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mygiantesslove · 6 years

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Mother & Son: Underfoot by Azra

Chapter 11

Debra turned around and popped her little son back into her butt. Squeezing him between her cheeks she briefly registered him opening his mouth to let her ass-flesh in, as she had taught him to do so many times before, as the sound of his moaning became more and more faint until finally, with Phil wedged in the deepest, softest part of her ass, she could barely hear him. As she pulled up her panties it lessened still more and by the time she had squeezed into her custom-fitted Armani pants, there were only the exquisite vibrations of his screaming traveling the short distance from his mouth up her sensitive little anus.

Absent-mindedly she began squeezing him as she packed her case and finished dressing for the day. Again and again, he was reminded that his mother's ass owned him and that was where he belonged. She meanwhile was simply having breakfast - sliced oranges, fresh juice, light cereal and french toast. It was wonderful, and she could already feel her son lapping away at her buttcrack, trying to pry some form off sustenance from the hardened excrement in there. Her crotch tingled as she bit into a delicious slice of fresh orange, there was nothing to compare to having molded her son to voluntarily worship her own ass.

Finally, when she was done Mrs. Metzger plucked her car keys up off the dresser and bent down to pick up her attache case. Her she paused, with her buttocks fully expanded and pressed against her tight Armani pants.

"Now, pay attention sweetie, because your role is very important. Today, mommy needs you to help her make a good impression on our new clients. To do that, I want you to push your little head between my buttocks and up into my asshole, so that when you hear mommy's bowels rumbling you can start taking good deep breaths and absorb all the gas that builds up before it squeaks out past your face. I'd feel much more in control if I knew only you have to smell my farts. Oh, and do remember to do as I say, sweetie, because I know you can hear me because of my voice vibrating down into you through my flesh when I trap you between my big, meaty cheeks. Otherwise, mommy will have to punish you accordingly." Debra said, proceeding to clench her cheeks to show she meant business.

It was a short elevator ride from her penthouse to the underground parking complex but she used it to run a short mental checklist; clothes, phone, keys, files, son in butt, breakfast, check - ah! She had to check with Eve about her appointments for the day.

It was a chilly day so Debra made full use of her luxury Ranger Rover's heated seats, which to be honest always made her rump quite sweaty. It was a ten-minute drive to work down the main roads but she preferred to go hard down the side-streets. She turned hard into the driveway to her company's underground lot. She had quietly admitted to herself that while it was most rewarding to have her son voluntarily worship her ass, occasionally squishing him out of his wits between her cheeks had its own charming appeal.

The elevator was free. It was always free when it was your elevator. The door pinged as she reached her ground-level lobby and a pleasant female voice intoned

"Welcome to Bottom-Heavy Industries, where a Large Ass is the Seat of Happiness!"

She was quite proud of that one. She waved over to Barbara at the front desk as she strolled, past, wiggling her behind outrageously as the receptionist giggled. Being one of her confidantes, Barbara was well aware of Phil's plight between his mother's massive buttocks. Striding past the art-deco mosaic on the wall she paused briefly to admire it. Debra loved art-deco. That's why she'd chosen the style to remodel her new corporate headquarters. It was so indicative of a better time when everything and everyone was who and where they were meant to be. She'd also chosen the style for her corporate logo, which at first glance looked like a tesseract globe with the body of a man holding it up on his shoulders, but upon closer inspection it became obvious it was an enormous female bottom squashing a tiny male body, with his head just about to pop in between the crack. Officially she had dubbed it Volumnia and Coriolanus, but everyone in the company knew that it was modeled off of Debra squishing her son in her ass. It was a point of pride among the members of her all-female staff. Apparently the model and original print were on display in her private office.

The staff elevator took her the rest of the way to the top floor, given over entirely to her own executive office and a luxurious lobby which featured flowing water and a brace of Reubensque masterpieces. She stopped in to see Eve on the way into her office. Her little boy Adam was there. She asked him if he was helping his mommy with her secretary work. He said he was, like a good boy, but that he couldn't take her full weight for more than a minute without screaming. Nevermind honey, his mom said, mommy enjoyed that part too.

The doors to her office were always a treat. Debra pushed her cheeks around the handle, clenched, and twisted and the door slid open. She took extra care to shuffle around the office in her tight pants. Her large buttocks swelled and jiggled as she opened the expensive oaken shades to her top-floor suite, and bounced lightly as she dropped her attache case on her fine granite desk. She plopped happily down in her executive leather chair, and with the tap of an unseen button, the specially engineered chair delivered a welcomed massage to her back, thighs, and butt. Eyes closed in contentment, she reached out and plucked up the first memo awaiting her attention from the desk. Meeting: 8.15 - Jocasta Productions; Mdme Harukawa. She leaned back, the chair creaking slightly under her weight. It wasn't unusual for media outlets to seek the employment of Bottom Heavy Industries, she herself had modeled from AssDom Magazine with a fully-grown Phil as her sub but never had an entire television production company sought their attention before. She sipped thoughtfully from the coffee her secretary helpfully perched near her elbow. This could be fun.

"Mrs. Metzger? Madame Harukawa is here to see you."

It was 8.14. The woman had a sense of timing. "Thank you, Eve, send her in."

A few seconds later her black oak double doors opened and in sauntered Madame Harukawa, an Asian Reubenesque delight buxom in chest, belly, and bottom, decorated in a figure-hugging fashion that showed off every inch of her prodigious curves. She was smaller than Debra herself and slightly less toned, but when she flashed that smile and batted those eyes you would suddenly forget all of that.

