spit polish

Jaylos Week - Rivals

Chad fucking Charming is a fucking dick. Fucker.

Jay had known his team had no chance of winning the scrimmage. Hell, they were all still shocked that they qualified for the Tourney finals. The only reason they qualified was because Pixar Monsters had three star players break limbs and Marvel Avengers had half their players on steroids.

Still, Chad Charming started shooting his mouth off as soon as Jay and the rest of the Isle Raiders arrived. Even if they were sure to lose, he wasn’t standing back while some pompous prince bitch bad mouthed his team. Jay was captain, he had to have a little pride.

So, not even into the school and signed in, he and Charming were hurling insults and on the verge of throwing fists before Chad propositioned him.

“Half of you look like you can’t even hold a tourney stick, the other half looks dumb enough to get lost in the Kill Zone on an empty field. You’re so sure your dirty team is gonna win? How much you wanna bet?”

Ironically, Jay could have bet every dollar in the prince’s wallet, seeing as Mal, head fearleader, had lifted it from Charming’s back pocket without anyone noticing, but he didn’t say that.

Instead, Jay had bet himself.

Chad, as captain of the Auradon Knights, would be the slave of the Isle Raiders until the actual match if his team lost the scrimmage. If Jay’s team lost, he would be the slave for them.

The Isle promotes traits like aggression and violence, but tourney is a game of strategy and communication as well. Jay knew that and he knew that his team had never even heard those words before. The Raiders could knock down opposing players without breaking a sweat, but half the time they ended up tackling their own teammates.

So of course they fucking lost.

Fuck.

Usually, he wouldn’t have kept up his end of the bargain, but Jay wasn’t about to look like a pussy in front of these assholes. Yesterday, he had to mow the entire tourney field and re-paint the outlines of the Kill Zone. The sun left its mark on his burnt skin and sore eyes.

The day before, he was mopping the bleachers, so no prissy prince or princess would dirty their clothes during the match. Fucking whimps.

Today, Jay is polishing the helmets of the Auradon Knights. Of course, he’s doing it with spit rather than actual polish, but they didn’t need to know that. He’s also snatched quite a few pretty trinkets from the lockers (because, hell, he stole the locks too). But they don’t need to know that either. After he’s done polishing, he’s sanding the tourney sticks and washing the uniforms.

Grunting and swearing and distracted, Jay can still hear someone come in the locker room, but pretends he doesn’t. If he’s preoccupied, whoever the hell it is might get in and out quick and leave him the fuck alone.

And of course they fucking don’t.

“Hey, do you, uh, want help with that?”

Jay takes a moment to compose himself, but considers it. If he lunges out of his seat and strangles someone, they’ll send him back early and end this torment. But, after a long moment, Jay tries to be civil. He has to stay around long enough to kick Charming’s ass.

He sighs and turns to face the newcomer. It’s a guy Jay has seen around before, eye-catching because of his black and white hair. This kid is way too small to be on the tourney team, but he hangs out with the Auradon Assholes a lot anyway, running laps and watching the team, talking to all of the princes but never actually playing.

Still, he’s looking at Jay shyly, just a hint of a smile on his face and twisting his sleeve, offering help to someone of a rival team.

This has to be some fucking joke.

“Who the hell are you?”

The other young man draws back at Jay’s tone, picking at the sleeves of a black and red shirt. “I-I’m Carlos.” He doesn’t stop picking at his clothing.

Jay scoffs. This isn’t the first Auradon kid to be intimidated by him so quickly. Everyone here acted like he was some sort of villain. Not that he wasn’t, but they didn’t have to be such cowards about it. “And what do you want?”

The kid, Carlos, shrugs and looks around awkwardly. “I just wanted to see if you wanted help with anything.”

“Why?” For fuck’s sake, Jay had plans today. He was going to practice with his team and talk to Mal and probably chase some girls, to be honest. But he still has three more things to do for Charming and his Band of Merry Jackasses and this nervous kid is wasting his time.

“I, uh, heard about the deal you made with Chad an-.”

“You mean King Asshole?”

“He’s not actually king yet. Just Prince Asshole for now.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jay laughs. Honest to Maleficent laughs. Carlos watches for a second before joining in. He takes a bit of confidence from the laughter and steps out of the doorway and into the locker room with Jay. He sits on the bench a few feet away and grabs a helmet off of the ground and a rag.

Jay considers him for a moment. He could easily take Carlos out if he tried anything and he’s not prideful enough to turn down help at some demeaning task. Plus, his pockets are stuffed with something and Jay has no doubt he can pick out whatever he wants as soon as Carlos is distracted. The kid can stay. For now.

“So I’m guessing you’re not on the team if you’re calling the captain an asshole.”

Carlos wrinkles his nose. “Oh, no. I tried out for tourney years ago and hated the sport. But I like other parts of it, so I take other roles.”

“’Other roles’?”

“I like the excitement of it all and having a team to be close with. Sometimes I’m the mascot or the water boy. I fix up uniforms when they tear. I help the cheerleaders with choreography sometimes or critique plays.”

Jay snorts and doesn’t bother to hide it. “You help with the cheerleaders?”

Even if he rolls his eyes, there’s a smirk in Carlos’ voice when he responds. “I bet I’ve seen more topless girls in this month than you have in your whole life.”

It’s takes a second for Jay to consider the words that he just heard. “What?”

Carlos shrugs and doesn’t turn to him, but a smirk is on his face regardless. “I’m just close with a lot of the cheerleaders and that comes with bonuses. We discuss routines in their changing room a lot.”

