#blue fescue

[bellarkesupernova]

Landscape Fire Pit in Seattle Ideas for a sizable modern backyard with a fire pit and full sun stone landscaping.

[beta-isaac-lahey]

Landscape San Francisco Photo of a sizable, contemporary, concrete-paved yard with full sun exposure.

[wyrm-o-lantern]

Landscape Natural Stone Pavers Design ideas for a large contemporary full sun backyard stone landscaping with a fire pit in summer.

[type-greninja]

Orange County Mulch Design suggestions for a typical, mid-sized, full-sun, mulch flower bed in the front yard.

[silly-drawings-by-sugar]

Front Yard - Natural Stone Pavers This is an illustration of a sizable traditional front yard stone landscaping in the summer that can withstand drought and some sunlight.

[siegetheartist]

Natural Stone Pavers (Seattle)

[blenselche]

took a break from the next erasure page to get this idea out cuz its been bugging tf outta me all day, slapped it onto the end of ch 4 cuz im self indulgent

also the thought of finn painting bonnie's hooves makes me SOB im sorry i keep including it ik its an eyesore

[snekdood]

turf grass my enemy

native grass my beloved

[kreasecock]

Transitional Landscape - Fire Pit Summertime image of a medium-sized, transitional backyard with a fire pit and decking.

[allinonedemo]

San Francisco Landscape Pathway Here is an illustration of a sizable, full-sun, Mediterranean-style mulch garden path in the summer.

[thecreativedork]

Fire Pit - Landscape Summertime image of a medium-sized, transitional backyard with a fire pit and decking.

[tiphaineaileen]

Contemporary Landscape Providence An example of a mid-sized contemporary partial sun front yard concrete paver garden path in winter.

[zinaarts]

Pathway - Landscape

[crappymixtape]

breathe you in

REQUEST → dear nonny, SUMMER BLURB PARTY ❝ 💬 i really like #15 on the prompt list, cutie friends to lovers trope, thinking they were friends in high school, they just graduated, and they’ve been hanging out a few times that summer as “just friends” – you and the gang had planned on going to the river to cool off, but when everyone else bails you wind up sharing a joint with your best friend ( sweet, tentative best friends that get a needed push from a little green • fluff, a lil smoochie kiss...maybe a lil more than a smoochie kiss?? steve harrington x reader )

B R E A T H E Y O U I N 🎶 apocalypse, cigarettes after sex & heat of the moment, steve hackett ( live )

A breeze swept down the river, carrying dandelion seeds with it as it went. Winding through long stalks of fescue, between far-reaching oak branches, and over the high, plateaued boulders you lay against. The glittering, cool water of the river slowly carved its way through the rock and sand and earth below you. Filled your head with a steady rush, blending and blurring with the soft, constant breaths that fell into your ears.

Steve.

You could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, pressed arm to arm as your bodies left behind temporary memories of the river against the rocks. Memories of what it felt like to float close enough to him you could see tiny flecks of green swimming in the warm amber of his eyes.

Beads of water slipped off the ends of your hair, trailed over your shoulders, and down into the dip of your collarbone as the heat of the day pushed up through the thin fabric of your swimsuit to sooth your goosebumps.

Your skin was cool, but Steve was warm against you. His chest bare and dotted with moles, tiny constellations that came to life under your fingers as you traced little lines through them – dot to dot to dot. Warm and gold like the sun, like summer, like June, July, and August had tucked themselves between his ribs and decided to stay there forever.

You pulled in a breath, the faint scent of your coconut sunscreen mingling with the skunky haze Steve had blown into the air and you lifted heavy lashes to give him a sidelong glance.

A joint was wedged between his lips, his thumb and index finger lazily holding it steady as he took another hit, turning the end into a bright, orange glow, and it was impossible not to stare.

Your eyes wandered over locks of brown hair turned gold like the sun as they curled stuck and messy across his forehead, wet from swimming in the river. Followed the sharp, all-too-handsome angles of his nose and jaw and the way his cheeks hollowed out when he pulled in another hit.

