Linkin Park Spam


The Hangover Spam + Friend Quote

“Happy Perthyday, sweety, wish you all the best!” –@Raeupchen

Happy Birthday From Ricky Martin

Ignore the last ten seconds. He sang for cancer but if you ignore it then HE’S SINGING TO YOU! 😀

Michael BublĂ© Spam + Friend Quote

“Well, Juli, happy birthday, have a nice day with the company of your familly, friends, girlfriend, you’re such a sweet girl, and I’m very happy for the fact you supported me when I most needed, and you’re such an amazing friend, and I love you to death, like seriously. I wish you all the gifts a fabulous woman like you deserve, and have a nice day! <3" –@IfAndrewWalker

Part Nine of Your Story

It was a black day, the kind of day that starts most tragic stories, but this isn’t a sob story. This is a love story.

Australia is quite possibly more beautiful than anyone could have ever told me. We got off the plane and it was the perfect fucking temperature–a breeze keeping my back from sweating too much, the sun behind a small wall of clouds, some clouds light and fluffy while others foretold storms ahead. Mike and I were going hiking, apparently, and going to a few museums, but mostly I figured we’d have a lot of “Down Under” sex (which is why I chose the nicest hotel possible).

I grabbed Mike’s hand on the taxi ride to the hotel and squeezed, smiling at him from behind our sunglasses. Surely not many people would recognize us, especially if I kept my Jewfro in a beanie. Mike liked it like that. He’s usually the one who has to fit it in there anyway.

The hotel suite we got was huge, almost the size of our house. Decorated nicely, clean towels, mini bar, and a huge bed which I asked to be firm for the weekend. Maybe it was a bummer that we had to be back in LA on Tuesday, but that was three days more than what we figured we’d get as a honeymoon.

I dropped our bags around the bed and sat down on it, watching Mike gush at all the little shampoo bottles–as if he’d never been in a hotel room before. We spent most of our adult lives in random, sometimes creepy, hotel rooms, bunking up with a sweaty bandmate and trying to get some sleep after we were still jacked up from the shows. But still, he commented on every single bottle of vodka and rum and wine and champagne and whatever the fuck else was in the mini bar until he finally, finally, sat down beside me on the bed.

“Hi,” he said with a grin, and I couldn’t help but smile back and kiss him softly. He hummed in the back of his throat and leaned back on the bed; I followed after him and smiled, pulling his lips between mine wetly.

“I have a challenge for you,” I mumbled against his neck, starting to unbutton his plaid shirt.

“Yeah?” He gasped a little as I bit his jaw, arching into my touch. “What kind of challenge?”

I nodded, finally discarding his shirt before removing my own. “I want to see if you can cum so, so hard,” I whispered into his ear as I started work on his pants, “without my touching your hard cock.” And with that I grabbed and squeezed it through his boxers.

“Not even- oh fuck.” He thrusted against my hand and I withdrew, saddling his knees. “Nothing touching it at all?”

I nodded and he grinned; he loved bets and I loved watching him cum.

I removed his pants and boxers, rotating his hips up, bending my knees so I was between them. “I’ll be right back,” I said, and went to my bag for the lube. When I turned back around, though, I saw him jerking himself off slowly, maintaining eye contact with me as if he was daring me to punish him.

“That’s it. Turn over and get on all fours,” I muttered harshly, a smile barely breaking through my voice. He complied and I slapped his ass. “We’re going to do this my way or no way at all. You hear me?”

He moaned and thrusted his hips back at me like a whore. “Yes, sir.” I slapped his ass again and he whimpered.

Impatient, I slathered on lube and thrusted in two fingers at once, moaning at his walls hugging me.

“Fuck! Fuuuuuuuuuck,” he drew out, rocking against my fingers. “Oh, oh…” I saw his hand sneak down his stomach and grabbed it before he could touch himself, holding both his hands at the small of his back.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep them there,” I said into his ass cheek, kissing it softly, and let go of his hands. I didn’t have to tell him twice.

