#i LOVE her like i made a cashapp account to send her money
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Sneaky Link
Pairings: Porco x fem reader x sugar daddy!zeke
Summary: University reader becomes Zeke’s sugar baby after meeting each other at her work, which is a stripper, ofc. Eventually develops a relationship with Porco Galliard, of whom Zeke employs ;)
TW: alcohol usage, oral (m / f receiving), food (icing) play, mirror sex, phone sex
You needed some money during college, and tutoring stupid high schoolers wasn’t making the bills. Plus, you couldn’t put up with their slowness one second longer.
When Sasha took you out for a night at the strip club to relieve some stress, her joke that you could always make bank shaking your ass for old men actually sounded quite appealing. It was a lot more fun than tutoring, anyways.
Out of curiosity, you found yourself browsing the internet for openings at nearby nightclubs. Soon you were watching YouTube videos of strippers going through their daily routine, counting their tips, and describing their success in the industry. You were hooked.
You ask Hitch to take pole dancing lessons with you, and she doesn't suspect any of your true intentions, since this was on your bucket list of things to do together.
Soon you secured yourself a job at a local strip club. The first person you confided in was, unsurprisingly, Hitch. She was surprised you actually pursued being a stripper, but the shock didn't really last for long considering her knowledge of your freaky tendencies.
Hitch advised you to be careful, and she was particularly worried about how you would manage to fit this new job into your tight school schedule.
It was simple: you would take your classes, do your assignments, and report to your job at night. You’d work through the closing shift and get back to your shared apartment with Mikasa, Sasha, and Hitch sometime past 2am.
Zeke is a regular.
He gives you larger tips than any of the other girls.
He even pays for private sessions, which consist of you dancing for him mostly an hour at a time.
Eventually you two fuck it out in a booth of the club.
He asks if you'd like to “do this again sometime”. Naturally, you agreed. He exchanges phone numbers with you and asks for your cashapp.
Blushing because you didn't realize he intended on compensating you for your arrangement, you agree to give him your account number.
You and Zeke continue this for a couple months, growing more addicted to the orgasms he gives you every time.
You had two generous sources of income now.
You found out a lot about zeke: he owned a decently large company, fucked a lot of women before he met you, and he was even more freaky than yourself.
One day after a session with Zeke, you're sprawled out on the side of his bed, toying with the golden hair that trailed down his torso, and staring up at the ceiling, mind completely fucked out.
“I have a business event coming up soon,” Zeke states.
You hum in approval, not expecting zeke to continue on.
“It’s plus one.” He pauses, “I was wondering if you would like to join me.”
You turn your head to look at Zeke, almost asking him to repeat himself. Was this like a date thing?
Zeke turned to look at you too. His eyes glossed over at the sight of your surprised face and post-sex hair floating around the crown of your head. He smirked, visualizing the way he had made that sex hair. Gripping your h/c locks and pulling your head back, pounding into you from behind.
Your lips were swollen from being stretched around his thick cock, making him cum round after round. Now they were parted, unsure as what to make of his question.
Zeke repeated himself, “Are you free next Saturday?”
“Y-yes. I’m free.” You said, “I would love to go to your work thing with you.” A smile graced your lips. He fucking loved that smile. Loved seeing it bloom on your face when your eyes rolled to the back of your head, begging to take more of his cock.
“Alright,” he grabbed for his phone, pulling up the information from his calendar. Your phone dinged, no doubt zeke sending you over the event details. “It’s formal attire. Do you need to buy something to wear?” He glanced up lovingly from the screen at you for a mere second. “Fuck it, never mind that.” His eyes reconcentrated back onto the phone. Your phone dinged again, the familiar melody of the cashapp notification filling your ears.
“Let’s take you shopping, princess.” His legs swung over the side of the bed. A back completely full of endless scratches faced you while he stretched those long arms of his. His back muscles rippled as he did so, the sight making your stomach flutter with butterflies.
“Wait!” You say desperately and propping yourself up on the bed. You didn't intend on opening your mouth, but now you had to commit to it.
Zeke side glanced at you, acknowledging your pathetic request.
“Let me suck you off one more time,” you said. You added, “before we go.” A husky chuckle escaped from zeke’s throat. “Such a slut for me.” “What a good girl, knowing just the way to make me hard.”