That’s not something Jay expected to hear from anyone in prissy Auradon, let alone the kid who practically stuttered his way into the room just two minutes ago. This Carlos is just full of surprises. Jay laughs again. “Think you can get me in?”

There’s no verbal answer, but Carlos gives him a fleeting look and his smirk disappears. “Ah, I don’t think so. You have to meet a couple of requirements before getting accepted by the cheerleaders.”

“What makes you think I can’t meet those requirements?”

“The fact that you’re interested in being in the girls’ changing room is one thing.”

Something in that response seems…off. Like there’s something Carlos is implying that Jay can’t understand.

“How do you like Auradon so far?”

Jay can realize a quick change in subject and doesn’t push back. Even if he wants to bug someone, the desire to finish this terrible day is stronger. “Outside of Prince Asshole, it’s not half bad. Nicer than the Isle.”

Carlos snickers. “He’s not half bad when you get to know him.”

“I’ll pass on being best buddies with him.”

A noise of understanding is the only response Jay gets. He can’t spit-shine the helmets with Carlos the water boy/mascot/cheerleader around, so he can’t take joy in half-assing his job. Still, the help is nice and Carlos gets through helmets much faster than Jay does and stacks them all back in place without thinking about it. He also packs the dirty tourney jerseys into a hamper against the wall.

“What are you doing?”

Carlos jolts as if Jay’s voice has shocked him and turns around to face him. “Oh. Uh, well, before you came along, most of these things were my jobs for the team.” He shrugs.

Ah, that pieces together parts of the puzzle. “So you’re on vacation until the next match?”

“Kind of.” Carlos awkwardly rubs his neck.

People in Auradon make no fucking sense. “What the hell are you doing here helping me out?”

“I didn’t really know what to do with all my spare time,” another shrug and Carlos glances away. “And I know you didn’t want to do any of this stuff and that it’s really unfair to you.”

Shit, as much as Jay complained, he would’ve put Charming through so much worse if the Raiders had won the scrimmage. All these chores were annoying and degrading, but mild compared to what Jay had planned.

“And I, uh, kind of had my own bet going on,” Carlos turns away as he speaks, taking way too long to put dirty clothes in. “A deal really, with a friend of mine.”

He doesn’t continue, but Jay’s curiosity is peaked too high to drop the subject. “Which was…?” He prompted.

Carlos still doesn’t turn to face him. “One of my friends here had a, or, well has a crush on one of your, uh, not cheerleaders but your…?”

“Fearleaders.” Jay finishes. Their fear squad was fairly small. Just Mal, the Drizzie, Freddie and Jordan. What had once started as a joke to make fun of cheerleaders from places like Auradon, became a group when Mal realized how much she enjoyed intimidating teams from other schools. When word got out that tourney teams were able to bring their cheerleaders, Mal formed an actual fear squad to just get off the Isle for a bit.

It take a second for Carlos’ word to register with him. “Wait, one of your friends has a crush on an Isle girl? Oh shit, does he know what he’s getting himself into?”

“Um, I think she does. She likes your head girl, the one with purple hair.”

Jay watches Carlos, he’s rigged and silent, waiting for his response. Jay ponders it. Girls liking girls wasn’t common on the Isle, but neither was liking another person in general. Whatever, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard or seen before. Shit, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t been involved in before.

What was more surprising was the last part. “You mean Mal?” Holy shit, no one had a crush on the daughter of Maleficent. It was like trying to marry death.

“I guess so. Evie likes her and wouldn’t go talk to her on her own. So we made a deal,” he shoots Jay a glance over his shoulder and Jay gives him a pointed look to continue. “She would talk to her crush and I would talk to mine.” Carlos finishes quickly.

People in Auradon are such whimps. “So have you talked to yours yet?”

Carlos pinches the bag of dirty jerseys shut. “Uh… Kind of.”

“How’d that go?”

A disappointed shrug and hesitance answer first. “He’s straight.”

Jay pauses. “That’s why you’re allowed in the girls’ changing room!”

Carlos laughs after a moment, relief in his posture. “Well, yeah. I think some of the girls are pretty, but I wouldn’t call myself bi. Liking guys makes me much less threatening to girls.” He places the laundry bag near the door, clearly intending to take the load with him when he leaves.

Another glance at the rest of the helmets and the tourney sticks he has to sand and a naïve – and fairly cute – Auradon boy who recently had his heart broken by a straight guy. This is so something he can use to his advantage. “Nothing wrong with appreciating a pretty face on anyone, girl or boy.”

He doesn’t miss how quickly Carlos turns to him, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open even with a grin tugging at the corners. “You think so?”

Jay lets his eyes travel slowly down a freckled face, toned torso and lean legs. When he looks back at Carlos’ face, he’s biting his lip and watching Jay intently. He leans forward a bit, never leaving Carlos’ eyes and bites his own lip.

“Sure. I’m appreciating a pretty face right now.”

Cleaning is easy; purity is hard. It is much easier to apply a quick spit and polish than it is to allow God to purify our hearts of things like racism, and pride, and greed. We humans get caught up on things like hand-washing rituals because it is much easier to argue about some rules than it is to let God transform our hearts, much easier to spin complex justifications or throw out some red herrings than to truly examine those ungodly things that burrow their way deep down inside of us.


