Scuttle Buttin's Superbly Brilliant Birthday Thread!!

Happy Birthday Daddy!

More surprises to come, more delights to behold, your girls did their plotting, and we hope you feel spoiled silly.

Happy birthday, Scuttles

Happy Birthday, Mr. Scuttles.

Happy Birthday

Well... well... Another year older... another year wiser... !!!



Happy Birthday!!!! Enjoy yourself... Enjoy someone else (of the female variety, or course)... and most importantly... HAVE A FUN DAY!!!!

From little ole Rain... a former ( ) .......

A present..

Enjoy.....

http://i1070.photobucket.com/albums/u487/RainandHeat/1-1.jpg

Happy Birthday, Scuttles!

Make a wish!

http://25.media.tumblr.com/37e3195c85e6485033a0bee686176252/tumblr_mn8mc9fshA1ruic7fo1_1280.jpg
(Hurry...hurry...please wish now!)

I really haven't known you for very long, but I've got to know you a bit, and we've had some good talks and some great fun. You're very, very good at what you do: terribly clever, wickedly intuitive, miserably patient! - and you're also a really nice guy who is good to his friends (but I'll take that secret to the grave - swear).

Thank you for being a bad man for me, and thank you for letting me be a good girl for you.

I never know what to do for peoples' birthdays, but I thought I would do this for you. It's nothing new - I believe I may have mentioned the idea at least once before...but look - if you don't like it, you can always return it and exchange it for something you really want. I won't be offended.

Hope you have a wonderful day with the people who love you best.

xo

alice


PS - This got long, so I'm not going to clutter up this thread. Click here.

Happy birthday, Ruffly Britches! I hope you got to do lots of fun birthday things, like do nothing and sleep. That's what I usually want for my birthday, anyway. I also wrote you a story, which is sort of rambly but the ending was too funny for me to pass it up. It's really long, but I don't know where else to put it, so... here it is!


“Say there's two doors in here.”

“Oh, come on. I said I'd - “

“Look, can you just play along? Just for a minute, it'll be worth it.”

“You say. I still say you're about to shove me into some closet and leave me there.”

“Could be. It could very well... be. Now, is the blindfold still – good.”

“It's fine, still blind.”

“Good. Very good.”

Exhale.

“Now. Remember where we were? Hold your hands out, palms up. Like that. I'm going to tell you about each door, and you get to make a choice. When you've made your choice, I'll give you a book of matches and take off your blindfold. Once you have the matches, it'll be up to you to find your door.”

“Matches? Why - “

“Be quiet.”

Breathing.

“Again. I'll tell you about the doors. You don't need to make a sound.”

Shifting of feet.

“Make you a little nervous? That's alright. That's good. Listen closely, okay? This little experiment is your birthday present to me. Remember that it's your call, just like we talked about. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. The doors, then. The door in front of you is the exit. If you decide our game is a little too much for you, that's the door you'll need to take. It's unlocked, easy to open. It'll take you right back out into a nice, bright room. We'll call that the safe room. It's very important you remember that. If at any time, not just during your choice, you decide you've had enough? That safe room is right there. You hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Now, the other door is a little more complicated. It's harder to find. It's harder to open. It's not straight ahead, it's through more rooms. I picked this place for that – for the way those rooms lay out, it's hard to follow. It's hard to follow when it's bright out.”

Breathing.

“You'll have your matches. You'll have your eyes. You'll also have me.”

“You?”

“I'll be around. But I'm not helping you find the door. I've put a couple of things around to make things... interesting.”

“Intere - “

“Talking's not going to help you get through my little maze. Keep listening, there's some more things you need to remember. I know you're thinking that matches will illuminate a room pretty well, right? The windows are sealed off. No light's getting in naturally, not a tiny stray beam of sunlight. The rooms are big – you hear my voice echoing? There's nothing lying around that you can hurt yourself on, the path is clear, but it's not how you think it's going to be. Big and dark... and my tricks are in the dark.”

“Oh.”

“You'll get to the door. But I can't say what'll happen on the way. I can't say what you'll find. And if I catch you on the way to the door, I win. It's going to be very important that you listen. That you wait. Go slowly, take it all in. Trust me.”

Fingers moving.

“Is it dark in here now?”

“Yes. It's very dark. But I'm right here. You feel my hands on you?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are they?”

“On my hips.”