Porco and you meet each other at the business event, it’s an instant click. He’s employed by Zeke. Soon you're exchanging numbers with him.
These business parties became more frequent with Zeke. And every time, Porco was there. You two would sneak off to help yourself to drinks while Zeke was bombarded with potential buyers inquiring about his product.
Porco makes you laugh so much. Honestly, it’s probably the alcohol, but every joke he cracked earned a cute giggle from you. It only made him harder for you than he already was.
“I could go a lot longer than him, you know.” He whispers in your ear.
Sooner than later you’re texting Zeke that the alcohol was killing your stomach, and you just had to get out of there right away.
Porco didn’t wait to stick his strong hands in your pants when you tumbled into the taxi.
“Gonna take you away from that old man’s dick, yeah baby? Give you this big cock like you deserve?”
You make it back to his large apartment, practically humping his clothed leg on the elevator ride.
By the time you’re inside his place, your panties are soaked and the black lace Zeke bought you is falling from your shoulders.
Porco throws you on the bed, not leaving you any time to remove your heels.
He climbs over you and just starts completely obliterating you with open mouthed kisses across your collarbone.
You don't fail to notice the mirror above Porco’s large bed, seeing the way he straddles over your small body.
Porco sits up from his position on the end of the bed and grabs for your ankles, yanking you closer to him. Just as he hums into your folds, a buzzing emerges from your purse in the middle of the living room.
“Shit,” you say, recognizing the pattern as Zeke’s contact. “It’s Zeke,” you groan.
“Answer the phone, pretty girl.” Porco says with a devilish smirk.
“Wha-?!” Your face fills with terror.
“I said answer the phone.” Porco grows stricter in tone.
“O-ok” your hands shake as you make your way across the floor to where your purse was.” As you accept the call, Porco motions you back to the bed.
You nod, doing as he says.
“Hey princess,” Zeke says with a smile on the end of the phone.
“Hi,” you say shakily. Porco gives you a menacing look.
“Not feeling good?” Zeke refers to your text.
You let out a shy “Nuh-uh” in response.
“I’m sorry baby,” Zeke says, “I can pick you up so you can spend the night with me in case you feel any worse.”
“No!-“ You say startled, “I mean, no, my girlfriends have me all bundled up back at my apartment.”
Silence from Zeke.
“Oh, well, that’s too bad.” He adds, “I wanted to make you feel a little better than they could tonight.”
You look at Porco, a little intimidated by his intense stare on you. He can hear Zeke’s toying with you from the other end of the phone. He nods, urging you to play along.
You giggle softly, a bad attempt at sounding sicker than usual.
“Really? How so?” Porco slides down the edge of the bed, focused on your legs.
Zeke clears his throat, obviously getting off at the anticipation of phone sex.
Some shuffling is heard on the other end of the phone before Zeke says, “You know, maybe cook you some food. That layered strawberry cake you like yeah?”
You hum in satisfaction, but quickly noticed how your approval angered Porco.
He aggressively pushes your legs apart, eyeing your wetness.
“Use that icing on you.” Zeke says, “Make you filthy when I run it over that pretty body of yours. I’d fucking lick it off you because you taste so good.”
Porco starts to kitten lick between your folds, earning a whimper from you.
You imagine Zeke piping the vanilla icing onto your torso as he pushes himself into you, smearing it across your breasts and stomach with his rough hands.
The pressure between your legs rises as the licks grow longer and rougher across your clit. Porco suckles on that bundle of nerves, and you can’t help but cry out a moan.
The sounds from Zeke’s side of the phone indicate he’s jerking off vigorously at this point. “Say my name, kitten.”
You look wildly down at Porco, who stops his motions to shake his head at you. No way he’d let you moan another man’s name on his own bed.
“Daddy,,” you drawl out. You earn approval from Porco, who resumes lapping at your pussy.
Porco taps your thigh, indicating to you that it was time to hang up on Zeke, who hadn’t cum yet.
“Oh gosh, Zeke baby” you start, “One of the girls is coming in i have to go-“
“Wait, y/n-“ but you didn't let him finish. You sigh with relief knowing you can fully indulge in Porco now. He grips your thighs roughly, leaving bruises to be discovered tomorrow.