He turned his head on the rock to meet your gaze and blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth, his lips tugging up into a grin.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, princess?” he teased.

Narrowing your eyes you bit back a smirk of your own and reached over, pinching the joint between your fingers to bring it to your lips. “Just hoping you’re gonna leave some for me," you sucked in a breath and held it deep in your lungs until it burned a little, tipping your chin up and blowing it out into the blue.

Steve laughed, propping up on an elbow and taking the joint from you, “Afraid we’re gonna run out?”

“Maybe,” you rolled onto your stomach and rested your chin on your forearms, warm and flat against the rocks, fixing him with a look.

“Mmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, taking another drag and holding his breath.

“What is it genius?”

“Okay–” he started, but coughed against the harsh hit, “–o–okay.” Clearing his throat he pushed himself up to sit and tugged at your elbow, you too. “So. I saw this thing in a movie once and...well, what if we tried it?”

There was a glint in Steve’s eye, too warm and curious, a flicker of something like more, more, more and heat settled in your chest, the cool of your swimsuit all but forgotten. Sitting up, you tried to ignore how flustered you felt.

“Harrington, if this has anything to do with Fast Times, I swear I’ll–”

He laughed again and the sound made everything feel fuzzy.

“Not that one,” he scooted toward you, your knees knocking together. “Here, you gotta be a little closer," the rough pads of his fingers pressed into your calves, gently tugging you forward and you found yourself more than happy to oblige.

“Better?” you asked softly, your knees hovering over his thighs and close enough to him you could smell something citrusy, cedar and fresh laundry and boy.

He swallowed at the sudden loss of space between you, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Y–yeah, yeah. That’s perfect.” His lashes fanned out across his cheeks as he blinked you into focus, pupils blown wide from the weed, the summer heat and you. “Uh–right. I’m gonna take a hit and then pass it to you.”

Your brain raced to catch up, tangled in the way Steve’s legs felt pressed into yours, the way his lips pouted perfectly as he mimed taking a drag from the joint, until it snagged on his words.

Pass it to you.

“Pass it to me?”

“Yeah. Like. Well, you know I’ll just lean forward and uhm–well, I’ll pass the smoke–er–blow it into your mouth.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed, pink and warm as it finally occurred to him that he was basically asking to kiss you, and you gave him a little grin. The King of Hawkins all but gone, leaving behind this sweet and absolutely endearing as hell version of Steve Harrington.

“Okay,” you said simply and his lips parted into a pretty little ‘o’.

“Okay?” he repeated and when you nodded in agreement his mouth tugged up into a lopsided smile of his own. “Okay, yeah! Uh, so I’ll take a hit and…you know,” he waved his hand around in the air as if that finished the thought for him sufficiently enough, and put the joint to his lips to pull in a breath.

His cheeks hollowed out again and your heart fluttered in your chest, hummingbird wings against your ribcage as he leaned forward, brows lifting in question, you ready? And you hinged at your waist, tilted your head ever so slightly so that when he pressed his lips to yours they fit together like two sides of a locket.

Your eyes closed when the soft plush of his lips met yours, opening just enough to let him fill you with smoke and it was hazy and thick. Like floating just under the surface of the water, watching the world swim by in ripples, something out of a dream and Steve, Steve, Steve.

When he pulled away for you blow the hit off into the wind, he was watching you with a look of awe on his face. Reverent in the presence of something so beautiful – how were you real? Your cheeks warmed to match his, pink from the way the little voice inside your head was screaming at you to do it again, and you laughed softly.

“Oh my God,” you mumbled under your breath and he chanced a small grin.

“What? Was it good? Bad? Weird?” he fumbled, an attempt at levity, and it made you laugh more easily this time, but the longer you looked at him the louder the voice grew until you couldn’t hear anything over the sound of you aching for the feeling of him.

