Post by Bruce Cheeks on Nov 30, 2022 0:48:59 GMT -5
Addy A
It’s late. Bruce is on the prowl. His head hangs out the driver’s window of his septic truck. His nostrils are flared. Bruce’s eyes are shut...he’s trying to pick up a scent.
The septic truck swerves all over a two lane, hole riddled road. It bounces around, sewage from inside the tank spills out with each bump, staining the ground.
Bruce continues to smell. His eyes shoot open.
“ASSSSSSSS,” he groans. His eyes turn toward a street corner where a hooker is shaking her ass in the cool, November breeze. Bruce has found himself some late night delight.
His dick hardens, sporting a massive boner. It shoots through his pants, destroying the velcro holding everything together. It smacks the radio, turning the music on super loud.
Loud rap music.
The bass is wicked.
Bruce’s truck vibrates as it pulls up to the hooker.
She hears the music and sees the septic truck trembling to the rap music.
“Aww yea, baby!” she yells, throwing up some signs with her hands, bouncing up and down to the music.
Bruce tries to turn the channel, he ain’t much for that hip hop stuff. But his dick is so hard it’s stuck up under the dial, keeping it in place.
“Play that shit, honey!” the hooker yells.
“AY!” an angry voice yells from the darkness.
The leader of the CRIPS steps out from the shadows. Yep, Bruce’s nose has led him straight into the ghetto.
“Who’s blastin that shit?!!” the leader yells, sporting his gang’s signature blue.
Bruce tries to respond but his dick is still stuck under the dial. His septic truck continues to rumble, sewage spilling out of the top.
The hooker turns around and twerks her ass at Bruce. This isn’t really helping matters as his dick continues to rage.
“You hear me, boy?” the CRIPS leader threatens.
“YO!” a voice from the opposite end of the street calls out. The leader of the BLOOD gang steps out with his crew. They’re all clad in their signature red.
Suddenly, it’s on. A gang war about to break out.
The hooker hustles out of sight, her heels clanging against the cement sidewalk. The CRIPS and the BLOODS come face to face.
With the scent of ASS fading, Bruce’s dick shrinks. He’s able to turn the music off.
The silence breaks the tension. The two rival gangs turn toward Bruce as he steps out of his septic truck.
“Gentlemen,” he calls out.
They stare.
“There’s no need for violence. Not tonight.”
Bruce gets in the middle of the gangs.
“My brothers from other mothers. Let’s make love, not war. Let’s all just get along as the good book intended and by the good book I, of course, am referencing The Biography of Ron Jeremy.”
The leader of the CRIPS steps up and grabs Bruce by the beard. Bruce looks down at him, apprehensive. He rips out a squeaker of a fart.
“Say,” the CRIPS leader begins, taking a whiff, “ain’t you BRUCE CHEEKS?”
“That’s me.”
The BLOOD leader steps up, spinning Bruce around. “No shit...this is BRUCE CHEEKS!”
Bruce seems nonplussed, “Uh, yea, that’s my name…” he pauses and points directly at the BLOOD leader, “don’t wear it out!”
“Aww shit, you’re the fuckin man!” the BLOOD leader shouts.
“BOYYYYZZZ, we got BRUCE FUCKIN CHEEKS up in our hood tonight!” the CRIPS leader proclaims.
The gang members go wild, firing their weapons into the air. “BRUCE! BRUCE! BRUCE!” they chant.
And on that tenuous November evening, BRUCE CHEEKS united both BLOOD and CRIPS. A red and blue mixture creating a purple party.
They raged inside a local warehouse. Music playing. Alcohol flowing.
“YO B-CHEEKS!” the BLOOD leader throws his arm around BRUCE. “I heard you took a likin to Adderal. We call her Addy for short.”
“Her ass did smell mighty fine,” Bruce leans in, pinching and twisting the BLOOD leader’s nipple. He laughs and slaps Bruce on the back.