“What’s Zeke doing now, huh?” “Pumping his weak cock thinking about this tight little pussy of yours?” “I wonder what he’d think if he knew your pussy was taking my tongue so well right now. Acting like such a whore for somebody else.”
Porco pulls himself off of your sweaty body, panting and licking up your wetness.
His eyes are dead set on you, and you felt small under his glare. His hands grab under your arms, quickly flipping your positions. “Bounce on me for it,” he growls.
You nod eagerly, situating yourself above him. Your face reddens as you align your entrance up to him, nervous about his judgement.
Porco softens, noticing your hesitance, “It’s okay baby girl,” His warm hands caress the side of your cheek, thumb grazing your plump lips, “You’re doing really good,” Porco looks earnestly up at you, flashing you a soft grin. You press into his hold on you, strands of hair covering your forehead that tangled around Porco’s fingers.
You finally push yourself down on Porco’s length, his large girth stretching you full. Porco moans at the new feeling, and you can’t help but whimper at the burning pleasure. Your hands roam around Porco’s strong torso, feeling down his thick abs and rubbing circles into his sides. A low groan emits from his chest, and you admire his expressions from above.
You begin moving along his hard length, his tip hitting just the right spot each time. Keeping a slow pace, you tease Porco a little longer, but he’s quick to bark at you to go faster. You let out a playful giggle, “Okay, you’re the boss.” “Doing so good putting Zeke in his place, hm?”
Porco groans at your words, and you swore he was growing larger inside of you at the thought of demoting his Zeke.
Your movements quicken and Porco continues to let out strings of curses.
“Yeah ride my cock baby, just like that. Just like you do for Zeke.”
The thought of another man puts butterflies in your stomach, and you feel yourself falter.
Porco doesn’t miss a beat, however. He quickly thrusts up into you, earning a gasp from your mouth. His hands fly to your sides, balancing you while he does all the work. You whimper at his rapid pace, nearing your climax.
“Porco,” you moan, “I-ah, g’nna cum.”
“Ok, baby,” he says in between thrusts, “Cum then.”
That was all you needed to hear before spilling your release over Porco.
He continued to milk you out, eventually finishing not too long after. He lets you fall on top of his frame, palms rubbing circles into your and easing you from your high.
“Good job, y/n.” You lift your head up to look at Porco’s face. He smiles back at you tenderly. “Alright let’s clean you up.”
He settles you on the bed next to his side and slides off the bed to grab a clean towel from the linen closet and discard the condom in the trash. You watch his muscle-y body move across the apartment floors, his clear focus on grabbing the right things for you.
He comes back with an iced water and starts cleaning up your thighs.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you smile, “I can do it myself.”
He looks up at you, eyebrows screwed up in confusion, “What? No, I’m doing it.” He continues his work at cleaning you off.
“..oh, ok.” You say shyly, butterflies in your stomach from his actions.
“Does he not do this for you?” Porco asks, not looking up from fixing up the sheets below you.
You replied slowly, “No, not really.”
Porco sighed, “He’s such a selfish dick.”
You laugh at Porco’s attitude. But now that you think about it, Zeke was always thinking about himself. The thought passed as soon as it came, and you did consider the fact that he was paying you.
Porco nestled himself on the side of you after he was done, grunting a little from his tired state. His big arms hugged around your smaller body as he pulled you in close.
“Porco?” You called.
“Hm?”
“Thank you,” you muffled into his chest.
Porco blushed at your comment, but simply toughed it over and patted your ruffled hair, “Mhm”.
A few pings were heard from your cell phone as you drifted into sleep, no doubt from Zeke, and each time Porco pulled you in tighter. A smile curled crept onto your lips, “It’s not like I’m gonna leave, Pokko,” you giggled.
“Good,” he said, “I wasn’t planning on letting you anyways.”
