Hand Pump Quotes & Sayings

It took a little more coaching and a lot more dirty talk and nipple pinching to get Ruxs as stretched and as ready as he needed him to be. Ruxs was fucking himself on his three fingers when he reached his hand back and gripped Green's wrist, forcing him to pump into him deeper, faster. "Harder. More," Ruxs snapped. "You think I can't fuckin' take you." "I'm gonna give you more," Green said, his teeth clenched with determination. He positioned himself at Ruxs' entrance and pushed the head of his cock in on one thrust, making Ruxs' yell out in surprise. "Shit, Chris!" "Ready. — A.E. Via

Don't you feel as though you could love everything starting tomorrow, and everything could love you, if only you took an action to set into motion the coming of our new tomorrow and its tomorrow and that one's tomorrow? Shotgun loaded hand on the pump and no matter who you damage you're still a false prophet, but we drink chocolate milk and then we get muscles and smash down the droves with fists like hammers and then we pump the fists in the air for victory. I be the prophet of the doom that is you. You are the mess in messiah. — Adam Levin

Never take both hands off the pump. As an entrepreneur, you need to be on constant lookout for opportunity, and that will involve risk. But you minimize those risks by keeping one hand on the pump that is producing for you. — Kenneth E. Behring

Sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump
Left hand on a forty, puffin' on a blunt
Pumped my shotgun, niggas didn't jump ...
Lala la la lala la laaaa — B-Real

I used to pump the water by hand — The Church Of Jesus Christ Of Latter-day Saints

Or, I could just sit in the bushes and pump the hand pump
until the plumbing was superpressurized to 110 psi. This way, when
someone goes to flush a toilet, the toilet tank will explode. At 150 psi, if
someone turns on the shower, the water pressure will blow off the shower
head, strip the threads, blam, the shower head turns into a mortar shell.
Tyler only says this to make me feel better. The truth is I like my boss.
Besides, I'm enlightened now. You know, only Buddha-style behavior. — Chuck Palahniuk

What bedrooms did you give to our guests?"
"The ones all the way ... way ... way on the other side of the manse."
He laughed at that, hugging her tightly for giving him that ability to indulge in humor once more.
"Then I'd say the bedroom with the old armoire you like should suffice."
"Yes, master," she teased, flicking her hand and sending them there. "Oops, one sec." She winked at him and snapped her fingers, the bottle of lotion suddenly in her hand.
"Show-off. You know, you are going to have to tell me how you do that."
"Well, first you pump this little thing on top, then the lotion - "
Legna yelped when he slapped his hand hard on her bottom, the blanket doing little to shield her from the sting of it.
"Gideon! Do not ever do that again!" she scolded.
"Not even if you beg me to?" he countered lecherously.
Legna laughed, unable to help herself.
"I hate you!"
"No, you do not," he insisted. "How many times do I have to tell you that? — Jacquelyn Frank

Now it was there. Now it was growing within me like a tumor, like a second head, and it was a part of me, though it surely could not be mine, since it was so big. There it was, like a big dead animal that had once been my hand when it was still alive, or my arm. And my blood was flowing through me, and through it, as if through one and the same body. And my heart was having to make a great effort to pump the blood into the big thing: there was very nearly not enough blood. And the blood was loth to pass in, and emerged sick and tainted. But the big thing swelled and grew before my face, like a warm, bluish boil, and grew before my mouth, and already its margin cast a shadow on my remaining eye. — Rainer Maria Rilke

Fi laughs at me, the jerk. "Become real familiar with your hand."
"Pillow," I correct without thinking.
"What?" Her eyes are wide, her smile scandalized.
"Nothing. I said nothing." Fucking booze. I'm never drinking again.
"Sure you didn't, Miss Hump-and-Pump."
The throw pillow flies out of my hand and whacks her face. "Eew," Fi shouts. "This had better not be the pillow!"
"Better smell it and see. — Kristen Callihan

Marina brushed her hand across the back of her neck and dislodged something with a hard shell.
She had learned in time to brush instead of slap as slapping only served to pump the entire contents of the insect, which was doubtlessly already burrowed into the skin with some entomological protuberance, straight into the bloodstream. — Ann Patchett

Her compliment from the dance came back to him, about how handsome he'd looked when he held the baby. She approached and held out her arms to Sophie, who gave a squeal and began to pump her legs in excitement. "I suppose I'm looking dashing again," he said softly, ignoring the frown Dirk had shot him. Annalisa's smile widened. "Ja. Very dashing." He relinquished the baby, but not before his fingers met hers, the warmth of her hand begging him to caress it, hold it, and never let go. "When she's done eating, you must give her back to me." He tried to make his voice playful. "I have my image to uphold. — Jody Hedlund

Here he shook hands with me; not in the common way, but standing at a good distance from me, and lifting my hand up and down like a pump handle, that he was a little afraid of. — Charles Dickens

I want to teach the post basic moves: turn and bank; drop-step and shoot a power layup; turn to the middle, pump-fake, one-bounce layup; and I want to teach five power moves. They are power layup straight up; pump-fake one bounce to the other side power layup; pogo when you catch it up high, keep it up high, and shoot it; and then the two-hand follow shot. — Jim Harrick

I keep hoping some guy with 'Ron' or 'Andy' stitched on his pocket and a gas pump in his hand will step up and tell me where I'm headed. — Barbara Kingsolver

She went back to the kitchen, for the kitchen of the Hand of God was so large that Miss Joliffe and Anastasia used part of it for their sitting-room, took the pencil out of "Northanger Abbey," and tried to transport herself to Bath. Five minutes ago she had been in the Grand Pump Room herself, and knew exactly where Mrs Allen and Isabella Thorpe and Edward Morland were sitting; where Catherine was standing, and what John Thorpe was saying to her when Tilney walked up. But alas! Anastasia found no re-admission; the lights were put out, the Pump Room was in darkness. A sad change to have happened in five minutes; but no doubt the charmed circle had dispersed in a huff on finding that they no longer occupied the first place in Miss Anastasia Joliffe's interest. And, indeed, she missed them the less because she had discovered that she herself possessed a wonderful talent for romance, and had already begun the first chapter of a thrilling story. — John Meade Falkner

I drove out. There were a half-dozen cars there. A house man let me in. Brell came hurrying to me to pump my hand. He was a trim-bodied man in his late forties, dark and handsome in a slightly vulpine way, and I suspected he wore a very expensive and inconspicuous hair piece. He looked the type to go bald early. He had a resonant voice and a slightly theatrical presence. He wore tailored twill ranch pants and a crisp white shirt with blue piping. — John D. MacDonald