course. Points of light trickled into your vision like snowflakes. Your floor, your walls, your grim little existence – it was all still here and you were still on the ground. The Demons are dressed and armed, again; they slink out of the room, chatting quietly, as they return to the stairwell, refusing a further word.

Cum seeps from your mouth and nose. It feels like your entire head is full of the stuff; you learn your stomach is just as packed, brushing a hand against your now-distended and semen-filled abdomen. The motion forces some of it up; you roll to your side and heave, vomiting at long last only to bring up more cum and very little else. It soaks into your jumpsuit and sticks to the skin beneath like glue, your entire upper chest and shoulders coated in it. From the amount on your face, the Judge must’ve cum all over you. You wipe it away from your eyes and onto the legs of your jumpsuit.

Ninety-Seven lays in a heap in front of the wide-open door. She, too, is absolutely plastered in the stuff; it clings to her hair, chest, tits, and face, among others where she’d clearly intentionally smeared it. Her body rises slowly with every tired breath, a deep satisfaction on her cumstained lips. You couldn’t have been out for more than a minute or two, but in that time the snitch had clearly tuckered herself out.

Every bone in your body aches. It goes far deeper, into your very soul itself, a frigid burning that seems to annihilate everything it touches. You’d made it so long, dealt with so much, cried and screamed and panicked so often – all to avoid the fate your one remaining friend gleefully brought upon you. It’s more than violation, more than betrayal; you feel like a match snuffed out in a glass of water, just like Ninety-Seven. Hell had broken you, after it had spent so long trying and failing. A glance at the clock: three AM.

You have work in three hours. You drop your head against the cum-soaked floor and cry.

#millennium penance #subscriber stories

[marypsue]

let's break it (just because we can)

Hey! Guess what! It’s more of my bullshit!

Content warnings for suicidal ideation and canon-typical alcohol abuse. I still haven’t seen S3, so just pretend anything canon-noncompliant is happening somewhere else in the theoretically-infinite multiverse. Someday I’ll actually watch shit when it airs.

I’m also on AO3, as MaryPSue.

...

It’s got a white picket fence.

Sure, the house itself looks like some kind of giant house-eating alien shat it out after a particularly difficult digestion. Sure, the yard has apparently been used to store dead cars for the last millennium. Sure, that fence is faded, warped with age and rain, rotted out or broken in places and, in a big chunk out front beside the gate, fallen right down flat. Doesn’t matter. It’s still a white picket fence.

Love’s a little like cocaine. It’s great at the beginning, an overwhelming rush. It turns you into somebody better, smarter, cooler. Somebody else.

“It’s got a little white picket fence,” she says, and she’s a little bit in love with it already, and you’re so in love with her that yeah, maybe you’re a little bit in love with it too.

And that’s why you make the mistake of thinking - yeah. this could be good.

…

“Hey. Beth, isn’t it?”

Beth looks up. The girl who’s sat down across from her and is currently leaning across the library table like she wants to leap over it shakes out her mane of honey-blonde curls, smiling. Her hair gleams like burnished gold under the fluorescent lights, and Beth has to stop herself from self-consciously winding a strand of her own brittle, bleached hair around a finger. She wonders, briefly, if her roots are showing.

“Yeah?” she asks, and the other girl’s smile grows brighter. Heather, Beth thinks, or maybe Jennifer? The other girl’s so often part of a group of equally tan and beautiful people, it gets hard to tell them apart.

“You’re the one who told Lucas that your dad is out of town touring because he’s a rockstar?” Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer asks, leaning in closer like she’s sharing some scandalous secret. She smells like vanilla. Beth leans back in her seat.

“Sounds like me,” she says. She doesn’t know which one of the golden boys Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer hangs around with is Lucas, and frankly, she doesn’t care unless he wants to buy weed.

Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer looks gloriously confused for half a second, before the smile returns full force.

“We’re having a bonfire Saturday night,” she says. “Out by the point? You can come if you want.”

Beth leans forward, until her forehead is nearly touching Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer’s.

“You’re just inviting me because you think I can get you booze, right?” she asks.

The look on Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer’s face says it all.

Beth basks in Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer’s discomfort for a moment longer before leaning back in her chair again, crossing her arms and tilting the chair back on its back two legs. “Make a list of what you want and tell me what time to be there.”

Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer breaks out into a relieved smile, pushes herself up out of the seat across from Beth, and heads back over to the table where her people are waiting. Beth waits until she’s sure they’re not looking before she lets her chair fall back to the ground and buries her nose back in her anatomy textbook.

…

The fence is easy to fix. The house takes more work, but eventually you’ve got it looking less like a gigantic turd and more like an average human dwelling. She plants flowerbeds under the front windows. Ninety percent of everything she puts in there dies, but it’s the thought that counts. 