Madame Harukawa looked around President Metzger's office. She thought she was obviously a very successful woman. The Venus Callipyge was the center of attention, occupying a grand, well-lit space behind the woman's desk, enclosed in what was surely alarmed glass and covered with cameras. Opposite it, just beside the doorway out of the room was a piece she didn't recognize, assumedly of Mrs. Metzger's own creation. In it, a buxom, plump, bottom-heavy woman, buck-naked, was standing triumphantly, arms outstretched in victory with a crown newly pressed on her head as a small, reedy man knelt behind her with his face buried in her buxom rump, his arms wrapped around her hips tightly with a tiny, wretched-looking crown almost falling off his head. Both members were fully aroused. She bent over to examine the title on the dais: Volumnia Defeats Coriolanus in Triumph. The mother of a Shakespearean story here looked shockingly like the head of the company she had come to visit. Madame Harukawa smiled. She believed she understood.

She walked over in front of Debra's desk and bowed curtly and politely. "Harukawa Nami." She smiled. Debra returned the bow. "Debra Metzger. Pleased to meet you Madame Harukawa, to what do I owe the grace of your visit?"

By 9am Debra and Nami were chatting away like old friends. Jocasta Productions, the television production company that Madame Harukawa represented, was a leader in the booming femdom television market and looking to expand into the country. They were working in a public-participation reality game show and were interested in Mrs. Metzger as a leading figure in the industry, and of course, her son too. They would participate in the game show and Bottom-Heavy Industries would get some free national face-time and the option of prime sponsorship. Debra was flattered and very keen on getting a deal done. Phil just kept trying to breathe. Debra felt rumbling in her bowels and then her little buttplug began squirming desperately. Debra tried not to smile too obviously. Her son was doing wonderful work.

"Well then," Madame Harukawa spoke in clipped English, "can you take him out please?"

Thank God I didn't wear him as a thong today, Debra thought. Phil hit the table with a light thud. "He'll be disorientated for a bit. There's little air in my butt and having my full weight on him takes it out of him, not to mention being constantly squeezed by my cheeks." After Madame Harukawa had a chance to inspect him, and he had recovered for a few minutes Debra carefully plucked her son off the table and dropped him into her high-heeled shoe. "There, now have fun with mommy's foot sweetie, and don't be afraid to jack off in there." She said, clamping his head in place with her big and middle toe and squishing him until his body went rigid. "Now, what were we saying?" She inquired of her guest.

After a while, their conversation began to talk about the mysterious concoction that Debra had been using all these years. "It is truly a remarkable and unique tonic." Nami intoned. "The ability to shrink a man and regrow him to natural size, it's well known that's what you based your company's great success on, but we are amazed it hasn't become more widespread in usage."

"Mmm." Debra nodded. "It's a complicated little mixture that's taken us years to patent, to be honest, I was amazed when the mail order nonsense I ordered worked, but once I found out it did I put every waking hour into having our company take theirs over brick by brick. As it turns out it was just some small collection of college girls with a particular gift for this particular branch of genetics. No business acumen, but keen to work. The potion is a wonder in itself - aside from the ability to shrink and grow her son, it seems to help a mother retain her beauty and sexual luster. I'm not getting any younger of course, but I have noticed my morning jogs getting easier over the years, a few wrinkles straightening out, my boobs and butt staying firm and round, that sort of thing, while at the same time keeping the son smaller and reedier. That part is still something of a mystery to us, but it seems to have something to do with the process of the mother dominating her son acting as a catalyst, rather than simply the potion acting on its own. Regardless essentially I give him the concoction and then fart in his face to shrink him, or give him the antidote and make him drink my foot sweat to grow him back to normal. The process only takes a couple of minutes, but the trigger is key and is an exclusive maternal bond - it has to be my fart being sniffed by my son, or the process will halt. The bond seems to be dormant in most mother-son relationships, and we've found no similar sequences available between brothers and sisters or mothers and daughters, or fathers at all, so it seems to be an exclusive genetic trait to allow mothers to dominate their son's lives." She smiled. "Looks like it was always meant to be that way."

She took a tiny water bottle out and pulled her foot out of her shoe, taking Phil with her. His head still trapped between her clenching toes she dropped a few mouthfuls of the potion into his mouth. "Come on Phil sweetie, drink up!" She encouraged him, setting him down and rubbing the sweaty sole of her foot over his face, encouraging him to lick and swallow her foot sweat. Nami found herself getting wet at the site of the little boy willingly drinking his own mother's foot sweat, but that was nothing compared to what happened next.

Phil woke up. He found himself full-sized and naked in his mom's office, lying in front of her and an attractive if older and heavy-set Asian woman. She winked naughtily and blew him a kiss.

"Phil sweetie, Madame Harukawa and I want to use you for a little fun. Why don't you go over to our little love seat and lie down?" His mom ordered, patting him on the cheek with her bare foot.

"I - I guess so, mom." He replied. He tried to resist as he was in company, but in the end quickly turned and buried his face in his mom's sole, kissing it quickly. Both ladies got a chuckle out of that.

Phil walked over to the wooden and leather seating device his mom had made especially for them, and laid down on it. His mom invited her guest over and as both full-bodied businesswomen walked over Phil got a little nervous, and a little aroused. His mom as always took his face, squashing it under her immense ass, but now Madame Harukawa's large rump, not as big but just as solid, settled over his crotch and pressed down heavily. He was now being squashed by two enormous female bottoms at the same time. Both women faced each other, their enormous thighs straddling Phil in the cowgirl position, another indignity his mom enjoyed, waiting for the inevitable exquisite squirming and vibrations when he began to run out of air and couldn't take the strain or smell anymore. They did not have long to wait, and both women moaned as Phil's pained moans and thrashings brought them extravagant pleasure. Barely able to move through the pleasure, Debra insisted they both remain seated on her son after he lost consciousness, waiting for a little surprise - Phil's erections finally overflowed as he came a full thirty seconds after slipping into unconsciousness under his mother's smothering ass, sending both his squashers into mind-numbing orgasms. When Phil woke up he had been cleaned up and was chained behind his mom's desk, her standing just in front of him filling out some paperwork. He hesitantly kissed her bulbous buttocks to let her know he was awake.