“Well, here she is...on the house!”
Bruce licks his lips. Addy shakes her ass...he gets a whiff. That scent. His boner explodes through his pants.
“Gert derm, he’s hung like a fuckin stallion!” the CRIPS leader screams. “TO B-CHEEKS!” he throws up a toast. Everybody drinks.
“Give me some tequila,” Bruce demands. A bottle of Patron is handed to Bruce.
“How do you take it?” Addy asks, eager to make him a drink.
Cheeks motions for her to turn around. She does. He takes the bottle from her. “Bottoms up, babe.”
Addy the hooker bends over. Bruce lifts her skirt , getting a good view of her ass. “Ohhhh myyyy,” he groans. The strong scent of hooker ASS hits his nostrils causing him to nearly explode.
But Bruce is a man of discipline. So, he holds it together. He needs his drink of Patron.
“Alright, it’s time for a shot of tequila...Bottoms Up Style!” Bruce rips her ass cheeks open and he sticks the top of the bottle into her asshole. What’s left of the bottle pours into her ass.
He yanks the bottle out. We hear a loud ‘plop’ as it’s unplugged from her ass. Addy remains bent over.
“Alright, let er rip, girl!”
Addy winces and farts as hard as she can. A giant stream of tequila explodes from her ass, through the air into Bruce’s open mouth.
“Ahhhhh!!!!” Bruce yells, tongue out. The tequila lands in his mouth, on his face, and all over his beard.
“OHHHH SHIT!” the gang members yell out, bringing their fists to their mouths, impressed and thrown by what Bruce calls ‘The Bottoms Up Shot’.
“BRUCE! BRUCE! BRUCE!” they chant.
The hooker Addy continues to fart as less and less tequila shoots out. She’s about empty. Bruce approaches, spreading her butt cheeks...his eyes widen. The hair on his body stands on edge. He dives in...she farts, a browner bit of tequila hits him in the eye.
“ahaha, I love it,” he chuckles, diving face first into her hooker ass.
Addy A.
It’s late. Bruce is on the prowl. His head hangs out the driver’s window of his septic truck. His nostrils are flared. Bruce’s eyes are shut...he’s trying to pick up a scent.
The septic truck swerves all over a two lane, hole riddled road. It bounces around, sewage from inside the tank spills out with each bump, staining the ground.
Bruce continues to smell. His eyes shoot open.
“ASSSSSSSS,” he groans. His eyes turn toward a street corner where a hooker is shaking her ass in the cool, November breeze. Bruce has found himself some late night delight.
His dick hardens, sporting a massive boner. It shoots through his pants, destroying the velcro holding everything together. It smacks the radio, turning the music on super loud.
Loud rap music.
The bass is wicked.
Bruce’s truck vibrates as it pulls up to the hooker.
She hears the music and sees the septic truck trembling to the rap music.
“Aww yea, baby!” she yells, throwing up some signs with her hands, bouncing up and down to the music.
Bruce tries to turn the channel, he ain’t much for that hip hop stuff. But his dick is so hard it’s stuck up under the dial, keeping it in place.
“Play that shit, honey!” the hooker yells.
“AY!” an angry voice yells from the darkness.
The leader of the CRIPS steps out from the shadows. Yep, Bruce’s nose has led him straight into the ghetto.
“Who’s blastin that shit?!!” the leader yells, sporting his gang’s signature blue.
Bruce tries to respond but his dick is still stuck under the dial. His septic truck continues to rumble, sewage spilling out of the top.
The hooker turns around and twerks her ass at Bruce. This isn’t really helping matters as his dick continues to rage.
“You hear me, boy?” the CRIPS leader threatens.
“YO!” a voice from the opposite end of the street calls out. The leader of the BLOOD gang steps out with his crew. They’re all clad in their signature red.
Suddenly, it’s on. A gang war about to break out.