“Again, please,” came out quietly, Steve's smile fading with your sincerity as you leaned forward and tentatively pressed your hands against his thighs to steady yourself.

He wished he could run your voice on a loop, those two words pouring into him, filling him up and spilling over at the edges.

Again, please.

Again, please.

Again, please.

“Again,” he echoed softly.

You nodded and then slowly leaned in to meet him in the gap first, lifting one hand from his thigh to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck and pulling him into you, making him groan. The steady rush of water drowned out by the way his fingers pressed into the plush of your hips, pulling you into his lap, drenched in liquid gold as the sun beat down on you, summer and surrender, soft and steady and

Steve.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[partybarty]

I'm sure you have all been wondering, like I have, what species of grass are considered acceptable for grass tennis courts. It appears the type of grass is not mandated, according to Tennis Australia's National Court Surface Policy's description of a grass court is natural grass grown from seed.

Here are some grasses that I propose we make grass courts out of: 1. Blue Fescue Grass – Festuca glauca

2. Windmill Grass – Chloris truncata

3. Snow Grass – Poa sieberiana

4. Zebra grass (Miscanthus sinensis 'Zebrinus')

5. Purple fountain grass (Pennisetum setaceum 'Rubrum')

6. Pink muhly grass (Muhlenbergia capillaris)

[femmefat-ale]

It’s hard to get work done in a library when you can hear your own thoughts so clearly. While planning some Yuletide recipes, I couldn’t stop looking at my boyfriend’s growing belly almost slipping out of a tight t shirt. Instead of my responsibilities, I indulged in writing down a bit of a fantasy. If my big bear keeps gaining at the rate he is, there will most definitely be a chapter two :)))

Ember’s Folly

Entering into the woods, the paper map crinkles in Ember's strong grip. “Do not stray from the marked trails,” it said in large blue lettering. But what was the woods without exploration, some pre-decided quest that fate may force upon you? Regardless, he intended on only a short walk, to the top of the mountain and back if you could call that short, just to watch the sunset for a while and head back. The first marker was a red ribbon tied around a tree, not to be mistaken for pink ones which indicated that a tree needed to be cut down. “Stay on the trail, and you’ll have a good time,” ominous words for a guide to the National Park. Walking along the mulched trail ahead of him, Ember basked in the afternoon sunlight and prepared his glutes for quite the workout. The incline hadn’t started yet, but it soon would.

Passing the first cairn was always a sign of relief, a sign you were headed in the right direction and that there were more ahead. It’s a shame that the parks service had ordered for their removal, and Ember couldn’t bring himself to knock over the carefully constructed tower. A traveler needs a sign of hope every now and again, a reminder that people have been here before them and will come after to the same spot.

The trail became steep, less of a paved trail and more a stone staircase winding for miles along the mountain. Ember wished there was a more direct way up; next time he’ll bring a harness and rope. Escalating slowly, the sun passed over him to the other side of the mountain, occluding him in shadows. The cool gray mist descended upon the trees and settled in the ground foliage. A small noise to his right, Ember turned to see a sweet silka a few yards behind him. Following a trail of fescue, the doe walked on barely noticing the wanderer. Off the trail she went, grazing her way past the treeline only to stop and pop her head up. After a moment of thought, she swiftly returned and ran off down the hill behind Ember. Funny, he thought. Perhaps the rules apply to fauna as well. It was then that he noticed the birdsong had died down, and was much louder on his left. Odd, but not disarming, the sun was on that side to be fair. He couldn’t blame them for chasing down the setting sun. The sun was setting though, and he had little time if he wanted to catch dusk at the very least. Time management is never easy, but one hour could cost you your life in woods like this.

Perhaps I should turn back, he thought. Otherwise, he could always camp out and catch the early sunrise. Preparations for that kind of excursion however were nowhere to be found. Time management and preparedness had never been his particular strengths. Shit, it was starting to get dark, and 6 miles lay ahead before the peak. The trail circled back around at least. As his stomach growled, his scavenger instincts kicked in. Perhaps he should track down another deer, but in reality a squirrel was a much more likely candidate. Unfortunate, he thought, digging in his pockets to pull out the wrappers of protein bars consumed hours ago. Maybe he was a bit gluttonous, and that should have been accounted for before he left the house.