"Mmm, such a good boy I've got." Mrs. Metzger purred, grabbing the back of Phil's head and rubbing it all over the back of her pants-covered rump, taking special care to run it up and down her crack. He moaned inwardly, but then snapped awake and pulled back like he was bitten.

"You do not want to worship your mother's ass? Why? It is so large and full, and your head alone is such a perfect fit!"

"Oh, he just goes through these phases every now and then." Debra tutted. "Talking about getting out and finding a job and friends and a girl and generally just slacking off his duties. He still sleeps in my buttcrack at the end of the day."

Madame Harukawa pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps further bonding experiences are required. Our show will certainly be able to accommodate you."

"Well, I've repeatedly considered having a priest marry us, so at last I can legally say my ass owns his face. I also think it'd give him a strong bond to cling to, it'd be good for him to support a wife, even if it is his mother's ass."

"Well, he seems to be supporting your ass very well as it is!" And they both laughed loudly, not really noticing Phil's member growing as they spoke.

"Indeed. Oftentimes I won't even bother with the big massage chair and I'll just chain him back behind my desk and sit on his face all day. There's nothing like having your son sniff your farts all day as you sit on his face, knowing he'd love to be between some girl's big knockers but instead is between his mom's heavy ass-cheeks." She giggled, and Madame Harukawa laughed too. "Sometimes I'll smother him with my big, heavy boobs to show him what he's missing. Sometimes I'll just wrap my big, thick thighs around his head and squeeze him so hard he passes out, and when he wakes up I'll have him massage my legs and tell me how good it feels while I do him again. Sometimes I'll wear him like a thong with his face buried up my ass and his little arms hugging my butt. Sometimes I'll stand on him and have him smell my feet for days." "Ah! Just now I see him reach for your feet with his hands! His feels his palms match your soles even though they smell and walk on him, he believes it his proper place! This is the bond between two people that can only come about by a mother dominating her son, molding him into her perfect sub for years." Phil tried not to hear anything, pushing his face deeper into his mom's buttocks and focusing on the sound of her bowels over his head. Debra just smirked, and slowly and meaningfully linked her toes with her darling son's fingers, resting her feet heavily on his hands. Phil held them tightly, focusing on their soft, smelly texture. He pulled his face out of its buttcleft-home unsuredly.

"But I was thinking maybe I don't have to just worship your ass and your feet mom. Maybe I could go out and do my own thing from time to time - see movies, maybe find work or meet new people. I - I promise I wouldn't cheat on your ass or anything. I just want some friends ..."

"But your head is so good for this!" She said, and sat Mrs. Metzger back onto her son's face, watching it slowly consume it. "See? Not a shred of your head left to the outside world! And look how perfectly your face fits into her butt-crack, Romeo and Juliet could not have fitted better together! Your face fits into the cleft of her ass like poetry! I have never been so moved! Truly, it is destiny that your mother's ass and your face belong together!"

"Ooh!" Mrs. Metzger sat back heavily on her son, smothering him out. "Oh, now there's poetry for you! Nami dear, let's get this contract settled tomorrow, I think we're both agreed it's a good idea."

Madame Harukawa rose happily from her seat and extended her hand. "Congratulations! Soon, the whole world will know that your son's face and your ass are meant to be! Millions will watch the perfect union of son's face and maternal ass!"

At the end of the day, President Metzger sauntered over to her main window, tired but happy, and pulled down her oaken shades once more. The mood lighting instantly activated and the room was bathed in a warming pale glow. Her attache case appeared in her hand as she shut her laptop down and locked her fancy office door. The walk to her car seemed shorter today - tomorrow was full of prospects; a brand new tv deal, greater exposure for the company and some personal face time for her and her son. She clicked the car door open from twenty feet and when she'd finally shut it behind her she was free to quietly pull her son from her butt-crack and drop him on the driver's seat. Pulling down her Armani pants and panties she pulled her left buttock open with one hand and started explosively farting on her little son. Exultant to finally get to release the gas she'd pent up in her bowels all day Debra didn't even take the time to sit on her little boy but kept her asshole a quarter inch from his face as she blew kiss after smelly kiss onto him. Though she wasn't physically touching him she smiled to see Phil twist and spasm as if in pain from her farts. She pinned his arms and legs with her buttocks and pressed her anus against his face. After five minutes of the smell, he began gibbering madly. Smelling nothing but his own mother's methane for a whole day straight had obviously had an impact on the little boy and he was now seeing asses everywhere. His mom decided to give him a real one as she plopped her ass back down on top of him and started the long journey home.

When Phil awoke he was in the massage chair on his own. He was in their rec room on the large full-massage leather, and he felt quite recovered from his bad trip earlier. He would have to thank his mom for being so nice as to give him such luxurious time to recover and, he sniffed, cleaning and bathing him. His mom appeared then, dressed in her light pink bathrobe, her hair soaking wet and wrapped in a towel, a pitcher of mojito in each hand. Turning around, she put each drink down on either side of the massage chair and casually flipped up the seat of her robes, exposing her gargantuan, round buttocks. She didn't even need to crook a finger before Phil had bounced over and jumped into the crack of her ass. Plopping down into the chair where just seconds ago her son was, Debra, spread out and began talking to him as he lay locked in her ass, the vibrations of his body helping the massage chair reach places it normally couldn't. "Big news today sweetie. We put a massive deal through with a television company, it's going to mean a lot more business and exposure for the company. Big time rewards for both of us! We're going to be on TV together, doing what we do best: me sitting on your face as you kiss my ass! You'll have another important job; the most important thing in the world for you until that show is your nose staying up my ass all the time and sniffing as much as you can! Not that it isn't normal." She giggled. "I'm treating myself to a nice, relaxing evening in front of the big screen." She cooed, pulling a lemony drink to her lips and flicking on the enormous flat screen tv remote. Jocasta Productions had sent one of their creations, Oedipus of the East, over free of charge, and she intended to get a look at it. It turned out to be an erotic east-Asian retelling of the Oedipus myth, where a full-bodied, amazonian bbw Jocasta had dominated her scrawny child-prince until he was forced away from the royal castle. Years later when they were married they rediscovered their maternal relationship by how familiar the new king's face felt in between his mother's enormous buttocks. Debra quite liked it - both the affirmative, dominating role of the mother in the story and the new ending where rather than putting out his eyes Oedipus's face is sealed into his mother's ass by the goddess Aphrodite, who found the whole situation very amusing and blessed the happy, son-smothering queen's reign for many years.