She's beautiful. The baby, when she arrives, is beautiful. Your home is beautiful. Your life is beautiful, and perfect, like a Norman Rockwell painting or one of those collectible china figurines old ladies like to keep around their houses. It's perfect. It's beautiful. It's so far removed from anything you recognise as 'real life' that it scares you.

You never claimed to be perfect. (Just cooler. Smarter. Better.) And love's a little like cocaine. It keeps taking more and more to get you high. 

...

“I don’t get why it’s supposed to be such a classic, anyway. It’s just some jerk acting all superior and whining about how much his perfect life sucks.” Heather (or maybe Jennifer) sits back on the log, tossing her bush of curls over one shoulder. The firelight-shadows turn her laughing face grotesque. “The only way this book could possibly be as good as everybody says it is is if Holden gets punched on the last page.”

“Hey, you just don’t get it,” the polo-shirted young Adonis that Beth thinks is Lucas protests, withdrawing the arm he’d wrapped around Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer’s shoulders.

“What, because I’m a girl?” Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer teases, poking possibly-Lucas in the middle of the chest with one finger, and possibly-Lucas shrugs.

“I’m just saying, it’s a novel about the fundamental pathos of existence and the inescapable sadness of the human condition,” possibly-Lucas rattles off, like he’s reading it from a textbook, and Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer bursts out into a fresh fit of giggles.

“Oh shut up, Mr. Winters isn’t here to see you kissing his ass.” She gives possibly-Lucas another halfhearted shove in the middle of his chest, before leaning in to rest her head there, still giggling. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get that letter of recommendation to Harvard if you admit that Holden Caulfield is a giant jerk.”

Possibly-Lucas just laughs, and nuzzles his face into Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer’s hair. Beth takes another sip from her can of soda, stares into the fire. It’s kind of fascinating how the burning logs don’t seem to visibly change, even while they’re being consumed.

“Ugh, what are you two, teachers?” the dark-haired girl who might be named Jennifer complains, from the other side of the bonfire. “We should be having fun, not talking about stupid Catcher in the Rye.”

“She’s got a point,” Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer giggles, through a mouthful of hair.

Possibly-Lucas nods, and then calls, “Hey! Beth! Truth or dare!”

Beth stares into her drink. On her desk back at home, the latest module for the correspondence course she’s taking on organic chemistry is sitting, waiting. She can’t think of anywhere she’d want to be less than here.

“Dare,” she says, to her soda.

…

The show’s in the shitty basement of a shitty dive bar and, looking at the crowd, you think you’ll be lucky if you can play two sets and get out of here without anybody chucking a Molotov cocktail at the stage. 

You told her things were picking up. That you had some real promising prospects on the horizon. That you’d let the fading dye job grow out. That you’d get a real job. Take out patents on some inventions, sell them to the highest bidder. That at the very least you’d start playing some places that actually paid. Weddings, and shit.

You didn’t exactly lie.

But here, tonight, it’s cheap beer and bad weed and stony glares and a bassline that thrums like a heartbeat. Here it’s a dusty spotlight and a guitar that you play like you’re making love to it, because maybe, maybe it’s the only lover who’ll ever understand you. Who’ll never chain you down.

(there’s a difference between fucking and making love. you think maybe you’ve only ever done the second one onstage, with a screaming crowd and a guitar.)

You promised her. You promised, and the baby needs new clothes and shit and the upstairs toilet hasn’t worked for a month and the fence is starting to fall down again but here you are, in a shitty basement, playing a shitty punk show. Because you need this. Everything back home is glossy and pastel and perfect, and you just need this one goddamn thing in your perfect fucking life that still feels raw, still feels broken, still feels real.

She catches your eye halfway through the second set. Headbanging along, like your shitty garage band is the fucking Stones or some shit. Cherry red mohawk nearly a foot tall, bleeding hairspray in shining trails down her face. Almost looks like she's crying. Like agony. Like ecstasy. Like you're playing her and not just the guitar.

You think, afterwards, that it's the best show of your goddamn life.

...

Somebody brought a boom box. Somebody brought hot dogs. Somebody brought half the football team, and the cheer squad, and somebody thought it would be cool to see how big they can build the fire.

Beth can feel the heat of it on her face from five feet away, can feel the cold of the sea air on her back. It’s almost cold enough that she wants to put her top back on. Almost, but not quite. Besides, the beer really does warm you up from the inside out.

(It’s a lie. Just like the confidence it fills her up with. It’s just blood rushing to the surface, losing body heat to the air even as it makes her feel warm. She could get hypothermia and die like this, and never even know she was cold.)

She sways, in time to the music, bumping hips with dark-haired probably-Jennifer-unless-that’s-Heather, spinning to stand face to face and letting her hips swivel with the beat. Probably-Jennifer’s wearing some kind of lipgloss that sparkles in the firelight, her lips full and slightly parted, her eyes half-closed. The fire is scorching hot and the beer is a warm glow in Beth’s veins and everything is soft, is distant, is safe.