Pressing on, Ember continued his way up the path, getting progressively more tired as the sun descended more. He was starving at this point; he should head back while there’s still a speck of light. Or, he thought, take a trail back to the lodge near the trail’s entrance. While looking at the map, Ember smelled something divine, too good to be real. Hallucinations, especially during times of need, weren’t uncommon, but this seems all too real. Past the aroma of petrichor and dirt, there was something sweet trailing in the air, cutting through the fog right to Ember head. Like the damned cartoons, the smell of apple pie wafting like smoke right above him. Apple pie, that’s what it was. Impossible, yes, but his stomach growled in desperation. Letting his eyes adjust a bit, a narrow trail made itself apparent, overgrown by grass and clearly unkempt. It wasn't marked either. Pulling out the map once more, there wasn't any indication of the path. The large blue lettering stood out once again, but he might as well be illiterate at that point because the smell only grew stronger. Fuck it, he was only human, and humans needed a warm meal and a fire. Screw the mountain, he thought, taking the first step off the mulch and the flora crunched beneath his boots.

A pathfinder was a noble job, and he was serving not only himself but the parks service as well. Maybe he should build his own cairn and mark the path himself. So far nothing felt off except the continually retreating light. Either it was getting darker or the fog was getting thicker. Nevertheless, Ember couldn’t be stopped, not now. He was hungry and too far into this to retreat. The sweet aromas only got stronger as he went, leading him right to salvation, he thought. He was surprised others hadn’t come his way yet with the air becoming nearly intoxicating. It was then he noticed the birdsong had died out. In fact, he could not spot a single squirrel or hare in the nearby surroundings. Odd, but not alarming. Were his senses being dulled? Who cares anyway? The smells were now all consuming, apple pie and vanilla, fresh coffee too. The fog was illuminated by a small light far in the distance, past where the trail had ended before his feet. Finally, a sign of life. Marching onward desperate as ever, the lights multiplied and a small stead was visible just a short walk away. Ember was feeling light headed, out of his mind with his stomach grumbling. Upon reaching the small cabin, he realized that this is why the trails were to be followed closely. It came upon him that this was someone’s home, not a lodge. Was he intruding? He did disregard the rules completely, but for good reason. He didn’t want to be a bother, but he was absolutely starving. Perhaps he could ask for a quick bite of bread and be on his way, but he needed more. An idea popped into his mind as his eyes wandered to the bountiful garden on the house’s side. Tall sunflowers, asleep for the night, surrounded bushels of lettuce, peppers, tomatoes, and what he only assumed could be an entire apothecary of herbs. Stay away from those, he thought. It would be one thing to intrude and ask for food. It was another to be poisoned and fall ill after stealing from the garden. Stealing from the garden. He wanted to. Surely a missing cabbage would be much less intrusive than asking for a whole meal. The crop was so plentiful Ember doubted the gardener would even notice. So he grabbed a cabbage. Without even wiping the dirt off, he took a bite from the top leaf. It was utterly bland. And shameful eating was not much of an enjoyable experience. He much preferred happily indulging himself. Eating was to be a joyous thing, he thought. But here he was, stealing cabbages, ravaging like a wild dog. Before he could make much of a dent, Ember heard a creek from the other side of the cabin. Fuck, he hoped he hadn’t been found out. He dashed to the backside of the cabin, cowering under the windowsill, looking past the corner. He wondered if he was about to meet the owner, his maker, or both. A loud metal clang was the last thing he heard before the last of the light went out, and it was all dark now.