"And my reward?" Phil queried through a mouthful of maternal butt.

"You're getting it." She smirked.

She kept him there for the rest of the evening until the vibrations from the chair eventually forced his whole head up into her anus at a particularly romantic point of the movie and almost made her pass out in pleasure.

By the time Phil had recovered from this onslaught, he'd been fully grown again, and found his mother waiting in front of him, facing away. Told it was time for bed, Phil dutifully pressed his face into his mother's bottom and followed her to their master bedroom, where she would attach a leather thong around her hips and his face, wedging it in there tightly. Her onion booty closed around his head again, a mother trapping her son's face in her ass once again. A clap of her hands and all the lights of the room faded as the skylight opened, showcasing a beautiful starry night. No moon though, Debra thought. Well, except for Phil of course. He's got two of them right in his face.

#giantess #g/t #g/t writing #butt crush

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drdiandralp · 4 years

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The Car of Tomorrow was not a Failure

Many NASCAR fans see the NextGen racecar as wiping away the last vestiges of the much-reviled Car of Tomorrow. But the CoT was far from a failure. You can bet your life -- or your favorite drivers's life -- on that.

B. C.(oT)

In the early 2000's, NASCAR was facing the same Big Three problems that face all of motorsports.

While they still face these challenges today, the situation was much more dire back then. They'd lost four drivers (Adam Petty, Kenny Irwin, Jr., Tony Roper and Dale Earnhardt) within a space of a year.A number of marquee drivers had retiredThey had a new broadcasting partnerThe series changed from lots of one- and two-car teams to fewer teams, each with four (or more) cars.Rules (e.g. a common roof line, a penalty for changing engines) were implements to keep teams from spending themselves out of existence. The series lost their sponsor of 33 years.Teams spent thousands of dollars in aerodynamics wars. They made make tiny tweaks to a car body to get a tiny edge. Remember the Twisted Sister? The car that prompted some to say it looked like it had been in an accident before it'd even gotten on the track?

The Car of Tomorrow, Yesterday

NASCAR wanted the Car of Tomorrow to satisfy all three issues: cost, safety and competition. Like most experiments, some results were better than expected, some were as expected and some were disappointing. NASCAR fans' dislike of change is legendary. When the CoT arrived on March 25th, 2007, people were predisposed to dislike it.

The most visible changes were a wing instead of a spoiler and a splitter instead of an air dam. The body shape was standardized, with minor modifications in the noses. The only way a casual fan could tell which manufacturer's car was which was to read the decal. Kyle Busch won the first CoT race, but he wasn't big on it, either. I’m still not a big fan of these things. I can’t stand to drive them, they suck.”Kyle Busch, after winning the first COT race.

Aerodynamics and Handling

The CoT was designed to help drivers maneuver better in traffic and to enable cars to pass each other -- a problem NASCAR is still dealing with in the NextGen car). The Body With limited skew allowed in the body, the CoT looked more like a production car than the twisted sister did; however, it didn't look like one of the sexier, sportier cars that has always been the model for racing. Manufacturers, unhappy with the lack of differentiation between makes, convinced NASCAR to specialize the Gen 6 car. Tony Stewart called it 'The Flying Brick' because it was big and boxy. Ideally, a team wouldn't need different cars for different tracks. However, teams quickly found areas they could exploit for different tracks, so they didn't end up making many fewer cars. The CoT was the first move toward having all teams adhere to a universal standard. The grey area decreased, but all teams understood the expectations. The Center of Gravity The CoT's center of gravity was much higher. That means more load transfer, poorer handling and more force on the right-side tires. The Wing There were concerns about the wing giving cars the propensity to go airborne at high speeds and high yaw angles. After trying different side-plate sizes and positions, NASCAR went back to a spoiler. The Splitter The splitter is a versatile, easily adjustable aerodynamic piece that provides front downforce. This piece enables NASCAR to do things like quickly develop a new short-track package. The initial design had braces that required a pit crew member to stick their hand between when cleaning the grille. A badly-timed pit exit could rip off someone's hand. I was glad when they changed the design. Tegris When NASCAR decided to use a splitter for the Car of Tomorrow, they had to decide what to make it out of. They needed something strong, durable, not super-expensive, and that wouldn't make a mess on track in an accident. They started with wood (not strong enough), looked at carbon fiber (too splintery and way too expensive), and ended up testing hundreds of materials. The winner was Tegris, a lightweight, stiff, durable polymer composite from Milliken & Company. They weave a polymer fiber into sheets (like carbon fiber) and then heat it under pressure to form a composite. The photo on the left, below, shows the material before and after consolidation. The finished composite has a woven pattern because it starts out as fabric. You can buy Tegris with plain, twill or herringbone weaves now. It's paintable, and you can get it in four colors: silver, coyote, tan and natural.

Tegris is almost as strong as carbon fiber, but at a significantly reduced price. The splitter has evolved over the years, but it is still made of Tegris.