Probably-Jennifer doesn’t even seem startled when Beth goes in for the kiss, just puts her hands (so warm, almost burning) on Beth’s hips and pulls her closer. It just feels natural, inevitable.

The cheers and hoots from all around them are the only reminder that it’s not.

Probably-Jennifer pulls back, flushed and grinning, a few strands of hair sticking to her glitter lipgloss.

Beth pulls away, from her, from the fire, and starts to tug her top back on.

…

You ditch your friends after the show and catch mohawk girl at the bar. Same old song and dance - buy her a few drinks, take her back to the van or the motel or her place, fuck her brains out, never see her again. Except something goes wrong somewhere and instead of taking her someplace where the two of you can get a little privacy, you end up at an all-night breakfast place. Maybe it's the looks you got from your two best friends, the only two other people in this vast, cold universe who've always had your back before. Maybe it's just that this is how you met the woman who's now your wife.

"We - we gonna fuck or what?" you blurt, as soon as that thought crosses your mind, and mohawk girl looks up like you just blasted an air horn in her ear.

"What, right now?" She waves her fork at her half-eaten waffle. "Can I finish this first?"

"Nope," you say, putting down your own fork with a clatter and pushing yourself out of the booth, crossing your arms over your chest and wishing you'd worn something with a little more intimidation factor than the navel-revealing neckline on this shirt. "Limited time offer. Take it or leave it."

Mohawk girl looks from you, to her waffle, back up at you again. She doesn't get up.

"Fine," you say, wishing you had something to throw, or shove, or smash, or slam.

Mohawk girl watches at first as you storm out of the restaurant, but by the time you reach the door, she’s gone back to her waffle.

...

The light and the heat and the music start to fade as Beth walks along the beach, her feet sliding in the sand, clutching her arms against the chill. There’s just enough of a breeze to ruffle her hair and raise goosebumps on her arms. She can’t quite feel her hands, and she’s not sure if it’s from the beer or the cold.

Everything seems very dark, at first, close to the bonfire. It's nearly impossible to see anything the firelight doesn't touch. Beth almost trips over a couple lying in the sand, in the middle of moving from making out into something else entirely. She shuffles farther away from the ring of firelight and from the rising moans of the couple she just left behind. The water is black as ink as it laps at the shore, and there doesn’t seem to be a horizon out there. Just endless void, as far as the eye can see and farther. Nothing and more nothing.

Beth wanders around one of the bigger rocks that dot the beach, shivering in its shadow as it blots out the firelight, and there is the sky.  

…

You don’t go home.

You don’t go back to the bar where your friends are almost definitely getting plastered, either. Instead, you get in your rustbucket of a car and start it, and then sit there, with the engine running. Trying to decide where to go, when you’ll have to be home by morning. Wondering idly what would happen if this falling-apart piece of shit you call a car had malfunctioned somehow and the tailpipe was plugged.

The radio’s on your favourite rock station, blaring “Highway to Hell”. You growl a little under your breath and wrench the knob, flipping feverishly through the stations until you find some mindless, banal pop song, and then throw the car into drive. It doesn’t really matter where you go. You just need to go.

The sky overhead is dark and endless and strewn with stars, an infinity of possible worlds, possible lives. If you didn’t know better, it would be beautiful. Awe-inspiring. Just plain inspiring. That eternal tableau of untamed possibility. If you didn’t know better, you’d believe that anything could be out there. That anything could happen. That you could be anything.

But you know better.

The pop song bops along for about thirty seconds before its polished, prepackaged bubbliness finally gets on your last nerve and you turn the radio off.

...

The ocean is a silent, freezing mirror, replete with the reflected cosmos.

The tide is loud, here, the muffled bass of the music and the occasional shout the only sounds from the bonfire that carry back to Beth. She looks back over her shoulder, sees the fire. From right beside it, it had been so big and bright and hot that it had seemed to fill the whole sky. She’s barely walked for five minutes, but looking back, it already seems tiny, dwarfed by the ceiling of endless, limitless stars. So insignificant. So infinitesimal.

…

The house is dark, the sky is going grey around the edges, by the time you pull back into the drive. You clip the corner of your white picket fence on your way in, knock the corner post askew. The fence lists like it’s almost as drunk as you are.

You kick at it on the way to the door, misjudge the distance. 

The lawn’s slick with early dew, and you barely avoid faceplanting into the flowerbed by overbalancing and landing flat on your ass instead.

…

“Hey, you’re – Beth, right? Beth Sanchez?”

The voice breaks the quiet rhythm of the tide lapping gently in and out, and Beth jumps. She hadn’t heard anybody coming up behind her, lost in the star-studded expanse of forever. She realizes, for the first time, that her feet are freezing. “Yes. And yes, I did take my top off, and yes, I did kiss a girl. No, I won’t repeat either performance unless you bring me another beer, and even then, no promises.”