“Mhm. And I'm right behind you. My voice is in your ear. I'll hold on until you tell me you're ready to think it over, and then I'm going to move away. Either way, you start it out alone, okay?”

Silence.

“You have a choice. Always.”

“How... how will you see me?”

“With covert military technology.”

“Just be serious...”

“With one of those stupid little handheld night vision things. Don't worry about it, I'll be able to see you.”

“Not sure that's comforting.”

“Yeah, well, it is what it is. Take it or leave it. Are you ready to decide?”

“Just one more thing. What does interesting mean?

A laugh and a sigh.

“My games. My dark. My rooms. A girl. Lots of combinations in that quartet.”

“You make yourself sound like a mad scientist.”

“Well, yeah. So? Whenever you're ready.”

Breathing.

“I-I'll... take the matches, I guess.”

“Okay.”

Foosteps recede and then return.

“I'm going to ask that you wait to light your first match. Count to thirty, and then you can go. Don't worry about dropping matches on the floor. Also, you have ten matches.”

“Ten fucking - “

“I told you it would be important to listen. Use your senses. Think of it as a tactile exercise. Here are the matches. They're the box kind, easy to strike.”

“What's that string?”

“The box is on a necklace. You should put it around your neck, that way you can't lose them. Or at least, you can't lose them as easily. Two more things. If you run out of matches before you reach the door, I win. If I manage to catch you in the first room, I'll let you have another shot and try again. But I'll be chasing you then.”

“It's a contest?”

“Isn't it always? But when I win, I expect you to be good. I'm taking off your blindfold now.”

Cloth is removed.

“There, now. I'm going to walk away now, and remember to count.”

“Wait! W-wait. It's so dark. And you'll catch me right away, I can't see shit!”

“You should start counting.”

Footsteps recede, and then are swallowed up into silence.

She's heard all he had to say about the dark and the rooms, the matches and games. She agreed to participate because hey, it's just a lack of light. The rooms must be familiar to him, if he's gone to all this trouble. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. That's the thought that keeps coming back to her in a circular sort of way – count, dark, matches, alone, him, safe.

But it's just so dark. Dark and quiet. The black stillness around her could swallow a person, and she feels very small. She wants to feel comforted that the endless shadow conceals her too, but he's probably out in the gloom watching her. She should be counting.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”

Her voice sounds funny in the quiet, truncated and somehow echoing at the same time. She has no idea how large the room she's in is, nor where the doors are. She knows the door in front of her is the exit, and that she'll have to turn around to find the other one. The thought of turning around to find her way in the black makes her feel disoriented.

“Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.”

She feels some exhilaration. It's almost a childlike feeling – hunting around in the dark as children, cramming hands up against a mouth to keep laughter or breath from escaping. The rush of being found and chased. There's something different about it now, though. There's something too adult in the thought of him watching her through a lens, waiting for a misstep or signal or some mysterious trigger. She tells herself that she'll move fast and with purpose. She forgets that he told her to take her time.

“Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine -”

One more number and then her lips have no reason to keep moving.

“T-thir... thirty.”

The dark and silence is oppressive. She feels as though the space around her is large, large and high, with lurking corners and spiders on a high ceiling. Any movement in the dark feels dangerous, as though by keeping still its menace can skip over her rather than enfold her. But it's time to move. Timidly, she slides a fingertip along the box of matches in her outstretched hand. She finds the box is upside down and turns it in her palm, taking out a matchstick and striking it against the flint. The familiar acrid smell fills her nose, and the light is warm against her hand. Looking out into the room, however, is not comforting. The floor stretches in front of her, until the boards disappear back into blindness.

Half of the match has already burned away.

She curses and turns around, heading in the other direction. Her strides are long but tentative, with odd pauses to protect the match and try to discern her surroundings. There's no other sound but her footsteps, and the strange flickering of the flame. Her footsteps stop when the match goes out, as her hand reaches out to touch the wall in front of her. There's no doorway there.

“Okay,” she whispers.

She's found a wall. Walls lead to doors. She thinks of the wisdom of lighting a match and decides she can make it on her own. Blindly, she places her palms on the wall and begins to trace her way forward. Absurdly, she thinks of Three Blind Mice, and the song loops in her head in infuriating cycles. Her progress is slow, just as he said it would be, but it feels like it would be good to hurry. It would be worth it to get out of the dark. The silence continues, on and on. Is he out there? Is he tucked away in some strategic vantage point? Is he watching her? Can he see the pulse beat fast in her throat? She squeezes her eyes shut as her stomach clenches. I hate this, she insists to herself.