It had been dark for a while, he thought, as he opened his eyes once more. There was light again, warm, yellow light, and heat too. The first feeling he had was that of comfort, of tiredness. Perhaps he could stay passed out for a little while longer and get some sleep. Passed out - he had passed out. Immediately, the images of the cabin and cabbages came back to him. Fuck, he should have just knocked on the door. He should have just stayed on the trail. That cabbage was definitely not worth it, and he was definitely still hungry. Taking in his surroundings, he was happy to see he was in the kitchen at the very least. There was a pot steaming on a wood burning stove that sat next to a pie cooling down. He was right about the pie at least. What was in the pot though? As he went to stand from his chair, Ember realized that he couldn’t move a limb. Just now thinking to look down on himself, he was tied to the chair entirely, arms and legs tied to pine wood with black rope. Also, he was naked. The rope was itchy too. Good thing his dick wasn’t tied up because it was steadily getting harder as he came back to his senses. Hearing once again, Ember noticed the crackling of a fireplace somewhere in the next room along with a high pitched whistling tune. Coming from the owner, he assumed, they didn’t sound very pissed. But then why was he hit over the head and tied up? As all the answers walked through the archway at the end of the kitchen, Ember snapped back and the anxiety poured all in at once. “I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, but I was walking along the trail and-”

“Shush,” replied the woman now standing beside him. Taking the opportunity to meet his captor, Ember glanced up and realized how fucked he really was. Standing over the stovetop were harsh eyes, staring directly at him. The woman was shorter, plump, wearing a calico dress and a messy apron tied loosely around her small waist. She was adorned with a green headscarf with a few red strands hanging in her face.

“You see, I had made the grave mistake of being underprepared, and I had run out of rations for my journey, so,”

“You went off the trail,” she interrupted. “You’re not supposed to do that.”

“Well, I was walking and I had smelled something nice, your cooking, I now realize had led me off the path, and I walked straight-”

“Into my garden.”

“I apologize, really. I didn’t want to be a bother, but I was absolutely starving.”

“I’m sure,” she replied, ladling stew into a cup.

“Truly, I am very sorry,” Ember continued on until the woman was standing right next to him.

“Then shut up and eat. That’s what you came here for, isn’t it?” Ember looked up, not lifting his head, to finally meet her eyes. She looked down at him, then at his stomach.

“I can’t-”

“Open,” she said, pressing the spoon to his mouth, and so he obliged. She lifted a bite of stew and fed it to him. The first bite was delightful, so much so he let out a small sigh. It must have been beef, deliciously braised in red wine. As she gave him a bite of potato, she said, “If this is what you wanted, you could have just knocked. I didn’t buy those vintage brass knockers for nothing.” Knockers, he laughed to himself, and a pair she had. He was leaking a little from the tip now, finally a little hydrated from the warm broth. It still tasted of alcohol. She probably didn’t cook it out on purpose.

“I really am s-”

“Keep eating,” she said, feeding him more of the delicious soup.

“Mmmmmm,” this was divine, or utterly satanic. He wasn’t quite sure. It tasted like whoredom and sodium, the worst of sins.

“Good boy.” Fuck, that turned him on even more, almost as much as the stuffing did. He kept eating, growing fuller and fuller each bite. She was stuffing him, maybe she was a witch, just fattening him up before he ended up in the stew. Before he knew it, the bowl was empty, but he could eat more. “Good good. All full yet?” she asked. Ember released his head back, noticing the herbs drying above his head. Definitely witchy behavior. As he stared up at the flowers, he heard footsteps and the woman was grabbing another mug. Instead of stew, she filled it with water from the kettle. He never heard it whistle, but it was steaming. More suspicion started to grow. She reached for some of the herbs above him, shoving her tits right into his face. She picked an assortment of leaves and put them in water, stirring clockwise for a minute as they sat in silence. He didn’t know what to say. “Drink,” she said as she brought the cup to his lips. It burned him. “Shit sorry,” she broke out. She seemed genuinely worried, bringing a finger up to his lips and patting them as she blew cold air onto the tea. It whistled with a musical chime. “Here, now it should be better. Make sure to smell the vapor too for full effect.” He sipped on it once more, then took a big gulp as it was now cooled off. It tasted bitter but earthy. It made him and his cock feel fuller, but there was a void in his stomach once more.