And so we find ourselves acting like the Pharisees or Jesus’ disciples more often than we care to admit. We claim the moral high-ground as if it were a sniper’s tower – trumpeting our superiority as if we, and “our kind”, were alone made in God’s image. These dark whispers hide in the corners of our souls: “How dare he have dark skin in this neighborhood?” “How dare he fall in love with another man?” “How dare she bring her ‘inferior’ culture into this country?” And we, in this social media age, bombard the Internet with all our vitriolic opinions, flooding blogs and comment sections, condemning people we do not even know. They become merely pawns in our political and ideological games. Human beings boiled down to a single attribute, a single stereotype, a single talking-point – all to justify the precious hatreds to which we cling so stubbornly.


It is humanity at our worst. And it happens in the Church, unfortunately, as often as it does outside of the Church; it happens as much in our country as it does beyond our borders. It is a human problem. We are at our worst when we look at another person and refuse to see their humanity – their fragile, scared, complex humanity. We are at our worst when we refuse to see that we’re all built of the same dust, all made in the image of the same God, all loved by an impossibly infinite love. The book of Revelation ends with people from every nation, every skin color, every language, a beautiful family surrounding the throne of God – a vision of the Heavenly Kingdom of which God dreams. But because of our prejudices, because of the sin in our hearts, too many people, too many Christians, refuse to see it, fail to dream God’s dream, fail to catch God’s vision.


And it is that lack of vision that begins to eat away at our hearts. The evil intentions of our hearts become the evil words that become the evil actions that become the evil words we use to justify our evil actions. Driving a vehicle into a crowd or hanging a child on a lynching tree: it never starts that big; those things start with a dehumanizing thought or word – a seed planted by a parent or a politician or a pundit or a pastor. An evil like white supremacy is not natural; it is planted and it is nurtured, deep in the fertile soil of the human heart. And once it is in, it is hard to get it out.


We are a world of people carrying around poisonous prejudices as if they were precious treasures – spewing hatred, and starting wars, and inflicting violence. Passing down our hatred like an evil inheritance to our children and our children’s children. And I have to admit, I don’t know about you, but sometimes I look at the brokenness and chaos in this world, I feel the weight of the despair, and hope starts feeling like a foolish fantasy, the coming Kingdom of God seems forever away. Some days it feels like these cycles of evil will just never end.


And I am reminded of my favorite line inThe Power and the Glory: “It was for this world that Christ had died: the more evil you saw and heard about you, the greater the glory lay around the death; it was too easy to die for what was good or beautiful, for home or children or civilization–it needed a God to die for the half-hearted and the corrupt.”

And so Christ died – for a world of people desperate for mercy, desperate for love, half-hearted and corrupt – even for those spewing hatred, and starting wars, and inflicting violence. Christ died for this world – this broken world of broken people. Christ died for the Canaanite woman and for all the desperate outsiders begging to be heard, crying out for mercy. Christ died for the disciples: for those who wear their prejudiced hearts on their sleeves. Christ died for the Pharisees and for all the self-righteous religious people who are too selfish with God’s love. And Christ died for us. To break the cycle. To plant a new seed in our hearts. So that love would grow and finally choke the evil out. 

—  Heart by the Reverend Father Jeremiah Williamson

“Just a bit of the ol’ spit and polish, and this ZQ-58i is as good as new! Not bad for just thirty bucks.”

Coco is absolutely the kind of person with a massive collection of old computers in her closet. Most of them are bought from thrift stores for dirt cheap, polished up, and occasionally booted up once every couple of weeks just to make sure they work. She insists that they’ll be worth a mint in a few years, but in her heartest of hearts she just likes collecting old computers for its own sake.

i have some news.

Let the record show that it was May 19, 2017, at 7:08 p.m., when I finished writing my first novel.

PikeEpic is finished, guys.

I am weeping unbecomingly.

It needs to be spit-polished and split into chapters, and then…then I get to share it with all of you.

For tonight, though? I’m gonna bask in this feeling.

I just wrote a fucking novel, guys.

Originally posted by danascullys

Lunch Hour

Author: Christopher Trevor

Note from the author: This is one of my “Classic” foot and socks fetish stories. Hope you enjoy…

It was eleven thirty AM; I was famished, so I decided to take an early lunch, figuring I would take the paper work I was working on with me. At that early hour the restaurant would not be all that busy. I would request a table toward the back of the place, away from the lunch time conversations and business deals and quietly get some work done while I ate. I stood up, rolled the sleeves down from my elbows on my white dress shirt, buttoned the cuffs, straightened my B silk green necktie, and shrugged into my blue pinstriped suit jacket. As I walked out of my office with my attaché case in hand I told my secretary that I would be taking an early lunch. She looked up at me, smiled warmly, and told me to have a good lunch. I always got the feeling that Janice wanted more than to just be a secretary for me but I am a junior vice president who does not believe in mixing business with pleasure. Even though she is beautiful, single, and the same age as I, twenty-five. Also, I don’t need any scandals or sexual harassment suits brought against the brokerage firm I work for. They had hired me three years ago right out of college and gave me the chance of a lifetime. I was not about to do anything to fuck that up. My name is Bill Reston; I work for a highly respected brokerage firm on Wall Street in Manhattan. I am as I said, twenty-five years old, one of the youngest junior vice presidents my company has ever taken a chance on. I have short cut dark hair, brown eyes, and no facial hair at all. A clean-shaven guy, that’s me. I am exactly six feet tall and my body is well toned and lean from the daily workouts I put myself through at the gym on a regular basis. So, dressed in a blue pinstriped  suit, a white dress shirt, green silk tie, highly spit polished size eleven black  lace-up wing tips, and knee length black nylon dress socks I headed off for an early lunch. Just for the record it was a Monday morning and would prove to be the most interesting lunch hour of my life.