Safety

It's sometimes hard to appreciate how innovative and successful the CoT was. Much like with social distancing, when something works perfectly, nothing happens. That there have been no deaths in NASCAR's top three series since 2001 is a direct result of the CoT. It's also a testament to the ingenuity and dedication of the people in the NASCAR R&D Center. The Chassis The CoT marked the first time NASCAR sent an AutoCad file to every team and said 'this is how you will build your chassis'. The design incorporated everything NASCAR had learned about safety from how welds should be made to where the driver sits.

Some of the under-appreciated elements of the CoT: The driver's seat moved away from the door, toward the center of the car.The drive shaft (a long, heavy piece of metal) was enclosed in a protective sleeve. This keeps it from becoming a projectile in an accidentThe greenhouse (the top area of the cockpit) became larger. The drivers had more room and easier egress in case of emergency.A reinforced greenhouse protected the driver in case of a rollover. Five bars on the driver's side door provided extra protection against T-bone hits. NASCAR's engineers made some modifications in response to specific accidents, like Kyle Busch breaking his leg at Daytona and Brad Keselowski fracturing his ankle during testing at Watkins Glen. But the CoT chassis remains remarkably robust, which is why it is the basis of the Gen-6 and the NextGen racecar. Impaxx Foam The CoT added even more protection against driver-door impacts by adding a foam made by Dow called IMPAXX. That's the blue stuff you see when a crash peels sheet metal off the door.

While IMPAXX is a foam, it's not squishy like, say, a foam pillow. It's rigid, like Styrofoam, but it's much stronger, while remaining lightweight. Styrofoam has to stand up to your USPS, UPS and FedEx delivery people. IMPAXX has to stand up to a 190-mph race car. Impaxx squishes when impacted. That squishing (which is really just the breaking of atomic-bonds) requires energy -- lots of energy. The basis of safety is that energy dissipated in the car doesn't reach the driver.

IMPAXX comes in different densities for different applications. It's now also used as roll-bar padding. In passenger vehicles, it's found in the headliner and also protects against side and lower-leg impacts. It's easy to shape and can be fabricated in panels that, like the door application, fit right into place on the chassis. Tegris (Again) The word 'Tegris' comes from the Latin 'You are Protected'. While Tegris came into NASCAR as the ideal splitter material, this material has many uses. Milliken promotes Tegris for any application requiring impact resistance, stiffness and light weight, which includes bullet-resistant materials, kayaks and suitcases. NASCAR put a slab of Tegris in the driver's side door to prevent cockpit intrusions. So in addition to giving the driver front downforce, this super material also gives him peace of mind.

A Completely Successful Experiment is a Bad Experiment

People like to compare anything new to 'putting a man on the moon', but there's a difference: We knew how to put men on the moon. The steps were hard, but we knew what they were. No motorsports sanctioning body has solved the passing problem or achieved the perfect balance of safety, competition and cost. The CoT was a bold step forward. Not everything worked, but you can't make incremental changes when you only design a new car every five or ten years. Part of drivers' hostility toward the car may have reflected how NASCAR operated, rather than the car itself. NASCAR is now more of a partner with teams, rather than a dictatorial body that demands everyone toe the line (or be fined). Very few things in the world are all good or all bad. I'm not sure why people feel they must take sides: You love something (or someone) or you absolutely despise it. That's not realistic, nor is it healthy. It'll be the same when we finally see the NextGen car on track. It would be great if it was perfect, but it probably won't be. Some elements will work better than expected, and some elements will disappoint. But it will be a step ahead, and that's all you can ask. I don't care how ugly someone might say a race car is. They all look pretty standing in Victory Lane.David Reutimann, via Ryan McGee Read the full article

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therealseanwstewart · 7 years

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Julie, SWEET Julie

SWEET little Julie always knew that she was such a nosy little scamp; she would constantly run down the stairs after breaking the locks on her room door exclusively to bother and nag her superior, the maidlady, about what it takes to be a woman, and how a girl would evolve to be as lovely and beautiful as possible in the eyes of men (and other women!). The maidlady was such a snark, she would often respond to Julie’s inquiries with the usual answers in the face of such questions like “Well dear, <giggle>, you would just need to be obedient, be polite, study your homework, be SWEET, listen to your superior: GO TO BED WHEN YOU’RE TOLD TO!! And remember: What goes inside, must always come out!!” Maidlady would then hand Julie a glass of warm milk and send her little butt right off back to bed. And so Julie did just that. In fact, Julie did a little TOO MUCH of just that! Julie lied down in her sheets, face planted in her pillow. She made herself dream of such wondrous things! Because, for a girl to end up being so dreamy, wouldn’t she also have to stir up some sweet things within her own dreams? It was about dead ‘til 1, and she was just sound asleep. And even so, Julie could feel the very shadow of a strange entity hovering above her body. Still dreaming she could not move an inch, and if she WERE awake, she’d be far too scared to turn around and see this strange creature; the thing made no noise as it laid its hand upon her back. It threw off her blanket and laid its fingers around her neck. Julie felt the sting, so much that it startled her awake. She felt all over herself in search of the sensation she was feeling, eyes darting across the dark room, tears in her eyes, in search of the weirdo that just laid its hand upon her. But it was too late. It vanished as soon as she had finished dreaming. Julie scratched her head, and slowly went back down, continuing to bury her face within her pillow once again...but her impeding, burning feeling that was overtaking her body just would not go away, and she could not sleep a wink, but cry between her lashes.

The sun rose next morning to Julie’s staggering over to her bathroom mirror...she lifted up her dress and pulled down her knickers to pee, and what did she see?! There were...HAIR down there where there weren’t any before! How incredibly...WEIRD. Julie just was so stranged out, that she had instantly lost the capacity in her gut to take a wee, as if somehow her bladder was no longer so wee...