I love this, is the next thought, before fingertips flutter across her ankle in the barest of caresses.

“Who – oh fuck!”

She leaps away from the wall, the matches dropping from her hand and onto the floor. What – what was it, where is it, who is it? Sightless, she looks in the dark. Little bursts of color seem to pop in her vision, anxiety induced lights that flit around in blackness. She hugs herself and her breathing rattles in her chest. She wants to scratch at the spot on her ankle, brush it off like a spider. Think. Slow. It's him! It's got to be him! Her rapidly beating heart starts to calm down, and instead of terror she feels furious. It's good to be angry. Fear seems to run in abundance in the dark and she resents giving it something else to feed on. She fights against the rising anxiety of knowing that whatever touched her – it's him, it's him – lingers not too far away and lowers herself to the floor to find the match string. Her palms slap quickly and her fingers scratch uselessly over bare wooden floor.

Come on, come on, matches. At last, her hand skids over the box and she pounces upon it with alacrity. Just need to see, just need to see. The skid of the match, the drag of the flint, the small flame leaping into view.

He's sitting and looking right at her with a smile on his face.

This time, she screams and drops the lit match on her thigh. She hears the scatter of matchsticks as she realizes she's dropped at least half the box. The match goes out and she kicks backward, trying to slide herself away from him in a purely instinctual reaction at his presence and her proximity to him. The necklace slips around her throat as she hastily wrangles the box over her hair and sets it to swing between her breasts. A moment later and his hand is around her ankle, warm and rough and with a yank he has her horizontal on the floor.

Her breath is quick, panicked gasps and the darkness still presses down above her. It's disjointed and hazy like a television set on the wrong channel, with his fingers digging at her thighs and then his voice is at her ear.

“Found you,” and his teeth sink down into the flesh of her earlobe, merciless and quick. The pain is stark and sudden, so much so that she tries to angle her knee up to buck him off. Instead his legs come down and he cuffs her across the face, his arm pinning her neck to the floor with unnerving force. Everything is sensation and sound, with no sight and no sudden dawning of understanding. His breath is hot on her skin and her dress is a useless barrier between the mass of his body above her. If it's a game, she can't remember. The sob that she tried to kill in her throat comes out in a wet and strangled noise.

He shifts and his elbows trap her instead, his forearms pressing down. The box of matches has slid up to rest by her hair – she can feel its weight next to the hot and burning skin of her ear. He takes it and opens it in his palms above her face. She can hear and feel, and the dark is all around them. The matchsticks slide over each other in the box, and he seems to be counting them. There's the sound of a match scratching against flint once more, and the light flickers above her face. He looks down at her, the match reflected in his eyes.

“Up.”

The match is blown out and he brings her to her knees, his fingers entwining in her hair and stopping any further progress.

“Open your mouth.”

She feels the smoke from the match enter her nose and she does not comply immediately. His palm strikes her face another time.

“Open.”

This time she hesitantly parts her lips. The whirr of a zipper is her reward, and then the head of his cock pushes into her mouth. She winces at the force, at the inexorable push of his length back into her mouth and throat. The urge to swallow is strong and her saliva feels thick. Her eyes water and she hears him strike another match. His breath comes faster but otherwise there's no indication he feels anything. She sees his face above the match, the smoke making tears run down her face from her already smarting eyes. Neither of them moves as he holds himself deep in her throat. She tries to breathe steadily from her nose, but the match makes it difficult. At last, he blows it out and pushes her off of him.

“I just - ” The words burst from her mouth, her voice hoarse and raw on her tongue. This is met with another slap.

“Enough. I think you're ready for part two. That didn't take long at all. Too bad.”

The dark and physical contact has her muddled. He wraps his fingers around her neck and hauls her to her feet, where she gasps as her breath fights to return. There's a small click and an oval of light appears on the floor in front of them. Flashlight.

“Here. You'll get a small head start, I'll count it out for you. On your mark...”

“Wait, I - “

“Get set...”

“Fuck!”

He whispers the last word, “Run.”

As though he had pushed her, she bolts away from him. The doorway she had tried so hard to find lay to her immediate right, and she darts through it. The flashlight careens crazily in front of her. Light bounces from floor to wall, floor to wall. The rooms are huge, with high and creepy eaves overhead. True to his word, the windows are boarded up and not a spec of light intrudes besides her own beam. Her lungs fill with panicked air as she hears numbers echo in the room behind her.