The restaurant I frequent most often is called “Anne’s Bistro.” It is very near to the office building I work in, the food is great, and the service is fantastic. In the afternoons the restaurant is filled to capacity with the business crowd from around the Wall Street area. At eleven thirty in the morning it is pretty much still empty. When I walked in the headwaiter instantly approached me with a leather-bound menu tucked under his arm.

“Ah, Mr. Reston, and how are you today?” he asked politely. “A little early today Sir?”

“Yes I am Mr. Gordon,” I replied equally as politely. “I’m rather hungry and also need to get some work done. If you could please show me to a table in the back where I could have some privacy I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Right this way Sir,” he said and I followed him through the restaurant toward the back of the restaurant.

The place is extremely elegant all the tables properly set with wineglasses, silverware, and cloth napkins. Each table is covered with linen tablecloths of white and beige that extend all the way down to the floor. And thank God for that, as you will soon understand why I say that. As I followed Mr. Gordon through the restaurant I could feel waitresses and also some of the waiters drinking me in with their eyes. I’m rather modest about it but I suppose it could be said that I’m a pretty good-looking young executive.                                                                                           At the back of the restaurant the headwaiter showed me to a table that overlooked the restaurant but was yet pretty much out of the way. A few feet from the table I saw a muscular young construction worker just finishing a job of applying a coat of plaster to the wall. I looked at the construction worker and then at the headwaiter.

“We had a small mishap during the night and he’s here to just patch it up,” the headwaiter explained to me. “He won’t disturb you at all and he’ll be done in a few moments.”

Wouldn’t disturb me? Nothing was further from the truth, let me tell you.

“No problem,” I said as he placed the menu on the table and pulled my chair out for me.

I sat down, placing my attaché case on the floor next to me.

“Your waiter will be with you in a few moments Mr. Reston,” the headwaiter said to me. “Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thank you Mr. Gordon,” I replied and he walked away.

It always sends me on an ego trip when a headwaiter or store salesperson remembers my name. It makes me feel like the executive I am. Before picking up my menu I glanced over at the construction worker, still a few feet from where I was sitting. He looked to be no more than nineteen or twenty years old. He was dressed in a worn looking pair of blue jeans, a string black tank top, and very scuffed up mustard colored lace-up work boots. I guessed his height to be around five feet nine inches tall. He must have sensed me staring at him because he turned to look at me. He grinned at me from ear to ear and then quickly returned to the job he was just finishing up. He had dark short curly hair, very deep dark eyes, and his body was extremely muscular. Obviously this guy did a little more than just construction work. I guessed that he worked out at the gym on a regular basis as well. His back muscles rippled as he squatted and began piling things into his big toolbox. I turned my attention to the menu and began looking at the lunch choices. I crossed a leg under the table, letting my foot dangle a few inches just above the floor.

“Would you like a drink before you decide on what you would like for lunch Mr. Reston?” I heard a male voice say to me.

I looked up and saw a waiter standing over me, pen poised over his waiter’s pad.

“Uh yes, thank you Mike,” I replied. “A glass of red wine, shiraz please.”

“Very good Mr. Reston,” he said, wrote it down, and walked away from my table.

I turned my attention back to the menu. When I heard the construction worker’s toolbox close I again glanced over at him. This time he was looking at me, still squatting on his knees.

“All done,” he said to me, indicating the wall in front of him.

I pursed my lips and smiled at him. I turned to look at my menu again. I decided on the chicken breast with mixed vegetables and put the menu down on the table. As I reached for my attaché’ case to get some of my paperwork out I felt eyes staring at me, drinking me in. A feeling of utter intensity came over me. I looked over at the construction worker and saw that he was still squatting over his toolbox, looking at me hungrily. I looked back at him questioningly as I took a small stack of papers from my attaché case along with my gold pen. I placed the papers on the table in front of me and quickly looked back over at the construction worker. He was now not just squatting; he seemed to be in a sort of crouch. Like a football player ready to run across the field. A shudder coursed through me as I saw him look around to make sure no one was watching. Then, he ran in a crouch toward my table ending up under it.

 

“H-holy shit,” I whispered, sitting there shaking now.

I quickly scanned the restaurant but the few patrons of the place and the employees of the restaurant didn’t seem to notice that I now had a construction worker under my table. The main question I asked myself was why was the guy under my table? As I sat there with a look of nervousness and apprehension on my square jawed face my waiter was approaching my table with a glass of Shiraz on a silver tray.

“Here we are Sir,” the waiter said, placing the glass of wine in front of me. “Are you ready to order now?”

“I,uh, I,” I began to say, prepared to report the fact that there was a construction worker crouched under my table, but when I felt a meaty hand close around my dangling socked ankle the words would not come out. “Yes, I will have the breast of chicken with mixed vegetables,” I replied, a look of shock on my face.

“Would you care for rice or pasta with that Mr. Reston?” the waiter asked me.

Before I could reply I felt the construction worker’s big hand moving up my leg, under my pants leg, the tips of his strong fingers squeezing my socked calf.

“R-rice,” I responded.

If the waiter noticed anything awry with the expression on my face he didn’t say a word about it. No doubt he just saw me as another stressed out young executive.

“Very good Sir,” he said, jotted down my order and turned to walk away from my table.

“Uh, Mike,” I said huskily, pointing at the tablecloth covered table.

“Yes Sir?” the waiter asked, quickly turning back to me.

I then felt a pair of lips pressed against my socked calf as the construction worker under my table held my dangling wing tipped foot in his big hand, his other hand slid up under my pants leg.

“Uh, on second thought I changed my mind,” I said, trying to act as natural as possible. “I was going to order an appetizer but decided against it.”