Soon he was full on riding my three fingers, making delicious noises and begging me to touch more of him. After he threatened getting louder (which risked the neighbors hearing and possibly calling management–like fuck I was going to get interrupted) I complied and ran my hand around to his chest, toying with his nipple.

This elicited a long groan and a string of slurred words and curses and within two minutes he was cumming rather hard. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he kept saying and I pulled my fingers out to fist his dick just as the last few drops squirted and he screamed a little.

“Fuck,” he moaned and turned over. He looked quite delectable; bottom lip red and bleeding from biting it, a pleasure-wrinkle on his forehead, his eyes squeezed tight, his breath coming out in short pants, his cheeks a red color, and his hair sticking up in all sorts of places. I pitied him and leaned over, kissing him and thrusting into his thigh, unable to help myself.

“Yeah,” he said randomly, too high from the orgasm to make sense I figure, and squeezed my ass as I bucked against him shamelessly, sucking loudly on his neck. “Cum on me baby, let me feel it,” he mumbled and I did, so hard I was shaking, and collapsed onto him, my face crooked into his neck.

“I love you,” he said a while later, his fingers tracing pointless patterns on my back. I said it back and fell asleep on top of him.

For the three days we were there, we somehow got out of our hotel room for about ten hours altogether. Went random places, made out at a few bathrooms, maybe some blowjobs and handjobs in the corner of dark restaurants, but most of the time we were together, and alone, and didn’t worry as much as we usually do about the press. It was freeing, the anonymity, and we took advantage of it as much as possible.

We also took advantage of our spacious suite; I feel sorry for the maids who have to clean up all our cum from the walls and furniture and floor and shower and sink and counter, and even a bit on the ceiling. I tipped them on the way out, hoping that would make a difference.

Mike fucked me a total of eleven times that weekend, and I fucked him twenty-three, although we lost count so those numbers are just estimates. Either way, we spent a lot of our honeymoon moaning and cumming, sweaty and writhing into each other, and I’m not complaining in the slightest bit.

The last time, though, was nice. It was a few hours before we had to leave for the airport, and one of those rare times that he was fucking me while I had my fingers in him. He thrusted slowly into me, slower than normal, and kissed me like he meant it, like he wanted to make this last forever. Eventually, though, as he hit my spot and I hit his, our hips began to jerk harder and out of our control and we were tumbling, way too fast, down this hill and I arched hard into him, cumming against his stomach, and he came deep inside me, and instead of stopping we somehow managed to continue moving inside each other, his dick, my fingers.

I began to run out of breath so I had to pull away, in shock that my hips were still rocking slowly. “Fuck,” I mumbled and kissed him again and we finally stilled, still in each other, and made out for another half hour at least. We were only interrupted by our alarm clock going off, and he reached over and turned it off but upon doing so slipped out of me. I whimpered and he sat up on me again, pressing his fingers in instead. It wasn’t the same but it was something, and we stayed cuddled like that until we fell asleep.

Ashton Kutcher Spam

Part Eight of Your Story

It was a black day, the kind of day that starts most tragic stories, but this isn’t a sob story. This is a love story.

We got back to our apartment that night a little after one in the morning. The wedding reception hadn’t lasted that long obviously; we’d gone to Joe’s house to play Xbox and sit around, shooting the shit. You’d think as soon as we left the reception, we’d want to get home and fuck, but it was nice to be with our best friends and just hang out.

It didn’t really feel different–we lived together already, fucked already, knew everything about each other already. It was more like a reassurance, that yes, we were together and yes, we plan on being together for the rest of our lives.

So we got back to the apartment, our previous outfits in Walmart sacks because we were too lazy to change out of our tuxes–well, maybe I insisted that Mike continue wearing his as long as possible because the tailor did an amazing job on the pants. His ass looked absolutely delectable and I was planning on making good use of it tonight.