“Are you a witch?” He asked. Fuck, that was probably a mistake.

“Something of the sort,” she replied. He didn’t know whether to get worried or extremely fucking horny. “Nevermind it; keep drinking.” She held it up to his mouth until he finished the whole cup. She set it down and reached for something. Thinking that was the last meal before the demonic sacrifice ritual she had planned, Ember closed his eyes and turned his head towards the window. Instead, he heard a spark; he looked to see she was lighting a pipe. Taking a long, slow hit, she leaned over and blew smoke into his face. That was definitely weed, the good, smelly shit too. Those weren’t carrots in the garden after all. She grabbed hold of his hair and brought the pipe to his lips and he took a hit, immediately feeling it go right to his dick with no blood left in his head. He was swirling, probably would have fallen forward if it weren’t for the strong grip in his hair. “Good boy,” she chimed again, and Ember became less and less worried about his predicament, letting his anxiety float away with the smoke.

As she let go of his hair, she stuck the pipe in her mouth and walked back over to the stove, grabbing another cup of stew. He realized he was starving once again despite the fact he just had such a large helping. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was whatever was in the tea. He didn’t care right now. He just wanted to eat. And he did, as the witch hand fed him a second and then third cup before the ropes grew tight, digging into his skin. His belly was swollen, dick barely peeking out from under it, even fully erect. She was fattening him up.

As he yawned, fearing a food coma would steal away his consciousness for the second time today, she looked Ember dead in the eyes and said, “Oh you’re not done yet. You think you can just come to my house and steal my food? We’ll see about that.” She placed a plate of apple pie down on the hardwood floor in front of her feet. He was confused and looked up at her, only for her to walk over, maintaining a cold stare. She untied him from the chair and shoved him to the floor with a thud.

“Ow!”

“Poor thing,” she replied, completely unsympathetic. As he tried to get up, he found his hands and feet were still bound together. The pie laid a few feet in front of him, and he looked up at the witch for help. “Crawl, come and eat it like the dog you are.” And he did, wormed his way across the floor to the pie, realizing that she didn’t provide a fork, not like he could use it anyway, he supposed. She really did want him to eat like a dog. And he would, he would be her dog if she wanted. Looking up at her once more with uncertainty, she lifted her boot to press down on his head, “Eat, boy.”

He smashed his face right into the pie, smearing the filling all over his lips and chin. It was sugary sweet, soft and felt amazing in his mouth. He’d swear it was enchanted. The crust was buttery and crumbled easily, which made it impossible to eat. After a few bites, the pie was left a pile of mush. “Lick it up, doggy,” she said, still smoking from her pipe, eyes now hot on him, red and stoned. She walked behind him, reached under his hips and pulled him up to his knees and a puddle of precum gathered under him. “Fat dog,” she cooed, “your stomach already reaches the floor.” Did it? Was he getting filled that much? Whatever; the food was good anyway. As he licked up the remains of what was once a pie, devoured by hunger, the witch raised her boot once more to rest it on his back until he finished. That turned him on so much his balls started to ache. She brought him a second plate and did the exact same thing once more. He was definitely full now. As if she could sense it, she lowered her pipe for him again, and he was hungry all over again. Then she just gave him the rest of the pie, left in the dish there for him, and he went at it like a beast, as if he were as hungry as before he stumbled upon this gluttonous dream. Gnashing his teeth, he inhaled soft apples and cinnamon right down his throat, making godless noises as he did. Within a minute, the entire thing was gone, the dish licked clean and spotless. Fuck, he still wanted more. As tight as his stomach felt, as full as he was, he wanted, needed more. “Good boy,” she said again, bringing a hand down to run her fingers through his long hair. It was probably as messy as he was, sticky and matted together like a mangy dog. He raised his gaze to meet hers again and whined. “Oh, poor thing, you’re still hungry, aren’t you?” she asked sweetly. “Fat dog,” she said less sweetly, and he whined again. “Aw, the dog wants more pie, doesn’t he?” Ember dropped his head. Immediately she pulled it up and repeated, “Doesn’t he?” voice lowered and tinted with lust. She let go and walked over to the pantry, and oh god Ember nearly came from the sight alone. The pantry was stocked, looked endless, filled with candies and crackers, every kind there were. She bent down to the bottom shelf, and Ember caught a glimpse of her supple ass before she stood up once more. “Well, I don’t have the ingredients nor care to make you another pie. I suppose you’ll have to make your own.”