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Rayanna
Man, this is a sad one, guys, but it isn’t about a passenger. I was driving 2 days ago, and I saw a woman in a Sam’s Club parking lot crumbled in a ball, crying, holding a sign over her head that read “Mom in ICU, need to get to her”. I thought it was sad, but I had passengers to drop off at a nearby business so I mentally wished her well and went on to my destination, all the while thinking about what I would do if my mother were in the ICU far away from me. I dropped off my passengers and sat for a moment, turning off the ability to be matched with a new rider, then I rode over to talk to her. I didn’t have much, but I thought perhaps if she had a PayPal or a CashApp my friends could pitch in and we could help her. I drove back and parked and I told her that I couldn’t get her out of my head and that if she had one of those apps, I could send her a little bit. Not enough to get her to Georgia, but some. And I cashed out what was in my Uber account and sent it to her. And that is when she absolutely broke. Her Mom went in needing a triple bypass, but she coded and when they shocked her, it blew a hole in her heart. They had been giving her blood, but to me it sounded very grim. And all I wanted was to help her get there to hold her Mom’s hand if the worst came. I got her info and shared it to Facebook and started to wish her well when she mentioned how hard it was not to kill herself. I pleaded with her not to do that and told her she was important and she told me that she was homeless and that she didn’t matter except to her Mom and that any self-respect she had left had gone out the window when she had to beg for money in a parking lot. I assured her that her existence mattered to me and that if it were my mom I would be standing there as well, and she asked me for a hug. I wrapped her as tightly as I could and gently rubbed her back to comfort her and when we finally let go, she whispered “I feel human right now”. It reminded me a lot of the time I held a friend who had been through unspeakable trauma for the first time in her life, and it made me remember that she died the next day, but I shook it off. Before I drove away, I gave her my number and told her to call me by yesterday if she didn’t find a ride and I would figure it out (she had one of those free government smartphones, so I at least knew she could call if needed). I never heard from her, so I don’t know if her mom passed or if she made it to Macon and I regret not taking her with my whole heart. The moral of the story isn’t “drive every random person you find in a parking lot to another state”, but it is to listen to your heart. I am so worried about this woman, and now with the storm set to come ashore exactly where she lives, I am worried about her doubly so. Be kind to people, you guys. Even the homeless. You don’t know what people are going through, and they aren’t always going to be holding up a sign. Everyone is human and everyone is deserving of love. Please, make sure you act like it.
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Hi guys. A few days ago I made this post. I have a not-so-awesome update.
Ashley (my sister, pictured above with Muttley) called me. She woke up this morning and Muttley's face was swollen, he was walking weird, and he would barely eat. My mom gave her $50 and I had sent her $10 that someone had sent for Muttley (thank you!) with the knowledge that there is an additional $20 in my Venmo I just need to pull out.
Muttley needs additional blood work, x-rays, and a lymph node analysis of some sort. That's an additional $300 - $600 dollars. He's also anemic because he hasn't been eating, so hell probably need iron shots and supplements, and Ashley honestly wants to give him a big-ass steak tomorrow, heh.
There are two potential diagnoses. Lyme Disease or another tick-borne illness... Or lymphoma. We're actually praying for Lyme Disease.
You can still send money to me via the above means: PayPal, CashApp, Venmo, and if you have a BlueBird Amex or a Serve Amex, you can send money to [email protected] with the message "For Muttley." Please let me know if you're sending money for Muttley, or for Ashley, or for me.
But I've coordinated with Lone Mountain (and they really are something. I love them. They all adore our pets and take the best care of them) and you can call them directly with a credit or debit card if you want to contribute! Their phone number is 1 (775) 883-3136. All you have to say is that you want to contribute (amount) to Muttley Dean's account and they'll take care of it.
If you can't phone, that's fine, and you can still send me the money to hand over to them or Ashley.
Mom and Ashley are also in desperate need of gas for cars and any cash/gift cards, so if you have a gift card or a gas card with something left on it you'd like to contribute, please PM me for a mailing address.
Thank you so much for reading. Muttley is Ashley's companion and, I honestly believe, part of the reason she's still alive today. He and Madison often band together to cheer her up and make her feel loved. (Madison is devastated as well.) I'd really like to give him a fighting chance. He's only five.
Please signal boost.
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Hell Hath No Skepticism Like A Black Woman Impoverished
Originally published on July 1, 2019.
“Home” is a contentious concept for me to think through. That’s mainly because it’s always been nothing more than a concept to me. I wish this was just my post-grad angst speaking, but hell hath no skepticism like a Black woman impoverished.
Somewhere buried deep in that skepticism is sorrow BUT also present is my resilience. I think. Or maybe the resilience is a thin wax layer over what’s actually just a lot of pain. Either way, I can’t see it right now. I can’t access that little “keep going” tank and I’m a little unsure as of what to do. Consider this a small, wordy scavenger hunt. I’m just trying to find the spiritual blocks and clear them.