“Very well Sir,” the waiter said and walked away.

My breath caught in my throat when I felt big wet kisses being planted on my black socked calf.

The construction worker held my dangling foot by the heel and I heard sniffing sounds emanating from under the table. The fucking pervert, he was sniffing my damned sock and kissing it. Now, just for the record I am straight as a fucking arrow, but what this guy was doing to me had me in a dizzy spell of sorts. His hands moving over my foot and leg were driving me crazy. I thanked God that the tablecloth covered the entire table, but then again if it didn’t he wouldn’t be under there fondling me the way he was. I reached for my wineglass and took a long very much-needed sip of it. I placed the glass back on the table and looked down at the stack of paperwork in front of me. I was determined to do my best to concentrate on it, even though a pervert was feeling me up under my table. As I began reading over the terms of the contract in front of me I suddenly felt the lace of my dangling shoed foot being undone.

 

“Oh my God,” I whispered breathlessly. “Just what the hell are you planning to do to me under there?”

My wing tip was slipped from my foot and before I could pull my socked foot away from him he grabbed it in his very strong hand by the ankle and held it fast and tight. I again scanned the restaurant; not wanting anyone to notice the expressions of ecstasy mixed with fear etched on my face. God, I was being felt up by some sort of foot pervert. I heard sniffing sounds again emanating from under the table and somehow I knew that he was sniffing the inside of the shoe he had just taken off my foot. I took another sip of my wine and then looked down at the paperwork in front of me. The words on the paper were just that, words. I could not concentrate on the task at hand. When I felt a tongue moving over the top of my foot I nearly gasped loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear me. I quickly squashed the sound before it escaped from my mouth. Looking straight ahead I saw that more patrons were entering the restaurant, men in suits and women in business attire as well. Luckily I saw no one from my office. At that moment I did not want anyone joining me for lunch. Actually, someone had already joined me for lunch. Actually, I was his lunch. A busboy approached my table with a basket of bread, bread-sticks, and butter. As he placed the bread- basket in front of me a look of awe filled my face.

“Are you okay Sir?” he asked me.

“Uh, yes, I was just thinking over something about my work here,” I said, indicating the paperwork in front of me, pointing at the table.

“Okay then,” he said and walked away from my table.

I was about to call him back when I felt lips wrapped around the last three toes of my socked foot. I felt a tongue flicking over the gold material of my gold toe socks. I felt my socked toes being sucked as hands caressed the bottoms and tops of my dangling foot.                                                                                   “Oh lord, this is too much,” I whispered. “Fucking guy is sucking my damned toes. God, but my socks must stink something awful.”

As the construction worker lovingly sucked my toes I felt his hands moving up and under my pants leg again. My breathing was short silent gasps. Sweat broke out on the back of my neck. I leaned forward in my chair, shucked off my suit jacket, and hung it over the back of my chair. When he moved his mouth and lips over the tips of my gold- toed socks and slurped my big toe and the second toe into his mouth I grabbed the knot in my tie. I was sweating big time under the collar now. I gulped hard and reached for a slice of bread. Trying as normally as possible I spread butter over the slice of bread. As I put the slice of buttered bread into my mouth he sucked my two toes deeper into his mouth, so deep, as if he were deep throating my cock. Actually, he would get to that as soon as possible, as I would soon find out. I chewed heartily on the bread, swallowed it, and gulped a big sip of wine. When I reached for the second slice of bread he let my toes slip from his mouth. He caressed my foot bottom and top as I slathered butter on a second slice of bread, my hand trembling like crazy in the process. He stretched my leg out under the table and pressed the tip of his tongue against the bottom of my foot. Then, I felt his nose and mouth against the bottom of my foot and he was sniffing heartily.

 

“You fucking pervert,” I whispered through clenched teeth. “You’re driving me batty. Who the fuck are you? And why me? My God, why me???”

Slowly, he lowered my socked foot to the floor, placing it next to my other one that was still flat on the floor, but not for long.

“Here we are Mr. Reston,” I heard a voice say and I looked up.

Mike, my waiter was standing over me with my food order on a silver tray.

“Oh, good,” I said and sat back so he could place the food in front of me.

A plate of chicken breast served over rice with mixed vegetables on the side.

“Mmm, smells great,” I said to Mike.

“Enjoy it Sir,” Mike said. “And if there’s anything else I can do for you please don’t hesitate to ask.

Anything else he could do for me??? Yeah, he could do something else for me; that was for sure. He could get this foot pervert out from under my table so I could get my shoe back on my foot and get some work done while I ate my lunch. But it seemed that was not meant to be.

“Say Mike, what happened to that construction worker that was over there earlier?” I asked the waiter. “Seems he left his toolbox behind.”

As Mike and I looked over at the toolbox sitting there unattended I felt a hand grip my calves, almost in anger.

“Yes, it would seem like that,” Mike said, looking back down at me. “I’m sure he’ll realize it and be back for it. Enjoy your lunch Mr. Reston.”

As Mike walked away from my table my feet were lifted a few inches off the floor. The construction worker under there then pulled my feet a few inches apart. I didn’t need three guesses to know what he was about to do to me.

 

“No, no,” I pleaded in a whispered tone, but, ignoring me he slammed my socked foot and my shoed foot against each other. “Owwwwwww…” I seethed as quietly as possible through clenched teeth.

I heard the words “Start eating your lunch” whispered up at me and then felt my other shoe being unlaced.

“Shit, shit, you bastard,” I whispered and picked up my fork and knife.

I shoved a piece of delicious chicken into my mouth and as I chewed my other shoe was taken off my other foot.