The boy standing back on the beach stuffs his hands in the pockets of his knee-length shorts with forced casualness, looking anywhere but Beth’s face. “Actually, I recognized you because I think we have chemistry together.” He turns his head to grin at her, pulling both hands from his pockets to point in her direction like he’s waiting for her to laugh at his incredibly witty punchline.

It takes Beth a moment to process. “Third period, right? You’re the guy who’s always asking about covalent bonds.”

Covalent bond guy deflates a little, shrinking around his smile. He stuffs his hands back in his pockets, shuffling over to where the water laps at the shore. “Jerry. It’s Jerry. What’re you doing all the way out here, anyway? Party’s back by the fire…” The way he says it is almost more of a question than an invitation.

Beth turns back out to the ocean. “Did you want something?”

“Well, I saw you walking away from the bonfire, and, I don’t know, just wondered what you were up to.” He shrugs. “With…your…bare feet in the water. Isn’t that cold?”

“You get used to it,” Beth says.

“Well, if you say so,” covalent bonds guy – Jerry – says, and then there’s a rustle and the scrunch of sand underfoot, and his voice coming up behind her. “Perfect night for a little oh holy fuck that’s cold.”

Beth can’t help but smile as he dances back along the beach, away from the surf, like the soles of his feet have been burned. “I tried to warn you.”

“What are you, a polar bear?” Jerry grasps his upper arms, hunching over shivering, his skinny chest glowing pale in the dim starlight.

“Maybe,” Beth says. “I mean, there might be some polar bear DNA in there. I was grown in a lab.”

Jerry stares at her like she’s just grown a second head.

“You’re joking, right,” he says, and Beth just grins. “Ha. Hilarious.”

“Almost as good as your chemistry line,” Beth shoots back.

Jerry lets out a discontented huff, and thankfully, finally, shuts up for a couple of seconds.

“Well, I guess skinny dipping is out,” he says, just when Beth is starting to relax again. “What a beautiful night for stargazing, though.”

“There’s no moon,” Beth agrees.

Jerry nods, and for once, says nothing, looking up instead. There’s something a little wistful in his expression, and Beth catches herself thinking that he’s not actually bad-looking, as generic teenage boys go.

“Don’t nights like this just make you want to be in love?” he asks, without looking at Beth, and if he gets any more blatantly sappy Beth’s going to drown him.

“Most of those stars died trillions of years ago,” she says, maybe a little less sharp than she intended, because Jerry looks at her and smiles.

“Not for us, they didn’t,” he says, and holds out a hand in Beth’s direction.

There’s smoke on the salt breeze and the distant sounds of laughter. Overhead, the stars glitter cold through the atmosphere.

Oh, what the hell, Beth thinks, and starts to wade up out of the surf. What’s the worst that could happen?

…

Your daughter’s asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling peacefully, her little fat baby face wrinkled up in a frown. She hiccups loudly as you turn to leave the nursery, and you freeze, holding your breath. She doesn’t cry, though, just looks through you with those enormous eyes that you’re biologically programmed to find adorable, before blinking them closed again and turning her face away. Her tiny thumb finds its way into her tiny mouth, and then she’s fast asleep again.

You exhale, and try not to trip over anything as you creep back out of the room.

The lamp on the bedside table on your wife’s side is lit, but she’s passed out with her face smooshed into the pillow, a book half-sliding out of her grip. You think about taking it from her and putting it on the bedside table, decide against it. You’d only wake her up.

You strip, as quietly as you can, and only stub your toe on the nightstand once before turning out her light and falling into bed beside her. The dark and the quiet settle down on you like six feet of black earth, thick and suffocating.

Your last conscious thought is that love’s a little like cocaine. Even when you know it’s killing you, you still can’t quit.

#this is mary's fic tag #rick and morty #one day I'll finish a published WIP; but this is not that day

[discovering-sex-blog]

Chapter 1

Denise Chapman found a seat at the rear of the bus, in the very back row. She was thankful that the bus wouldn't be crowded. Only about thirty kids would be making the trip to the state fair, and this huge old bus had room for twice that many. Most of the kids were already crowded together in the seats in the front and the middle of the bus. With luck, she'd have the back of the bus all to herself and the trip down to the state fair would be pleasant instead of an ordeal. She'd brought along a half-dozen new teen-romance novels to read. She hoped to get lost in a good story and completely block out this trip she'd been forced to take by her parents.

"You need to socialize more," her mother was always saying. "It's not normal for a girl your age to spend all her time with her nose in a book or doing her chores. You need to meet some boys, to go out on dates, have some fun."

It did no good to tell her mother that she enjoyed doing her chores, that more than anything she enjoyed reading her romance novels, that she much preferred the boys in her books to the flesh-and-blood boys she went to school with. The boys in her novels were all so chivalrous, so non-threatening. The boys at school, on the other hand, were crude and dirty-minded. The flesh-and-blood boys had only one thing on their minds - how to take advantage of a girl every chance they got. And real boys all carried that hard weapon between their legs, that masculine appendage that gave Denise the shivers even to think about. She didn't dare mention to her mother that she was scared to death of boys, and her mother wouldn't listen to her excuses.

