Scuttle's Things and Stuffs
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Scuttle Buttin'
Demons at bay
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Scuttle Buttin'
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I'm already working on Revenge Jesus!
One fucked up Jesus at a time.
Zombie Apocalypse Jesus would be pretty goddamned funny, though.
"I'm the only one that gets to come back from the dead, fucker."
Scuttle Buttin'
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Yeah. For some reason, I like making Jesus curse a lot.
Scuttle Buttin'
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thestruggle
A Little Sparrow
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I really like those. In particular, the first and third are provocative. I love pictures like that.
Scuttle Buttin'
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I thought the same! I don't even know what I'll use them for, yet, but I couldn't lose them.
Scuttle Buttin'
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RainingHeat
Beautiful Storm
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Boy.... this pic conjures up a whole myriad of story ideas.... wow....
Scuttle Buttin'
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Scuttle Buttin'
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Scuttle Buttin'
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thestruggle
A Little Sparrow
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These two are neat. I've been looking at fire, smoke, and ash stuff a lot lately.
Scuttle Buttin'
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I feel like I have some idea rattling around for them, but I'm not sure on it yet.
I just don't want it to end up being some goofy Captain Planet rip off.
thestruggle
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Scuttle Buttin'
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Funniest goddamn video. I laughed like a child watching that.
Also, I feel like Gillian Jacobs from Community was in that.
thestruggle
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It's been awhile since I watched it! I'll have to double check. I have a big crush on Don Cheadle, even if he was a scary Captain Planet.
Scuttle Buttin'
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"And every single story in this book is consensual.
They're consensual because they're fiction. They're consensual because they're made-up. I consented to write them; you're consenting to read them. If you don't want to read this kind of thing, this isn't the book for you. I encourage you to put it down, and read something else.
It's funny. When it comes to things that aren't sex, people seem to understand this distinction. People get that enjoying spy novels doesn't mean you want to join the CIA; that enjoying murder mysteries doesn't mean you want to kill people; that enjoying heist thrillers doesn't mean you want to break into Fort Knox. People understand that it's fun and exciting to imagine things we wouldn't actually want to do - even things we think are immoral.
But for some reason, porn often gets held to a different standard. Depicting a fantasy of a sex act is often assumed to be an endorsement of that act. So let me spell it out: I do not endorse sexual force, abuse of power, rape, or any form of violation of sexual consent. I am vehemently opposed to them.
I am, however, unapologetic about the fact that I like to fantasize about them. If we have any freedom at all, it's the freedom between our ears; the freedom to think about whatever we like. And that includes sex."
-Greta Christina
They're consensual because they're fiction. They're consensual because they're made-up. I consented to write them; you're consenting to read them. If you don't want to read this kind of thing, this isn't the book for you. I encourage you to put it down, and read something else.
It's funny. When it comes to things that aren't sex, people seem to understand this distinction. People get that enjoying spy novels doesn't mean you want to join the CIA; that enjoying murder mysteries doesn't mean you want to kill people; that enjoying heist thrillers doesn't mean you want to break into Fort Knox. People understand that it's fun and exciting to imagine things we wouldn't actually want to do - even things we think are immoral.
But for some reason, porn often gets held to a different standard. Depicting a fantasy of a sex act is often assumed to be an endorsement of that act. So let me spell it out: I do not endorse sexual force, abuse of power, rape, or any form of violation of sexual consent. I am vehemently opposed to them.
I am, however, unapologetic about the fact that I like to fantasize about them. If we have any freedom at all, it's the freedom between our ears; the freedom to think about whatever we like. And that includes sex."
-Greta Christina
Scuttle Buttin'
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Scuttle Buttin'
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Scuttle Buttin'
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Scuttle Buttin'
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Scuttle Buttin'
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"All of it."
The voice came from just off to her left, and maybe it was ten feet away? It was hard to tell distances in this room when echoes seemed to bounce off the walls with such little effort. And, in truth, she had no idea how big the room she was in was, either. The lighting when she was brought in had consisted of one shaded bulb, and the weak halo it cast did not reach to the walls, dying weakly with some indeterminate amount of space left before it revealed the dimensions of her new surroundings. The blindfold took even that from her a moment later.
"Where do... do I just drop them? Or...?"