Breakfast time. What was on the menu? A plate of French toast...and then some. It seems as though Julie were in the mood for...SWEET things, as the maidlady would soon notice as what seemed suddenly...off, as far as behavior of Julie goes...Maidlady turned to ask Julie at the table as Julie still stuffed her face, as to why Julie suddenly had such strange, unhealthy cravings. “Now, now, you’re going to spoil your dinner! Why, your lunch, your dinner, AND your dessert!!” Julie eyed her in the face for a second or two, and then went back to scarfing down the cupcakes. Maidlady continued, “Are you listening to me? Stop eating that trash!! You stupid rebellious girl, sugar makes ladies fat and ugly! Do YOU want to end up being fat and ugly??” Julie paused very briefly...and then fixed her gaze upon the maidlady’s chest...nodded to herself, then finally returned to her long, stuffy meal. Maidlady could only run off and roll her eyes in disbelief and disgust. Now for the donuts! Oh, how Julie’s poor clean, proper dress became covered in white powdered sugar!! Julie giggled as she imagined herself becoming like a sugar-coated donut, as a result of eating too many of them!

A few weeks of this same routine passed...But Julie still thought long and hard about that being that came to transform her that one fateful night...She had asked the maidlady the very night prior, about her...tingling sensation, as the few weeks before, she had barely the amount of courage to bring herself to finally do so, and the maidlady at last after a long sigh, responded, “This happens to every girl, Dearest. It happened to me when I was but a tiny girl...but in my case, sadly, I confess...it wasn’t natural...” Maidlady suddenly trailed off into mumbling as Julie could tell for the very first time that something was...off about her...the maidlady could only turn away shortly afterward, and run off into the ladies’ room, saying that she has something in her eye...Julie could only look on as the sound of her high heels clacking on the floor faded into the hallway...

Julie had just felt a burning sensation on her chest area now, so one morning, she lifted up her nightgown...and whaddaya know! Two tiny lumps were developing there, staring at her! Perhaps the SWEET sugar that Julie has been intaking, is transforming her into a beautiful young woman after all! ...But Julie had been torn on this for a while...After all, didn’t the maidlady tell her that eating too many SWEET things could make her grow up to be “fat and ugly”???! No...Julie proposed to herself that perhaps that was all just bluffing. Besides, she always sees the maidlady’s super-flat chest. And from what Julie’s learned about male society from TV and movies, men don’t really like flat chests, do they? (The maidlady never got married.)

So Julie kept stuffing herself with sweets for months to come. Maidlady kept warning her. But Julie did not listen. ...One day, Julie even chugged down a whole pitcher’s worth of syrup! Yummy for the tummy (And other soft frontal areas)! Julie awakened many more months later, more eager than last time to undress and see her feminine bodily developments. Julie now at last had a bit of a belly going on, and her chest and backside were much rounder and fluffier than they’ve ever been before when she was younger. Julie found much joy in playing with her newfound bloated flesh, in fact.

...Suddenly, Julie had a bit a rude, and strange, awakening; ants were invading her bed, biting at her hands and feet! A whole colony of them, it seemed wanted in on the action, as if Julie were suddenly some really SWEET-smelling snack or something!? Julie screeched, waking up the maidlady and pretty much the entire neighborhood, as she jumped up in pain, and fueled by rage and disgust, thrashed her pillow upon the vermin to try to squish them, or scare the rest off.

The maidlady called it an unforseen infestation; she called the exterminators to have their home sprayed, as Julie and the maidlady drove down the countryside to have a picnic together by the park, to get their minds off of the nasty situation, and to have some quality time together, enjoying the fresh outdoors for once, and, of course, getting a SWEET bite to eat. Outside on a nice, grassy hill in the shade of a lone tree, Maidlady was unpacking the rations from her picnic basket, as Julie sat down, and tried her best to look strong and unfazed by the nasty experience with the ants, despite actually still being a little disturbed, trying not to shiver in disgust in front of the maidlady. Despite the maidlady’s best efforts to try to deter Julie away from the nasty sugary sweets, Julie still strongly insisted on gobbling up the sweets: cupcakes, twinkies, donuts, candy and all. All while staring at the maidlady’s pitiful chest. Poor thing, Julie always thought. At this point, Julie had begun to notice that, despite being less than a quarter the maidlady’s age, the size of her features had already begun to surpass that of the maidlady! And it was all thanks to the sweets. And “puberty”. That’s right, Julie continued to think to herself, she’ll remember that night when the Great Invisible Puberty Fairy had come to pay her a visit! Oh, what a blessing that was! Julie will grow up to be the most gorgeous woman who ever lived! Julie’s day-dreaming fantasies of being a model are short-lived, however, as the maidlady suddenly speaks to her, almost sounding to be in genuine shock at something: “Julie”, she yelled, pointing at the girl in surprise, “You’re covered in ants again!!”

Julie jumped up and wiped off all the bugs from her dress yet again, as the ants just seem to have a thing for the poor girl nowadays! Her and the maidlady are now standing, just as they are about to run away, they look at the ground and notice seemingly an entire army of the rascals scurrying around in a single-file line surrounding their picnic area! ...Perhaps they unknowingly sat by a field of anthills? Julie scratched all over, as the maidlady grabbed her and they ran off together, got into the car to return to their newly-sprayed home, and hopefully to put some ice on all those itchy, burning ant bites all over poor Julie’s skin...

...Now back in their clean, man-made home, the maidlady takes Julie into her restroom with a fresh bag of ice and some special ointments to hopefully soften the burn of those swollen bites. She undresses the miserable, aching, weeping Julie to see even more ant bites in some rather uncomfortable places...The maidlady scolded Julie, realizing that perhaps it was due to all the sugary SWEETs that Julie had eaten during that picnic that her body had become the sole target for the sugar-hungry insects. Julie can only pretend to nod in fake agreement, as she still stubbornly stands by her own belief that continuing to eat sugar will help her to develop a quality body. ...Maybe being bitten by ants is just something that she’ll have to endure for the rest of her life? As a trade-off for being beautiful, Julie always knew that becoming a beautiful person must come with some discipline, after all. The maidlady’s skinny chest and posterior are still her antithesis to this.