She walked towards him again, and Ember perked up, thinking she would unbind him and let him cook and eat as much as he desired. Instead, she moved the pie dish and rolled him over onto his back, and straddled him. Oh, he understood a bit better now. “Are you going to be a good boy for me- well, what is your name?” That surprised him. Perhaps she wasn’t so cold; in fact, he was willing to bet she was quite warm. That made his dick jerk up and rub against her ass. Wait, she had asked him a question.

“Ember.”

“Ember; that’s nice. Well, are you going to be a good dog for me, Ember?”

“Yes, yes - um, what is your name?” She slammed his head to the floor, grabbing his throat.

“You’ll call me m’am.”

“Ok.”

“Ok, what?”

“Ok, m’am. Yes, m’am.”

“Good boy, now are you going to make yourself a pie?” He whined at that, bucking up in desperate search of some kind of friction. All he got was rough cotton. Then, she pulled her dress up and red panties to the side. Ember could feel the heat radiate from it. “Now be a good boy and fuck me, ok?”

“Yes, m’am, “ was all he could get out before she sunk her warm, slick cunt down onto his throbbing cock. God, Satan, whoever, this was perfect. He didn’t realize how desperate he was until he let out a loud gasp at his entrance. She sat down, put all her weight on him for a minute until she raised herself up, dick nearly slipping out.

“Well, puppy, are you going to fuck me or what?” And that was all he needed to start writing on the floor, pushing up as hard he could for the position he was in. Still bound, he thrust in sloppily as the witch moaned, and it was beautiful, harmonic even. Perhaps she was a bard. Ember kept whining until she reached over to stuff candies in his mouth to shut him up. That didn’t help much. He was a vocal lover and a vocal eater. The sugar melted on his tongue and he nearly cried at the taste. Now the witch was bouncing up and down on his dick, throwing her head up in ecstasy. Thighs trembling, she worked her strong thighs up and down again, squeezing down on him. Ember was getting close, his balls got tight as her round ass slammed against them over and over again. His overfilled tummy filled with warmth that traveled lower into his groin. “Good puppy, cum for me, will you? Fill me up with your fat cock.” And that sent him over the edge. He thrust up one last time before she slammed them both to the floor as sparks went off in Ember’s brain. Warmth spreaded down his thighs, an incredulous amount. Feeling it fall down his thighs as she shook on top of him, he realized she’d squirted. Fuck, he was getting wet. Maybe she’d make him lick it up. Mind wandering, he barely processed how much he was fucking filling this bitch, wait, witch. Was this her plan all along? Foxy devil. Reverberations kept shooting through his body short circuiting for a whole minute after as he laid there, trying to catch his breath. The witch was petting his head; he was a good boy after all. He deserved it. “Good boy, good boy,” she repeated as he came down. As soon as he felt like he might just fall asleep right there, full to the brim, lying on the kitchen floor, the witch got up, walked back to the table and plopped herself up onto it. Her plump ass folded on the edge of the table, and her thick thighs parted to reveal a dark pink pussy dripping with cum. She used her fingers to toy with it, spread it around, shove some of it back in. God if he didn’t feel so heavy, he’d get up to take her there again. All he could do right now was stare. Looking back up at him, she asked, “Well are you going to finish your pie, sweet pup?” And fuck, he was still hungry.