So now she forced to go on this darned old trip to the state fair with a bunch of Young Farmers Club kids she didn't know. For her own good, according to her mother.

Her twin brother Tim was up front somewhere, gabbing with some new boyfriend he'd made a few minutes ago. All the other kids had paired up, mostly boys with boys and girls with girls, although a few boys and girls had taken seats together and already looked ready to start necking. The boys and girls were all eyeing each other, and Denise knew that by the time the bus arrived at the state fair grounds sometime early tomorrow morning every girl except herself would be paired up with some boy with a tented crotch. And God only knew what would happen in the barns at the state fair, where all the kids would be spending their nights, sleeping with the animals, and probably acting like a bunch of animals.

"And where do you think you're taking that mutt, young lady?" said the bus driver, his voice booming through the bus and silencing all the kids.

Denise looked up front, along with all the other kids. A blonde girl wearing skin-tight shorts and a bikini halter had just entered the bus, leading a large black dog by its leash. Denise recognized the dog as a black Labrador and even from the back here she could tell it was a male.

The girl tugged on her long blonde hair, some of which fell over the front of her shoulders and onto her half-naked tits. Her tit-cups hardly captured more than her cherries.

"I'm bringing him along," the girl said. "Isn't it all right if I bring him along? I didn't think it would cause any problem." She spoke in a pouting tone, puckering her lips. She balanced on one bare foot, rubbing the toes of her other bare foot up and down her tanned calf.

"I'm not supposed to let any animals on this bus," the driver said. He was a fat, middle-aged man in a gray uniform, and he was sweating heavily in the summer heat.

The blonde girl leaned over, petting her dog on the head. Her tits bulged as they dangled and nearly escaped from their tiny cups. "But he's such a good dog. You won't even know he's here."

The driver gawked at the girl's tits as if he were hypnotized by them. "Well, I don't know -"

"Please, sir, he won't be any trouble at all."

The girl leaned close then, as if she were going to kiss the driver. Instead, she whispered something into his ear.

The driver flushed, streams of sweat running down his chubby cheeks. "Go on," he said. "But you'll have to keep him at the back of the bus. And we aren't making any pit-stops for him. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," the blonde said, smiling as she began to lead the dog up the aisle. "He won't be a bit of trouble sir."

The boys nearly fell out of their seats to get a closer look at the half-naked blonde as she paraded up the aisle, her tits wobbling.

Denise almost panicked. For a moment she had the urge to jump out the window. The blonde was coming straight toward her. She sat there frozen and helpless, however, as the blonde sat down right next to her.

"The old pig," the blonde muttered under her breath for Denise's benefit. "Sit, Romeo," she said to the dog, and the Lab obediently planted its black haunches on the floor.

The driver yanked the door lever and the bus door sealed itself with a sucking noise. He started the bus. Without bothering to turn around toward the kids, he started shouting. "Now listen here, ladies and gentlemen, and listen good. It's four o'clock now, and I'm supposed to deliver you to the state fair before midnight. That means we're gonna be making just two stops, one at seven and one at ten. If you've gotta go, you just hold it - it won't kill you."

Several kids snickered.

"And I don't want any trouble," the driver continued. "You don't give me any trouble and I don't give you any trouble. I'm not being paid to be a chaperon or a babysitter. My only job is to get you kids down to the state fair. So just don't hassle me and you and me won't have any problems."

A few kids shouted: "All right!" Several other kids applauded. The driver rammed his shift lever into gear and the bus roared as it started forward. As the bus gathered speed, the kids began talking faster and louder among themselves and soon the bus sounded like a school lunchroom inside.

The blonde turned to Denise. "I'm Peggy, what's your name?"

Denise told her.

"Sexy name," the blonde said. "And this handsome boy is Romeo." She stroked the dog's head.

"Nice dog," Denise said. She felt tight and uneasy.

"You don't know how nice," Peggy said, giving Denise a suggestive expression. "I mean, Romeo's a real special boy."

Denise smiled, almost giggled, mostly out of nervousness. She had no idea what Peggy was hinting at, nor did she want to know. She picked up her book from the seat beside her and opened it.

"What's that?" Peggy said.

Denise showed her the cover of the book.

"Please Let Me In," Peggy said, reading the title. "Hmm, sounds pretty interesting. So, you like dirty books. Well, so do I."

"It's not a dirty book," Denise snapped. "It's a romance. There's nothing dirty in it."

Peggy looked stunned for a moment. "A romance, huh? That's one of those books where all the good stuff happens between the lines. It's all there, but you just have to use your imagination a little more to find it."

"I'd like to read it now, if you don't mind," Denise said, and she shoved her nose into her book.