Whilst gently applying the ice and lotions to Julie’s hurties, the maidlady could only see something, stop suddenly, and make a face so contorted and disturbed that even Julie could look at her and notice something was definitely the matter with her, and ask her what is wrong. The maidlady could only freak out, whip out her phone to call the hospital and start shouting at them to come here to pick Julie up as a patient, as, in the maidlady’s words, Julie has developed an unusual “startling skin condition”. Julie, confused and startled, looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. What she saw on her thighs was every bit as strange, supernatural, and shocking to her, as it was for the maidlady: Her skin was becoming coated with white flakes of sugar! Freaked out, she tried scratching at it, and it would not come off. It’s almost as if her flesh was regenerating powdered sugar from the inside-out, as no matter how much she would scratch at it, the sugar would just fall off onto the floor, or fill her fingernails and stain her fingers. After a few minutes of waiting for the ambulance to come, Julie eventually proposed to the maidlady that maybe she should try licking or biting it off of Julie. The maidlady quickly rejected the idea, as she thought it “gross, creepy, and inappropriate”. It took Julie a while to agree, and she even became rather creeped out and disgusted with herself to even have such a fantasy...Although, she WAS caught in the middle of puberty...

Just a few seconds later, some ambulance workers busted through the front door to grab Julie and take her and the maidlady to the hospital. The maidlady was there next to Julie, lying on a stretcher like a freak, to soothe her and tell her that everything is going to be okay...as long as Julie doesn’t eat. Any. More. SWEETs!! In the emergency room, the doctors and nurses could only look on, baffled, and utterly stupefied. They called doctors, scientists, and even bakers from all across the country to have a look at Julie and examine her surreal condition. Why, Julie was on TV! She was all over the news!! This excited Julie. She WAS doing the right thing after all!! Julie IS beautiful enough to be on television, as only beautiful people are allowed to star on the telly, right?!? Further analyses of Julie only brought up the following prognosis from even the most legendary of surgeons and scientists: “Patient is female, age 12, and British. Her skin condition is largely abnormal, is scientifically unexplored, sugar-based, and utterly delicious. Come on in and we’ll let you lick her for 8 shillings!! This girl is going to make us filthy rich! ...Wait, did I just say that on-camera?”

Things only went downhill for Julie herself, however, as her sugar-coated flesh condition only worsened over time. All those SWEET donuts they gave her did not help. One morning a nurse walked into Julie’s ER, and screamed at the sight of her, practically covered in sugary lumps, and starting to look like a giant Sour Patch Kid. The poor little scared nurse could only run screaming down the halls to alert the whole staff to Julie’s attention, and thus they decided that too much sugar isn’t exactly a good thing for a hospital full of sick people, so they decided to let the maidlady take Julie home. Julie could just barely walk in her new form. It was quite freaky and saddening to watch from the maidlady’s point of view. But Julie, on the other hand? She has become fully convinced that she is the most lovely-looking human being ever, and she now demands more candy from the maidlady’s already-suffering wallet’s expense! The maidlady absolutely refuses now. She has at last put her foot down. But that does not stop Julie. Julie was big now. Big enough to angrily run up to the maidlady, tackle her against the wall, and force her to go the candy store to pick up some more SWEETs for Julie to stuff her face with by threatening to crush her beneath all of her SWEET, sugary weight!! The maidlady, now with her very life threatened, has no choice but to follow orders, running out the door, tears in her eyes, as Julie has now transformed into a giant, gluttonous, selfish abomination of SWEET sugary goodness, and nothing is going to get in her way of eating even more SWEETs until she becomes even more monstrous. What is the poor maidlady to do?!

Giant, mean, hungry sugar addict Julie stuffs her face as the maidlady could only look on and question her own life choices. And also whether or not this is all just some kind of strange, sick sugar-induced dream on her end. Sadly, it is not. The maidlady has desperately pinched herself on the cheek in vain. Multiple times. All she can do now is drink liquor.