Within the last eight years, I’ve had the privilege of getting full scholarships for both of the private schools I’ve attended. And as much as they’ve both tried to fuck me up, I wouldn’t trade the housing stability I had access to over this time period for anything. These institutions, in that sense, gave me access to uncanny conceptualizations of “home” – close, but off in a way that does not let you sleep at night. Unless you, like one of my old housemates, are an avid NyQuil drinker. (Someone please help that man.)
When I wasn’t boarding at schools, I was coming home to a new location around every two breaks. Frequent moves became the norm after losing our first NJ residence, due to my late father’s gambling addiction. My mom would send me the new address of a family friend or a friend of a friend who was offering short-term accommodations, and eventually those of my brothers’. I had little to no reason to complain; how many people did I know who had no family and no friends to go to for help? That would offer up their floors to an older, unemployed woman and her anxious but nosey daughter? Very little. It’s what kept me safe from “absolute poverty,” as the scholars call it. And so no matter how moldy the basements, no matter how cruel our hosts may have grown, I kept my mouth shut. I don’t regret my choice to do so.
The schools were paradise, in this sense. A terrible roommate in my freshman year of high school meant nothing to me. It was a gift to have kinder roommates/housemates for the rest of my high school and college career. And to have a dining hall that was open all the time? To eventually have a meal plan that gave me the opportunity to have meals literally every single day? Fucking wild. I used to think it was kind of funny when financially stable kids tried to pass as being poor… Like, bitch…Ain’t you dizzy? I would be enjoying the SHIT out of EVERYTHING if I were them. But now I’m kinda just ready to receive CashApp payments from them. They soiled all of these moments.
Not a digression. I want my money.
There is very little in my short lifetime that I can say I did all by myself. My bravado knows I can only claim so much. My mom’s resilience has kept us indoors for so long. And I know it takes a toll on her pride. On her body. On her everything, I’m sure. It’s why I’ve let her comments about the money I’ve made and wasted throughout my college career, among other things, roll off of me. Some nights, though, are harder than others. My body tenses up and I picture myself giving breath to my honest thoughts, about me carrying myself through my education; securing scholarship and grants on my own; committing to my own literacy and mobility while simultaneously being my father’s caretaker; about me just wanting a break. They are all truths, and they are all truths that I should flesh out. But I’m trying to let these truths be used as stepping stones instead of weapons.
Fuck. That’s it. We’ve arrived.
What do I have to gain/lose if I begin to use these truths as motivations? How can I release the tension that builds up in me, every day that I am waking up and falling asleep to varying levels of hostility from everyone in this household? The hostility that I’m certain only has to do with me 10% of the time? How can I put forth that I don’t fuck with the energy that is around me, without making things more complicated than they already are?
What the fuck is balance, and can I get her fucking number?
It’s hard to explain any of this fully to friends I’ve made at these schools. A lot of them -regardless of race, and fully regarding their parents’ pockets – know financial stability as a given within their lives. That’s kind of what happens when you attend schools like these. I’ve tried to explain, but they take my words to mean being “broke.” And they take me denying their requests to hang out as denial of their friendship. But that’s not it. And it’s especially weird when they try to relate (“Oh yeah, my parents are, like, really annoying, too…” or “Yeah, I’m, like, so broke. I need to ask my dad for…”) And so I’ve taken to directing the energy to my own hustle and bank account.
My “home” situation is arguably the best that it’s ever been. There’s food, there’s hot water, and there’s my nephew. It’s impossible to move through this apartment without feeling the tension that comes from the people actually paying rent wanting me out. They, like me, probably thought my B.A. meant never seeing me again after graduation. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think the same. But still. It has what I need to start stacking this freelancing coin. And I know the people “providing” are talking badly about me, but it’s not to my face and so I carry on. I’m still located close enough to the people I need to be by right now.
The people outside of these walls, the people who have loved me consistently throughout all of these changes, who are close enough to hold me when necessary? They’ve taught me that “home” is a very fluid notion in the context of this life I live.
And to be able to experience this, this kind of joy, and this kind of “home”? That’s proof to me that there’s some kind of higher power rooting for me. Or maybe it’s that resilience, burrowing its way through.
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