Her eyes traveled along the lines of print, she turned the pages, but nothing her eyes saw registered in her mind. She wasn't reading, just going through the motions of reading. How could she read with Peggy just about sitting in her lap and with that big hound gazing up at her with those moony eyes? She was uncomfortably hot, too. All the windows were open and the wind whirled through the bus, but it was a hot, humid wind that failed to cool her off.

"Christ, it's hot," Peggy said, as if reading Denise's thoughts. "My skin is sticking to the seat. What I wouldn't give for a nice cool stream to go skinny-dipping in right now. Do you like to go skinny- dipping, Denise?"

"No," Denise said, offended that Peggy had suggested such a thing.

"I do," Peggy said. "We've got a nice private stream on our farm. Me and Romeo go up there just about every day during the summer. A lot of the neighbor boys come up there, too. Sometimes it gets pretty wild."

Denise didn't say anything. She didn't know for sure what Peggy meant by wild, but she imagined the big-titted blonde dipping down into the stream, as a dozen red-faced farm boys watched her.

"Hey Denise, give me a few of those candy bars you brought along."

Denise looked up to see her twin brother looking down at her. She was a little shocked to see that Tim had taken off his shirt and shoes. All he wore now was a pair of threadbare jeans that fit him like a tight skin. His sun-bleached yellow hair resembles the tousled mane of a lion. His eyes moved away from her and roved up and down Peggy's obscenely clad body.

Denise shot her hand down into her overnight bag and pulled out three or four candy bars, which she thrust up at Tim. "Here."

The boy reached for them without looking, wrapping his fingers around them as he ogled the blonde. "Thanks," he muttered.

As he stumbled barefoot down the aisle to join his new friends, he glanced over his shoulder a few times - at Peggy.

"Cute," Peggy said, watching him. She turned to Denise. "Is his equipment pretty nice?"

Denise felt herself flush. "I don't know what you're talking about. He's my brother - my twin brother. I don't know what you're talking about."

Peggy grinned. "Lucky you. Your brother, huh?"

Denise sighed with exasperation and buried her face in her book, trying to block out everything around her. She couldn't read, though. She was too riled up. The trip was ruined. Peggy would not leave her alone. The heat was unbearable. She could smell the dog, along with the scent of sweaty teenagers.

She peered over the seat ahead of her. She couldn't see too many of the other kids, but she was certain that she was the only person on the bus besides the driver who remained decently dressed. The boys she could see all had their shirts off, the same as Tim. Most of the girls wore the scantiest shorts and had rolled their T-shirts up under their tits to make their bellies and backs bare. Every girl and boy she could see were barefooted. They were all sweating, and the bus smelled like a high-school locker room.

"He had a nice bulge," Peggy said, as if to herself. "I bet he's really hung. I'd love to see him without his pants on. All girls should be so lucky to have a twin brother like that."

Denise refused to acknowledge that she'd even heard Peggy. Her heart was pounding and she felt as if she would suffocate, trapped between Peggy and the wall of the bus. The worst part of it all was that Peggy seemed to be able to see into the deepest, darkest parts of Denise's mind. The truth was, Denise knew what Peggy was talking about. The truth was, Tim was hung like a horse. Denise spied on him every chance she got, watched him piss in the barn yard, watched him sneak out behind the shed and jack off, followed him and his girlfriends into the woods and watched from secret hiding places as he fucked them.

Tim terrified her. That huge cock he wielded between his legs horrified her. How could any girl endure the torture of being fucked by that big cock? And yet, as much as Denise was terrified she was fascinated, she was excited, she was in love. All the boys in the romance novels she read had Tim's face, Tim's body. She envied every girl Tim had ever fucked.

"Wanna change places?" Peggy said. "So I can sit next to the window for a while?"

Denise agreed, thankful to be out of her corner at last.

Peggy slid Denise's overnight bag out of the way on the floor and pressed her back into the corner, leaving one bare foot on the floor and plopping the other one up on the seat. The wind coming in the window grabbed her hair and pulled it out the window where it flew in the breeze like gold streamers.

Denise moved away until she was sitting in the center of the long rear seat of the bus and could look straight down the aisle. She pushed her overnight bag out of the way and allowed the black Lab to move into the space between her and Peggy. Peggy had her legs spread, and the dog sniffed the crotch of her shorts.

"I can't take much more of this heat," Peggy said. "I'm about ready to strip completely." She reached under her tits and shoved her fingers up under the cups. She pushed up, and the tit-cups slipped off, letting her large tits fall out and jiggle. The string halter hung around her neck like a necklace.

Denise couldn't believe it. She just stared at Peggy's naked tits. The cherries were very large and full of erect bumps. The nipples stood up like fingertips.

"Don't worry," Peggy said, grinning mischievously. "Nobody can see me here behind the seat. If anybody starts coming back here, let me know, huh? Except for maybe your brother. I wouldn't mind giving him an eyeful."