Her voice was hesitant, shaky. Uncertain. He had ceased to be a person, was now just a ghost that floated about her, demanding things of her without touching. It was why she stood now, somewhere in the room, naked but for the blindfold, her arms extended to offer up her clothes.
"Just toss them aside," he said, this time off to her right a little. He'd moved, and she hadn't even realized it happened. A phantom.
She hesitated, unsure if there was a direction he wanted, a certain distance she was supposed to toss them, and she opened her mouth to ask when the pain blossomed in her thigh and up onto her left hip. Instead of a question, a scream was fired from her throat, the ricochet of it hitting her ears, sounding altered and foreign to her. She couldn't even tell what he'd hit her with, something with some sting to it, but it left a residue of pain behind, a tenderness on her skin she knew wouldn't leave her soon.
The clothes were tossed to her left. Quickly, so as not to tempt another bite of that snake.
He laughed somewhere behind her - How big was this fucking room? - a short, quick thing. A mocking of her haste to rid herself of her shed clothing.
"There's a good girl," he said, shifted behind her from her right to left, and then her pain found it's twin, another yelp as her opposite thigh was assaulted. She wanted to shrink away from him, to cover her body to protect from his... his whatever... but shrink where? Cover what?
Fucking blindfold.
"Spread your legs."
She jumped at the closeness of him, realizing only then that his scent, something masculine but beyond her ability to identify at the moment. He was right in front of her, she was certain they were close enough to touch without a step taken between them, and his closeness made her hesitate.
"Hnm," he said, an exhaled sound in the direction of a laugh, and then fire was drawn along the inside of her thigh, just above her knees. Her shaking knees.
"I said," he found the other thigh, and she could hear him breathing with the effort of each hit.
"Spread," back to the first thigh, a little higher this time, and she was caught between wanting to do what he'd said, and wanting to close her legs, try to protect herself from him.
"Your fucking," and again, and she was dancing awkwardly on her toes, her breasts swaying before him, fingers splayed and hands thrust down, fighting the urge to back away from him.
"Legs!" There was menace in his voice on the last word, and just as she did what he said, increasing the distance between where her feet rested, she was filled with regret for doing so. His hand found her, the first time he'd touched her since... how long have I been in here?... but this was not the brush of hair from her eyes as he slid the blindfold over her vision.
Her voice rose in the room again, seeming to echo from every corner and rush back to her ears. The strong muscles in her thighs and her core flexed as she fought to stay there with her feet apart even as she stung still from his slap. And grew wetter from it.
"Fuck!" she exclaimed suddenly, surprising herself with it just as his attention found her exposed breasts, and he painted her in red. Her nipples responded quickly, hardening to points of deep red, and even as her shoulders pushed forward and she tried to pull her chest in towards herself, he continued, thudding impacts moving quickly from one breast to the other, the firm flesh jumping under his attack. Her voice was swallowed up by the woosh-THWAP that met her ears a split second after she was struck again. On the floor - cold, tiled maybe? - her toes curled, flexed, fighting to keep her in place.
And then suddenly he stopped.
Except for her heavy breathing, all was quiet. She turned her head side to side, fighting to catch some indication of where he was, of what was about to happen, but she couldn't make out any sound but the harsh rise and fall of her flaming, undoubtedly bruised chest.
She jumped when his hand closed around her wrist, he was still a ghost that seemed to drift silently around her, a curse here to haunt her until his unfinished business was complete. That that entailed, she was still discovering.
Her arm was brought forward, turned to her palm was out, and momentarily she was confused at what she found pressed into her. A shift of her thumb, a curl of her fingers, and she realized it was the fabric of his pants that she felt, and the hard outline of his cock underneath it.
"That," he said, low, close to her ear, "Is what hurting you does to me. Watching you suffer makes me so fucking hard, it aches." She felt him move then, the tilt of his body changing ever so slightly against her hand, and then her head was turned sharply to the side as he slapped her. Her hand was emptied as he backed away from her, becoming a ghost once more, and again she was left to wonder, and wait.
And it was only then, in that silence, that she truly realized how exposed she was. Naked but for the blindfold, standing with her feet apart, and with no idea if he was watching her. He could be entirely uninterested in her right then, sitting with his back to her, reading a book for all she knew. She was adrift.
"Kneel."
Her head snapped forward, he was in front of her but a short distance away. His voice grounded her though, gave her some indication of her position in this world.
"Thighs apart."