Going for the other one now huh?” I whispered down at him.

The smell of sweat from my feet and socks wafted up to me and mixed with the smells emanating from my lunch. I took another slice of chicken into my mouth and chewed it heartily. Any chance of getting any work done at all I had abandoned at this point. Fuck, whoever this guy was he was making me crazy. I mean, I was literally being held prisoner in full view of everyone else who was at that restaurant. The construction worker under the table lifted my other foot and holding it firmly by the center and the heel he rubbed my socked toes over his nipples, alternating from side to side. From what I was able to gather his nipples were pretty erect and hard. Looked like playing with and licking my feet had him pretty turned on. And there was no denying that I was sporting a pretty big boner in my under shorts as well. Fuck, I had never even entertained a scene like this and now here some pervert playing with my damned, socked feet was turning me on. He continued rubbing my socked toes over his nipples. A few times I scrunched my toes around one of his nipples. He seemed to like that and showed his appreciation by squeezing my foot tight. But then, as I chewed a mouthful of vegetables it was back to slurping and sucking my toes and foot. I felt his tongue moving over the side of my foot as he held it aloft under the table. As he slurped heartily at the sides of my foot his hand was moving up and under my pants leg, really feeling me up like crazy. He squeezed my leg tight and tugged my sock down a little. I nearly gagged on the rice I was swallowing when he gobbled the last three toes of my foot into his mouth. He sucked them like crazy, chewed on them, and slurped the rancid sweat out of my sock. It seemed that the more he serviced my feet the more he wanted of them. I wondered if the fucker had done this sort of thing before. I ate slowly, knowing that he would not let go of me for quite a while yet. He was having too much fun with me. Next, he put my feet down on the floor a few inches apart. He ran his hands over them a few times. Then, he began folding up the bottoms of my pants legs, hiking them up revealing more of my black dress socks. I wiggled my toes in anger under those socks that he seemed to be totally in love with.

 

“Fucker, what are you up to down there now???” I growled down at him in a soft tone of voice.

When my pants had been hiked up to just over my calves I felt the construction worker’s big hands moving over them, roaming up and down my calves, sending chills through me. Never thought that some guy playing with my socks could drive me so fucking crazy. I took a sip of my wine, which was almost gone at that point. I usually allow myself one glass of wine with lunch every once in a while. On this particular day I thought I deserved a second one. As I forked a piece of chicken into my mouth my feet were lifted together off the floor. He held them closely together and sucked my two big toes into his mouth. I nearly gasped but managed not to. I glanced at my watch, saw that it was now twelve PM. The restaurant was already filling up. No way to get out of this now. If I did get up and move from the table people would see that my shoes were missing. If I caused a scene people would realize that the guy had been under my table for quite a while at that point. Actually he had been under there and at my feet for almost a half-hour at that point. My head spun as I gulped the last of my wine and the bastard sucked and slurped greedily at my socked toes.

 

“Fuck man, why don’t you leave me alone already?” I whispered down at him.

He of course ignored my plea. My cock raged hard in my briefs. I could feel it oozing pre cum. When I saw Mike taking an order at a table near mine I held up my wineglass to get his attention. When he was done taking the other table’s order he dashed over to me.

“Another glass of wine Mr. Reston?” he asked me.

“Yes please, I think I need it,” I said as he took the empty glass from me. “Could I also have a tall glass of ice water when you have a moment?” I asked him.

“Of course Sir,” Mike said and stepped away from my table.

As I spoke to the waiter the construction worker under the table had gotten himself into a kneeling position with the heel of one of my feet directly over his mouth. Sort of looked like a foot shaped cork in his mouth. He swirled his tongue all over my socked heel, sending chills up my leg and up my spine. I tried again to look over some paperwork but it was totally impossible. The guy had my undivided attention. At the moment my second glass of wine and ice water was placed on the table the guy again lowered my feet to the floor. I felt his hands moving up my legs, getting closer and closer to my family jewels. When he pressed his mouth against my crotch and sniffed at my balls under there I quickly took a gulp of my wine. His fingertips toyed with my socks as his mouth was pressed harder against my crotch. With his fingers he was slowly tugging my socks down. Then, his hands abandoned my socks and I felt them moving over my crotch, his fingers slowly pulled my pants zipper down.

“Oh God no, no, you wouldn’t,” I whispered desperately.

When my zipper was down he reached into the fly opening of my BVDs and brought out my long, thick, sausage sized cock along with my plum sized balls. His fingers squeezing my cock and balls made me breathless. I sat there totally in his power. When he slurped my hard pulsing cock into his mouth I thought I would leap out of my well-licked socks. He held the tip of my cock captive between his lips and poked my slit with the tip of his tongue, torturing me erotically.

Ohhhh God, God,” I whispered and leaned back in my chair, my legs spread wide in front of me, my socked feet resting on their sides on the floor.

Slowly he slid his mouth down further over my pulsing hard erection. He drooled over it but before his saliva could hit the floor he slurped it heartily off my cock. I forked a large piece of chicken into my mouth and chewed like crazy as my executive cock was sucked under the table, unknown to the crowd that was slowly forming in the restaurant. Breathless and feeling helpless at the same time I tugged on my silk tie. It wouldn’t take long for me to shoot my load, not the way this guy was sucking me. His fingers again on my socks, tugging them down as he sucked my cock into his throat, my balls pressed against his chin now.

 

“Oh my God,” I whispered breathlessly. “You fucking bastard, I-I’m going to cum any second now.”