Denise was speechless. She watched with increasing disbelief as Peggy unsnapped and unzipped her shorts and lifted her ass and legs to slide them off. Peggy wasn't even wearing panties. She dropped the shorts on the seat and settled back down with a sigh, spreading her legs so her left foot rested on the floor and her right foot on the bus seat. She had a very hairy blonde pussy that opened slightly as she spread her legs, revealing the wet pink meat between the furry lips of her cunt.

"Oh, that feels good," Peggy mumbled, curling her toes sensuously. Then she reached between her legs and pulled open her cunt, dug her fingers into the spongy cunt flesh and hauled open the hairy pussy flaps to reveal her worm-like clit and her seething fuck-chamber.

"Peggy, oh God!" Denise muttered, so shocked she couldn't think of another word. She watched a few trickles of clear fluid leak from Peggy's fuckhole and dribble onto the black vinyl bus seat.

The black Lab let out a small whimper and lapped up the cunt juice from the seat. Then he sniffed Peggy's open crotch as if it were the best thing he'd ever smelled. Even Denise could smell Peggy's cunt now - that pungent, musky female scent she'd smelled so many times coming from between her own legs, that smell that always managed to permeate her own panties after she'd worn hem only a few hours.

"Make love to me, Romeo," Peggy moaned. "Lick me, lover boy."

Her toes curled as the dog mashed his wet muzzle to her open pussy as if he wanted to fuck her with his snout. As he started to lick, growling quietly, Peggy lifted her bare ass off the seat, thrusting her pussy at him, her eyes rolling drunkenly as she fed him her dripping cunt.

Denise was sure she must be dreaming. At any moment she thought she'd be waking up from this nightmare bus trip and this unbelievable scene before her. Her subconscious mind was surely causing all this. Over the years she'd had dirty fantasies about getting her own pussy licked by an animal, especially by a dog, but she'd buried them deep in her subconscious, ashamed of herself completely. Now these suppressed memories were surfacing.

"Oh, Romeo, you lick so good!" Peggy breathed, rotating her loins as she rubbed her open pussy against the dog's fat, slithering tongue.

Cunt juice dripped from Peggy's crotch, splattering on the black vinyl seat. The smell of pussy was becoming stronger, and Denise began to feel a little dizzy, almost high on the aroma.

I've never smelled anything in a dream before, Denise realized, and she looked down the aisle, beginning to believe this wasn't a dream at all. In the seats closest to the back, girls and boys were necking. French kissing. The boy's had their hands on the girl's cunts, on their tits, and the girls were squirming as if trying to get away. By leaning forward, Denise could see that one girl had her hand inside a boy's pants and was jerking it as the boy kissed her and played with her tits under her T-shirt. Most of the boys seated with boys and the girls seated with girls had stopped gabbing with each other and were watching the boys and girls who were making out, shouting dirty comments and poking fun. The bus driver focused straight ahead on the road, ignoring the kids completely.

Denise almost jumped as someone stroked her hand. It was Peggy's hot toes.

"Play with my foot," Peggy whispered. "Lean over and suck on my toes. It drive me crazy." She gasped as the dog lapped up and down her cunt slit.

Denise just stared in shock, unable to believe any of this. Despite the very real smell of cunt in the air, this had to be a dream. It just had to!

"Come on you little bitch," Peggy hissed. "Suck my toes!" She clawed at Denise's forearm with her toenails.

Denise didn't know why she did it. Maybe because she was scared out of her mind. Maybe because she was so weak with shock that she would have obeyed anybody's orders, performing like a zombie. Whatever it was, she slid as close to Peggy as she could. Peggy raised her leg, pulling her knee toward her voluptuous tits. Denise took hold of Peggy's naked foot and started to lick and suck the blonde's wiggling toes.

"Oh baby, yessss!" Peggy hissed. "Oh God, this feels good. Lick me, eat me, suck me!" Peggy sounded as if she'd lost her mind.

Denise thought she'd pass out. The scent of cunt down here was suffocating. And she could smell the dog, too. The dog kept growling quietly and grunting as he licked. His tongue slurped obscenely. He sounded as if he'd never be able to get enough of the taste of Peggy's seething cunt.

"Oh God, I feel tingles all the way up in my asshole!" Peggy moaned. "My cunt's gonna melt. Oh shit, this is great! Keep sucking my toes, bitch. It makes the feeling that much better"

Denise drooled all over Peggy's foot. Peggy's toes tasted salty. The scent of hot cunt excited Denise. She'd never really smelled a girl's cunt from so close before. In the locker room at school there was always that fain aroma of cunt in the air, the mingles cunt-scents of all the girls, but it was nothing like this steaming scent pouring out of Peggy's excited pussy. The smell almost made Denise want to take a taste of Peggy's cunt.

"I'm getting close," Peggy whispered. "Oh I wish it would last, but I wanna come, too. I need that feeling. Oh God, do I need that feeling!"