The day got to us, though; as soon as I dropped our clothes on the kitchen floor and wrapped my arms around Mike from behind him, I felt the stress and happiness and anxiety from the day fall on my shoulders and he had to carry me to bed, supporting my weight as I slouched onto him.

“Brad, you’re lucky you don’t weight a lot,” he grunted sleepily, slurring a little at all the champagne and beer. I grinned into his shoulder and finally he plopped us down on the bed, face planting into the mattress. I sighed and wrapped my arms around him, pressing closer, only a little bit realizing the position we were in and what was expected of us to do tonight.

I unbuttoned my stupid white shirt a little, just so it was open, and did the same to his, a little sloppier because I couldn’t see what I was doing. “Wanna fuck so bad,” I mumbled into the back of his neck, already rocking my hips into his.

He moaned and grabbed my ass, holding and squeezing it. “I’m too lazy to move.”

“I’ll do all the work,” I whispered in his ear, grinning as he shuddered. “Just going to thrust until I cum, yeah?” I sucked and kissed his neck, my arms around his middle, my hips jerking into his at an awkward pace.

“Yeah, yeah fuck me so hard.” I felt him thrust back and sit up a bit. I groaned and held his hand, hurriedly unbuttoning his pants to grasp his hard dick. We jerked him off together, my erection rubbing deliciously into his hard ass. I felt our rings bump together and smiled so wide my face hurt.

“First time fucking as a married couple and I’m going to cum in my pants,” I muttered between his shoulder blades, kissing there through the shirt.

“Why don’t we fix that?” he said and pushed back, pulling down his pants quickly. I sat up a bit, on my knees, and pulled my pants and boxers down too, just enough so my hard dick could touch his bare ass. This seemed to excite him too, because he groaned loudly and spread his legs. “Inside,” he whispered so quietly I barely caught it, and, trusting him, thrusted in with no lube or preparation. His scream was muffled because his face was planted in the comforter, and as soon as I heard it I pulled out and turned him over to see if he was okay.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so–” I started but realized he looked pissed. “What?”

“Fuck me goddamnit,” he grumbled and turned back over, arching his back so that his ass was in the air. Without a moment to spare I was inside him again, and my breath came in short gasps as I realized I was inside, really inside my husband, my fucking husband, and I fucked him hard and deep, unable to control my hips.

He was making a lot of noise for someone who was exhausted just a few minutes before, but then again so was I. I leaned my weight into him, pressing my face in his neck, and grasped his hand to jerk him off in time. Within a minute I was there, I was so close, and once I looked down at our rings that was it, the last straw, and I came hard enough in him that I couldn’t see anything. He groaned and arched up, cumming against our comforter and hands. I stroked him through it then cleaned my fingers, finally turning him around to kiss him properly.

The kiss lasted what seemed like forever, and I could barely hear “night, husband” before I passed out.

I was awoken to someone pulling my pants and boxers down; I barely opened my eyes enough to look down. It was still dark out, and the clock said 3:39, and Mike was between my legs, already licking at my hard cock. My head snapped back and I let my eyes shut, rocking into his warm mouth slowly. Maybe I was half-asleep, but it was still fucking amazing; Mike always gave the best blowjobs, even if I didn’t have a frame of reference. He licked in the right spots, his hand on the base and his other cupping my balls and pressing into that space down there until I saw stars. The best part, though, was watching him. He had this glow to his face, maybe sweat, maybe aggression, but he always looked so focused and into it, moaning. His hair always stood up in weird places, and he always rubbed his hips into the bed, or jerked himself off, like he couldn’t help himself.

Soon enough I was cumming hard down his throat, arching up off the bed enough to watch him swallow and pull off, licking his lips. He’d cum too, according to the way he wiped his hands on the already-dirty comforter, and I pulled him up to me to kiss him.

“Why were you awake?” I said as I pulled his bottom lip between mine.

“I woke up randomly and remembered today and wanted to give you a blowie,” he said, grinning, and I grinned back and wrapped my arms around him. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was thinking, Mike and I are married.

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