He moved my cock back into his mouth and then it happened, I shot my load into his greedy mouth. I gripped the sides of the table, hung my head down to make it appear as if I was looking at my paperwork and panted as silently as possible as the greedy pervert sucked me till he got every drop of my sperm. When I couldn’t cum anymore the miserable bastard teased the fuck out of my cock hole with the tip of his tongue. That got me pissing long and hard, right into his mouth. As he gulped down my stream of piss and I sat there sweating I felt my socks leave my feet. He had what he had sidled under my table for. The bastard had intended to steal my damned executive socks, jeez!! He let my cock slip out of his mouth and quickly packed it back into my suit pants, zipping me up.

 

“You bastard,” I whispered down at him. “You just fucking made me cum…”

 

“Finish your lunch,” he whispered with an air of authority in his voice.

Not having much of a choice I leaned forward and spooned a mouthful of rice into my mouth. I felt my shoes being slipped onto my bare feet and laced up. Fuck, the bastard was stealing my damned socks. I would have to buy a pair on the way back to my office. When I was done eating Mike cleared my table and handed me my lunch check. I in turn handed him my credit card after adding on the usual hefty tip. He thanked me and walked away to process my order. I packed my papers back into my attaché case and clicked it shut. When I glanced over at where the construction worker’s toolbox was I saw that it was no longer there. I gulped hard and quickly pulled the tablecloth up.  He was gone, as if he had never been there. Looking at my feet under the table minus my socks was the only evidence that he had been there not to mention my hiked up pants and the tingling feeling in my cock.

“Did you lose something Mr. Reston?” Mike asked me, suddenly at my table with my credit receipt for me to sign.

“Uh, no, I thought I dropped my pen,” I said and quickly lowered the tablecloth, lest he see my sock-less feet.

He handed me my receipt on a small silver tray along with a pen, I signed it and handed it to him. He politely thanked me and walked off. I inconspicuously reached under the table to lower my pants legs back down. I stood up, shrugged into my suit jacket, and picked up my attaché case. I walked slowly toward the exit of the restaurant. My sock-less feet felt funny in my wing tips. When I got outside there was not a sign of the perverted sock stealing construction worker anywhere in sight. I walked quickly to men’s clothing store and purchased a pair of knee length, black nylon dress socks. When I got outside a mailman approached me.

“Excuse me Sir,” the mailman said to me, holding out a blank sealed envelope.

“Yes, can I help you?” I asked him.

“A construction worker just gave me this and asked me to give it to you when you came out of that store,” the mailman said to me and handed me the envelope.

“Did you see where he went?” I asked the mailman.

“Got in his mail truck drove off,” the mailman said. “I have to go Sir.”

He walked off, leaving me standing there with the envelope in my hand. I put my attaché case down on the ground, opened the envelope and read the note that was in it. The note read “I will get those socks too you handsome fuck. Let’s do lunch again soon.” I stood there trembling, looking up and down the block for him….

                                                                      /The End/

 

 

 

.�2�cyQ

Welcome back

Casper’s friendly ghosting

Holding out on the freeloaders,

The spit polished soldiers.


She holds me,

I just wish for sofa sleep

Super Nova deep,

Sure you know her that deep?


If I could have said it with words why would I paint a picture?

Grim set addiction

Desk work affliction

Monday morning wishing for Friday evening….

Spit polished

I speak in broken English

Or my hand writing looks like child drawn hieroglyphics

I’ve got training in breaking dishes and burning bridges

I’m just a witch at rebuilding the stiches

The line of best fit switches, depending on my mood the best outcome can be different

My blood boils and skin itches all before the final pinching

The idea of my own image keeps me spitting

Pics are chosen and uploaded! We just need to apply a little spit-and-polish to the post, and (of course) wait for Tuesday to arrive!

The pic spam turned out to be epic, with over 100 pics included!! Considering we gathered over 1400 caps, we feel we showed a decent amount of restraint. XD

Hope you will enjoy yourself on Tom Cruise Tuesday! While you wait, check out our review of The Mummy, or our previous Tom Cruise Tuesday posts!

clearthroughtheclouds  asked:

Bob Dylan fanbase?

-either grumpy baby boomers or young lil hipsters, but anyway they all wanna succ bob’s dicc and spit polish his nobel prize 

-very unaware that bob dylan couldn’t even be a real person, he’s just an extremely famous cryptid or perhaps a mass hallucination experienced by mankind so that we could all see a goat dressed in a human suit sing and play the harmonica

-bob dylan is one letter away from being boob dylan

4

PROJECT CASTOR  CHARACTER GUIDE

MARK, one of the newly discovered Castor clones, was a loyal follower of the late Prolethean leader Henrick Johanssen. When the Prolethean Ranch was burned down by Helena, Mark vanished with Johanssen’s waifish daughter Gracie, who he’d fallen deeply in love with. But as one of many male clones created by the military, the question remains, who is Mark?  Why was he with the Proletheans?  And in the face of this newfound love, where do his allegiances lie?

RUDY, aka Scarface, is the often brutal and crazed Castor clone with a sleek mohawk and a menacing scar that adds to his intimidating exterior. Raised under the military’s unforgiving supervision, Rudy is a trained master fighter. Possessing a fierce loyalty to his clone brothers that matches Sarah’s conviction, he is ruthless and lethal if put to the test. Just how far is he willing to go to save those he’s sworn to protect?

SETH is a mustachioed Castor brother who may not be the sharpest clone in the pack. But what Seth lacks in smarts, he makes up for in obedience to his superiors, and admiration for his elder brother, Rudy — who sometimes uses Seth’s devotion to sway and manipulate him.