Denise slithered her tongue between Peggy's toes, chewed on Peggy's bare foot. She was beginning to enjoy doing this. She didn't want to have to stop. And she knew Peggy was talking about when she said she wanted to get that feeling. She loved that feeling, herself, loved to jack herself off until her toes curled with that raw, melting sensation of orgasm. One of her darkest secrets was that she liked to jack off, that she jacked off six times a day sometimes. She couldn't get through her romance novels without jacking off at least once every chapter, sometimes twice. Always when the handsome, chivalrous boy brushed his lips against the heroine's flushed cheek in one of those novels, Denise would manage to bring off her young cunt in seconds.

A slick pool was forming on the seat under Peggy's wiggling ass, and Peggy rubbed her ass in it, sliding on the seat.

"I'm so hot!" Peggy breathed. "I'm so fucking hot! Oh, I wanna come!"

Denise watched the dog's tongue slither into Peggy's gaping fuck-cavern like a snake sliding into its hole. Peggy's pussy appeared top open up more and more as the dog licked her, and her gaping pussy quivered and contracted, sucking at the dog's tongue from time to time.

I wish that were me, Denise thought. I wish that was me sitting there getting my pussy licked by that big dog. Oh God, that must feel good!

She sucked hard on Peggy's sexy toes, inhaled the scent of Peggy's cunt, watched the dog's tongue fuck in and out of Peggy's seething cunt. And she realized that her own cunt was on fire, was throbbing maddeningly, that her panties had pulled up like a gag between her swollen pussylips and the material was working up and down in her cunt slit and against her clit as she rhythmically squeezed her legs together. Her loins whirled inside with hot tingles and she moaned out loud.

Peggy was humping, driving her crotch against the dog's muzzle, fucking herself on his slithering tongue. Her toes curled in Denise's mouth.

"Suck my toes!" Peggy moaned. "Lick my pussy! Oh God, I'm gonna come!"

She came with a final explosion of hot cunt juice, which ran out of her pussy and dribbled onto the bus seat. Her body jerked rhythmically and she gasped with each spasm. Her toes clutched madly, nearly tearing the inside of Denise's mouth.

Denise bit hard at the spasming girl's hot toes. She clamped her own legs together so hard that her thigh muscles almost cramped. An itchy tension mushroomed inside her own pussy, her toes tingled in her shoes, and she started to writhe with orgasm, nearly blacking out as the hot sensations surged through her cunt.

It feels so good, Denise thought. It just feels so good! This was the first orgasm she'd ever experienced while doing anything with another person, and there was something hotter and more intense about it, something more satisfying than any other orgasm she had ever felt.

She squirmed on the bus seat, working her legs against each other, sucking on Peggy's toes, nearly passing out as the sensations pulsed through her loins and her brain. She slid her hand down, rubbing it in the warm fuck-slime that had run out of Peggy's cunt, and she couldn't help sniffing it. Then she spit Peggy's toes out and tasted Peggy's slick cunt juice.

The pussy juice was tart and sweat. It tasted like the fluid that came from her own cunt. She'd never produced so much of it though. Maybe if she got licked off by a dog, she would. She lowered her lips to the seat and lapped up the cunt juice until the dog started lapping it up, too. Then she sat up, suddenly horrified by what she'd been doing. It was as if she'd temporarily lost her mind.

As she straightened herself, she realized that she'd glimpsed something, something she had to get a look again. She leaned to the side again slightly, peeking under the dog's black-furred abdomen. His prick was standing up out of its sheath - red and wet and quivering. What shocked her was not that the dog had a hard-on, but the size of the Lab's cock. His cock looked to be five inches long, maybe six - the size Tim's had been a few years back, before it had surged in size like a growing cornstalk. She'd never seen a dog with such a thick and long cock.

"Hung like a horse, isn't he?" Peggy said, sitting up straighter. "When a girl's got a hung dog around, she doesn't always have to go chasing after the boys to keep her satisfied." She gave Denise a dirty grin as she played with her own tits.

Denise shook her head, unable to believe Peggy, unable to believe the size of the dog's cock, unable to believe what she, herself, had just done. She looked up front.

A girl was leaning out into the aisle, her eyes rolled back, her hair dangling toward the floor. A boy was clutching her, his hand down her pants and pumping as he apparently fucked his finger inside her cunt. More boys and girls had paired up now and were sharing seats. Half the kids were engaged in necking or kissing or groping, Denise expected at any moment to see a boy rip off a girl's shorts, pull out his stiff cock, and ram it up her cunt right there in front of everybody. Things were getting out of hand, but the bus driver just stared straight ahead, driving them down the highway.

"You look a little lost," Peggy said. "Like this is your first trip to the state fair or something."

"It is," Denise mumbled.

"Lucky girl," Peggy said. "It's always best the first time. Ain't that right, Romeo?" She stroked the Lab's head.

Denise watched in stunned silence as Peggy caught the dog's cock between her bare toes and started to jack him off.