The hooker hustles out of sight, her heels clanging against the cement sidewalk. The CRIPS and the BLOODS come face to face.
With the scent of ASS fading, Bruce’s dick shrinks. He’s able to turn the music off.
The silence breaks the tension. The two rival gangs turn toward Bruce as he steps out of his septic truck.
“Gentlemen,” he calls out.
They stare.
“There’s no need for violence. Not tonight.”
Bruce gets in the middle of the gangs.
“My brothers from other mothers. Let’s make love, not war. Let’s all just get along as the good book intended and by the good book I, of course, am referencing The Biography of Ron Jeremy.”
The leader of the CRIPS steps up and grabs Bruce by the beard. Bruce looks down at him, apprehensive. He rips out a squeaker of a fart.
“Say,” the CRIPS leader begins, taking a whiff, “ain’t you BRUCE CHEEKS?”
“That’s me.”
The BLOOD leader steps up, spinning Bruce around. “No shit...this is BRUCE CHEEKS!”
Bruce seems nonplussed, “Uh, yea, that’s my name…” he pauses and points directly at the BLOOD leader, “don’t wear it out!”
“Aww shit, you’re the fuckin man!” the BLOOD leader shouts.
“BOYYYYZZZ, we got BRUCE FUCKIN CHEEKS up in our hood tonight!” the CRIPS leader proclaims.
The gang members go wild, firing their weapons into the air. “BRUCE! BRUCE! BRUCE!” they chant.
And on that tenuous November evening, BRUCE CHEEKS united both BLOOD and CRIPS. A red and blue mixture creating a purple party.
They raged inside a local warehouse. Music playing. Alcohol flowing.
“YO B-CHEEKS!” the BLOOD leader throws his arm around BRUCE. “I heard you took a likin to Adderal. We call her Addy for short.”
“Her ass did smell mighty fine,” Bruce leans in, pinching and twisting the BLOOD leader’s nipple. He laughs and slaps Bruce on the back.
“Well, here she is...on the house!”
Bruce licks his lips. Addy shakes her ass...he gets a whiff. That scent. His boner explodes through his pants.
“Gert derm, he’s hung like a fuckin stallion!” the CRIPS leader screams. “TO B-CHEEKS!” he throws up a toast. Everybody drinks.
“Give me some tequila,” Bruce demands. A bottle of Patron is handed to Bruce.
“How do you take it?” Addy asks, eager to make him a drink.
Cheeks motions for her to turn around. She does. He takes the bottle from her. “Bottoms up, babe.”
Addy the hooker bends over. Bruce lifts her skirt , getting a good view of her ass. “Ohhhh myyyy,” he groans. The strong scent of hooker ASS hits his nostrils causing him to nearly explode.
But Bruce is a man of discipline. So, he holds it together. He needs his drink of Patron.
“Alright, it’s time for a shot of tequila...Bottoms Up Style!” Bruce rips her ass cheeks open and he sticks the top of the bottle into her asshole. What’s left of the bottle pours into her ass.
He yanks the bottle out. We hear a loud ‘plop’ as it’s unplugged from her ass. Addy remains bent over.
“Alright, let er rip, girl!”
Addy winces and farts as hard as she can. A giant stream of tequila explodes from her ass, through the air into Bruce’s open mouth.
“Ahhhhh!!!!” Bruce yells, tongue out. The tequila lands in his mouth, on his face, and all over his beard.
“OHHHH SHIT!” the gang members yell out, bringing their fists to their mouths, impressed and thrown by what Bruce calls ‘The Bottoms Up Shot’.
“BRUCE! BRUCE! BRUCE!” they chant.
The hooker Addy continues to fart as less and less tequila shoots out. She’s about empty. Bruce approaches, spreading her butt cheeks...his eyes widen. The hair on his body stands on edge. He dives in...she farts, a browner bit of tequila hits him in the eye.
“ahaha, I love it,” he chuckles, diving face first into her hooker ass.
Addy A.