She opened her mouth, though what she could possibly be about to say she had no idea, and then remembered the price for her last hesitation, and bent quickly. Her knees found cold floor, something a little rougher than tile though she still couldn't place it, and she settled back on her heels. Again she was left to wonder where he was, to wonder what was next, the silence leaving a strange ringing in her ears until he finally banished it.
"Touch yourself."
His voice was short, sharp, each word a command with no room for negotiation. She didn't hesitate as her fingers slipped between her parted thighs, but it was a strange thing to be touching herself in the way she did when alone in bed at night, but with an audience she could not see, or hear, or really interact with in any way that was not initiated by him.
The room was still, silent, the odd ringing returned to her ears, but now it was accompanied by a rush of blood. Her heart thudded in her chest, electricity radiating outward from where her fingers strummed, teasing her clit. Just as she began to lose herself in the sensation of it, the feeling of her growing wetness, a thudding impact found her chest, the soft moan in her throat consumed by a grunt.
"Don't you fucking stop," he said, behind her suddenly, and punctuating his words with a thud across her back. Another found her, lower, and then another, where her ass rested on her heels. That one stung, her toes curling at the pain in the soles of her feet, a yelp escaping her. Her fingers were working quickly, perhaps in spite of, perhaps because of him, but when the impact found her breasts again, it didn't pull her out of it like before. If anything, it seemed to only push her more under the water.
He was gone again, she realized after a moment, and the voice echoing back to her now was one of need, a growing desperation in her core. Her chest was rising and falling quickly, each breath leaving her with a shudder, her fingers working quicker, quicker.
"Please," she whispered, then repeated, louder, "Please. Please S-sir..." She was pleading, she knew, the very picture of a slut for him, and she couldn't even tell if he fucking cared.
Why did it make her need it even more?
"Taste yourself." His voice surprised her, caught her off guard despite her pleas, and it took her a moment to process what he'd said. She nodded quickly, a frantic moment she was instantly ashamed of, and lifted her fingers to her mouth. Her lips parted, two fingers slid past, and her tongue began to swirl.
"More," he said then, in front of her and closer. "Deeper."
She pushed her fingers further over her tongue, her lips encircling the second knuckle of each, and even before he spoke she knew he wouldn't be satisfied with that.
"Choke yourself," he said, and he was closer still when he did. "All the way."
Her chest rose, a deep breath pulled in, and then she pushed her index and forefinger fully into her mouth, forcing it as deep past her tongue as she could physically push her. Her gag reflex was found quickly, her head lurching forward a bit, and she fought it. She wanted to put on a show for him now, she was dripping on the floor between her folded legs and her need only increased as she held her fingers between her lips for him.
"Touch yourself," he said, even closer than before but still right in front of her, "Cum for me."
Her fingers were quickly pulled free, and just as she was able to suck in a full breath a sharp slap made her ears ring, her head shot to the side again. It didn't stop the travel of her hand, her fingers quickly on her clit again, a gasp escaping her. Her lips parted, mouth ready to thank him for giving her permission, when it was instead claimed for a different purpose. He was hot, hard, filled with an insistent need as he gripped her hair and forced himself past her lips.
She fought to adjust to the sudden invasion, her eyes watering anew when he pushed his cock into her throat, no hesitation given in his claiming. Still, her fingers circled, teased. So close.
He fucked her mouth with no regard for her, and she knew from his own voice that he was close. The thought flashed in her mind, he'd been watching her she knelt, as she spread her legs and touched herself for him, and had been stroking himself as he did. And she was entirely unaware as it happened, so caught up in her own nakedness, her own growing need, that she'd not even considered...
Her orgasm hit her suddenly, rocking her even as thrust between her wet lips. She was muffled by him, her body tensing and shuddering while he relentlessly fucked into her. His own orgasm arrived with even less warning than her own, the length of him buried deep, her nose crushed against him. Her only choice was to swallow or choke, and she fought valiantly to take him all. He pulled free unexpectedly, a last stream of his cum left to reach up from her chin and bridge her separated lips, and she heard his feet scuttle on the floor as he stepped back from her.
"Fuck," he groaned low, breathless, and then laughed that same short laugh. "I'm definitely keeping you."
She could hear him, his breathing still heavy, as he moved away from her.
Somewhere, some short distance away, a door opened.
Closed.
Over her own heavy breathing, she heard only silence.
How long until it's safe to look...?
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