MILLER is the spit-and-polish Castor soldier with a prosthetic leg. No longer assigned missions in the field, Miller is bitter but loyal. Refusing self-pity, he focuses his efforts on climbing the officer ranks.

anonymous asked:

Tell me all of those Haikyuu!!marching band headcanons

ALL OF THEM??? YOU ASKED FOR IT

Drum Majors: Oikawa is loved by everyone and he’s known for kind of being an airhead, but his conducting is really solid and his pre-competition talks are very inspiring. Somehow he manages to personally connect with every single member of the band. Kuroo is super intense on the field and while he’s conducting and he scares the shit out of all the rookies, but if he hears you practicing or working drill he’ll come up to you and give you pointers.

Flute: Ennoshita is only 4th chair because he quit band for a year, but no he’s working really hard to improve. He made flute section leader which is really exciting, and everyone looks up to him, even some of the upperclassmen.

Clarinet: The most drama filled section, tbh. Oikawa and Sugawara are both third years (1st and 2nd chair, respectively) who have their separate talents but play very well together. Oikawa can play anything you put in front of him and is a whiz with technicality, but Suga is more musical and works tirelessly to perfect the more difficult passages. Both had heard multiple stories of the incoming first year Kageyama, a.k.a. the “King of the Concert Hall” who’s a child prodigy but also self-centered and unable to play well in an ensemble. Oikawa had helped Kageyama when they were younger and went to the same school, but he broke off relations when Kageyama landed 1st chair in the All-State Orchestra with a score of 98.6 to Oikawa’s 94.3. Suga tries to steer clear of the tension between them while also attempting to mend their relationship to make the section stronger.

Saxophone: Kenma took first chair his first year with his analytic approach to sight-reading, blazing scales, and incredible ear for pitch and section balancing. Kuroo, his neighbor, had convinced him to join marching band even though Kenma abhors anything involving perspiration. Yamaguchi realized within the first half of the summer that he wasn’t good enough to make a place for himself among the great alto section, and took the opportunity to use the school’s only tenor and teach himself how to play. His willingness to improve will propel him far in the band. Tsukishima, brilliant on alto, got bored with the sound and switched over to baritone sax around the time Yamaguchi switched. He’s incredible, of course, and Kuroo (a fellow bari) has taken a special interest in him. Tsukishima seems mostly indifferent to most aspects of band, however.

Trumpet: Daichi plays trumpet in the band, is known for having incredibly solid intonation and a knack for musicality. Hinata, an average trumpet player at best, was only revealed to be an exceptional child when he wailed out a high-C on rookie night. He got up to an E before Daichi dragged him to Director Ukai. His playing is rough, but determination and a fiery passion for music will get him far. His dream is to play with the Blue Devils and he might just make it.

Mellophone: Yaku can play the mello exceptionally well, and often solos in the marching shows. He got the position of section leader and has caught Ukai’s attention to be the next brass captain due to his passion for marching and patient but firm approach to teaching.

Trombone: Tanaka, unfortunately, is the stereotypical trombonist. He’s first chair and section leader, but he attempts to scare the freshmen in submission. At heart, he’s a softie and honestly cares about the success and well-being of the band.

Baritone: There was some concern about 5’2 Nishinoya marching a baritone, but he built up a ton of muscle and positively carries the rest of the band with his powerful sound. Karasuno’s famed brass balance comes from his low-brass section.

Sousa: Asahi has a ferocious sound but is a huge dork. He can be tough on his section when called for, but usually leads through example and quiet, meaningful praise.

Percussion: Section leader Iwa plays center tenor and is known for his incredible internal metronome. With him on battery the section and band rarely ever lose time. He and Oikawa are famously connected during performances. Taketora plays snare very well and extremely clean, but loves to show off to anyone and everyone.

Random extra headcanons:

  • Kags and Hina first met at All-State auditions when Hinata emptied his spit valve on Kageyama’s polishing cloth by accident

  • Tanaka and Noya often reenact the “When Mom Isn’t Home” vine until Daichi hears them

  • Kageyama is super into DCI. He acts nonchalant about it, but put on Tilt or E=MC2 and his eyes get all glassy and he won’t pay attention to anything else. He’s also interested in the Blue Devils

  • Ennoshita and Yaku are surprisingly close and have a ton of inside jokes

  • Whenever a rookie gets Tanaka and Taketora mixed up they have to pay each of them a dollar in regret and shame

  • Takeda is their official concert band director with Kiyoko as assistant, and Ukai is their marching director in-season

  • Noya, Yaku, Kageyama, and Daichi are hands down the most skilled marchers

  • Kageyama is trying to get someone to teach him a brass instrument so he can march in an international drum corps

  • During competitions, Kags, Hina, Tsuki, and Yamaguchi room together, and KageHina always fight about shower order

  • It is universally known that you never bother Suga on practice mornings until he’s had his coffee

  • Kuroo and Oikawa have stickers on their whistles so they don’t get them mixed up

Sorry I’ve been inactive on the fanfics as of late, writing takes time, and I’m trying to move out of my dorm at the moment, so time is a commodity! Anyways, this idea may seem a little out there, but I just kinda thought of it, and honestly, I feel like there’s some kind of full story plot in here, but I can’t seem to find it. Hope you enjoy anyway!

Amy narrowed her eyes angrily from where she knelt, chained to the wall. She was sweaty, tired, and covered in grime, but it didn’t stop her from putting up her best fight.

Her bracelets and headband were long gone, the sports tape around her waist torn and sagging. Her clothes were a damp smelly mess, and her quills were as frenzied as she felt.

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