“Three, four, five...”

Why she's so frightened, she couldn't say. In the rooms where he's plotted this game, it seems like anything could happen. His face is alien and strange, secretive. Amused. She doesn't want to know what he thinks is so fucking funny, either. The entry to the next room lies in a bizarre alcove, with the door scarcely visible. She sprints over to it, pulling at the knob. The wood must have swelled or become misshapen somehow, the frame won't fucking move.

“Eight, nine, ten.”

She jiggles the handle fiercely, tugging and pulling. At last the door pops free and she removes the flashlight from her mouth. Her legs propel her into the next room, which has dark wooden walls instead of the white the others sported. There are more marks in the wood that seem to be strange shadows, and she's reluctant to barrel through. The sound of his footsteps halfway into the room behind her changes her mind and she sprints on. She spots the next doorframe, mercifully free of a door. Another light flashes alongside hers – he's in the same room.

“Better run!”

She spares one quick glance over her shoulder and stifles a shriek. He seems to be walking casually, which infuriates her, and makes her resolve to lock the final door behind her when she reaches it. The next room is small and boxlike, with a set of stairs leading down at one end. She takes them two at a time, carefully skipping down them with her limited vision and bare feet. The secondary area of this room seems to be a dead end, until she finally finds a cunningly concealed doorway that looks suspiciously like a closet.

His footsteps are on the stairs.

She hurriedly crosses to the door and tries to turn it before noticing the key in the lock. With a twist she unlocks the door, glancing over her shoulder again as she sees his flashlight skid up the jamb. Less than five feet away, she bursts into the next brightly lit room and pulls the door shut with a triumphant slam.

“Don't shut that door!”

She whirls around, squinting in the brightness. The key turns in the lock behind her. There are three other women in the room with her, and they all look distinctly unhappy.

“Wait, I - “

She jiggles the doorknob once, sure it's a trick. With increasing urgency, she pulls on the handle. Sighs of exasperation come from the group behind her. Sheepishly, she turns around.

“Really fucking great, genius,” says the one with red and curly hair.

“Honestly, why did you shut it before you even looked inside?” says another, blowing her own curls from her face in irritation.

“Really, you should look before you enter into strange rooms,” says the final one, her hair short and brunette.

They're all three lovely, but she doesn't really fancy being stuck in here with three angry women.

“Er. Did you all happen to play hide and seek?”

They look at each other and snicker.

“How many matches did you use?”

Twofer

So I know I'm a little late getting to this, but I wanted to do it when I actually had time to sit down and do it. First!

Freckles: Thank you for the thread, and the wishes, and the crazy avatar and sig, and for just generally being your freckled, happy, busty, (not always as) secretly sluttly, gorgeous and wonderful self. You're an awesome person, whether sunshine or rain, and I'm happy I've been lucky enough to get to know you.

Little red devil: I know the work you put into this too, and it was a truly awesome idea. Creative, and original, and fun, and all the things that describe you so very well. This was delightful, and so much fun to go into after each new post... though don't think that means that you won't still hurt for me.

Alice: Your blushing may have some people fooled, but I'm not one of them. You're a dirty little thing, and if you're not careful you're going to let everyone know that you like to be treated like a dirty little thing. Still, that was awesome, and fucking hot, and so I thank you for it. Well done!

SoB: As you know, we're like.. musical soul mates. It's almost creepy sometimes. The songs, though, were awesome.. as I'm sure you knew they would be. I've got a music library in the tens of thousands, though, so don't think I'll be running out of things to send you any time soon.

Tess: First, I don't know where you found the picture of that cake at, but it's what I want all my cakes to say, no matter the occasion, for the rest of time. Seriously. The story though! You call it rambly, I call it a sheer delight to read. Such fun, and I had no idea where it was going until the end, and then you got a blurt laugh out of me. Just a joy. Which.. may be a twisted thing to say, given what happens in it, but when have we not been twisted? Fantastic. Thank you!


Everyone else: I appreciate you posting your wishes in here! You're all fine upstanding people that I would happily high five on any given day. And while I don't entirely know what that means, we're just going to act like it's a normal compliment people give to other people, and move on, yes? Excellent! Thanks everyone!