Julie is now a blob of SWEET. Pure, unadulterated SWEET. Why, as the maidlady who is now her very own maidlady to bring her all the SWEETs in the world, who is there to stop Julie? The British army?! Ha!! Their weapons are completely ineffective on Julie. Don’t even ask. They’ve already tried. The soldiers just gave up and hung up their weapons in embarrassment. Julie is invincible. Even the maidlady, now at last at the edge of insanity from being treated as a slave by Julie, has asked the Queen if there were any possible way to kill Julie and end her reign of terror. Heaven forbid the Americans found out about this! They would all laugh their bums off at us!!

~~~To Be Continued...

#Story #Funny #Sweet #Candy #Donuts #Sugar #Puberty #Surreal #fa #Frosting #Julie

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dreamsunderconfinement · 4 years

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Bulletin 2: Hands

These are explicit references to hands found in the dream document.

I know if can concentrate and keep my hands on the brakes I will be safe.

The mayor said the sulphate kills the bacteria but Orban had a secret plan to seal us in the baths. There was a potent smell of sulphate and more steam than I had ever seen before. C and K were beside me. We held hands under the water.

Afterwards I was walking around a little in a loose robe and put my one hand between my legs to feel my vagina which was completely numb and swollen to my touch. There was blood on my hand when I looked at it afterwards. I remember thinking: I should see a doctor at some point.

crawling on my hands and knees thru a classroom of poets.

I reached out for the breadknife which was O’s hand and spoke into her palm in Ukrainian. And her palm whispered to me a very detailed and hilarious plan about how to depart with the next boat.

When I look again at the piece of soap in my hands, it has been broken up into two symmetrical halves, but not by me. This realization is accompanied by a feeling of relief.

My face in the lacework, a hand behind my neck. And my last sensation, the best. I’m on my knees on a velvet sofa, I feel a woman’s foot slips between my thighs, against my pussy and between the cheeks of my ass, and the toe of this foot presses a few times on my anus.

Holding a balloon that must've been twenty feet high. I thought it was the only balloon at the party. But I saw others. The balloon was striped like the flying balloons. I knew my balloon was holding air only due to my holding it closed. It wasn't tied. At one point my hand came loose and half the air came out. I was then holding a balloon only four or five feet high. That's when I think I noticed the other balloons, which were about the same size, now, as my smaller balloon.

I'm in a large and untidy bookshop. The owner's hands are covered in oil from working on an anglepoise lamp (restoring it for some kind of DIY TV show). There are loads of remaindered copies of The Anatomy of Melancholy and of Bacon's Essays.

I reach into the tank and it happily crawls into my hand. It nestles down as I wrap my fingers around its body and when I bring it to my face it rubs its cheek against mine and smiles.

I don’t have the right equipment. I say I will strip the cream coloured, flaking walls with a nail file - though what I have in my hands is a file that you would use to file through the bars of a prison.

The time machine itself is an assemblage of mostly curved fragments made up of a metal alloy, smaller and bigger ones, all intricate and deformed - now solid after having been molten? I am nevertheless sure that they form a fully functional unity while I hold them in the palms of my hands and inspect them, standing on a round square with a panoply of trees shedding their green leaves.

We were nervous about how people would react to her as a member of the Trump family but her beauty was blinding. In my dream I woke up to find a pen to write these keywords on my hand but I knew my writing hand wasn’t working at all in order to write the words down but I tried anyway to do some chicken scratch on my nonwriting hand but there was simultaneously a very bad case of pins n needles preventing me from doing this.

Behind me, someone I do not know, a woman with blonde hair, has her hands on my shoulders, and she seems amused by this and everything else that occurs. She has the kind of overfamiliarity characteristic of many people, which prevents us from having any number of preliminary or introductory conversations. I can’t tell if I like her or not.

they are bullying a small girl, playing this game with her hand where they hit it very hard. they might decapitate the hand, im not sure

Finally I grabbed its tail and pulled out what appeared to be a rat. It jumped out of my hands, scuttled around the bathroom floor, in the shower and jumped on my legs.

The path becomes steep. Soon I am crawling on my hands and knees and the path becomes almost vertical. …They are in a narrow box made out of white cloth. I can see their feet. There must be at least three of them. The box has holes at different heights through which they put their hands. The box stumbles around. It must be hard to coordinate their movements. I hear high-pitched nasal chanting (a sermon?). Occasionally, one of the hands, which pokes out of the box, rings a bell.

I feel guilty, anxious, and relieved at the same time, smiling back at them, gesturing animatedly with my hands, trying to keep our pseudo-chatter going… I feel abandoned, but continue to sort through the cartridges that are in the palm of one of my hands.

I stand up and am swept into a crowd of young people in suits who circulate the building in a slow traffic jam. I have a number in my hand, a blond woman says follow me we’re going to the same place but I keep losing her. I’m looking for G32, but start chatting to the people I’m squished against and keep missing it. It occurs to me that we shouldn’t be in such close proximity because of COVID19. I say this and the people around me nod. Eventually people filter out. I am really late. I follow a man as he runs out of the building to an adjoining building site. There is a huge quarry and two men on a tiny dangling platform suspended by a crane. The man I’m with reaches out to them to receive a slip of paper that tells him where to go. I reach out too but they just touch my hand and say Go four floors down.

The man claps in his hands twice, and I think the horse might accelerate but he lowers his front legs to let me off.

It was an evening of chaos and I was desperate due to the economic crisis. I knew we wouldn’t be able to keep our doors open for much longer and this would be our last show . I was running around telling people to put their masks on and not touch the items and I would be able to assist them if they pointed at the objects. One by one people in a line were coming into the store hesitant but reaching for objects and then stopping themselves and looking at them. “ Don’t touch”, I would scream! “please point, hands in pockets” as I described the textured 1970’s studio ceramic and corrugated cardboard chairs, I felt the space had become a chaotic auction. I announced the gallery would have to be closed and this would be our last exhibition, with tears rolling down there was no way to save the gallery. There I was in the gallery running around installing the last show and Louise Bourgeois handed me a painting. It felt unreal but she insisted, the unwrapped painting sat on my lap as we looked for each wall to place it . I was hesitant to take it, but she insisted. Masks on our faces and gloves on our hands , six feet apart there we were me and LB, we hung the painting and sat on the bench, I was smiling but she would never know, it was the end of the show.

We do not talk, she smiles, S. opens the exercise book without saying much, I see my hand-writing which, however, is not my handwriting. I have left all the left pages of it empty, perhaps expecting that S. will write down answers on them, comments – suddenly they are filled with his handwriting (?).

I am unable to tell whether what I hold in my hands is the book, its representation as a box containing a powder puff, or the book review in the form of a powder puff, or that the book was about a powder puff…I’m eating, a school trip comes in and a young boy kisses me on my mouth and eye. He is Raphael, the first boy I ever kissed. Oh no! I say, reprimanding him but you have just touched my eyelash and my mouth with your wet mouth I have to wash my hands now, etc etc. He is dewy and beautiful, but way too young - maybe 14. He is very gêné, so am I. It is painful, awkward and intimate.

I think my hangnail on my pinkie woke me up - it’s very painful. In any case that or my allergies (pollen). I woke up and sneezed 18 times in a row.]

It’s the kind of moment in which even to raise a hand following a gust of wind is a superfluous act.

Suddenly there is a woman from an ice cream parlour on the pavement, offering me the scoop of ice-cream she is holding in her hand. I like the flavours (but cannot remember what they were) and pay for the ice cream with the exact amount in small coins.

#hands #covid19 #washyourhands #dreamsunderconfinement #dreamdiarygang #coviddreams #dreaming #collectiveunconscious #confinement #quarantine #socialdistancing

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