Welcome to the Online Author!

Amelie J. Hyde is the pen name of a girl born in 1999 who wants to share her ideas with the world.

Within this site, you can expect to find adult content in terms of sexual and violent activities. Most of the stories told will involve LGBT themes, if you feel uncomfortable with that, then Ms. Hyde encourages you to leave the site immediately. Any hateful comments will be deleted; however, helpful feedback that is politely given will not be.

Please, be friendly with other commentators, and read at your leisure!

Ciao for now,

~ Amelie J. Hyde


© Amelie J. Hyde and The Online Author, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Amelie J. Hyde and The Online Author with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Surrender to His Pleasure: Pt. 2

“Wake up, boy,” a deep voice whispers in the distance.

I squirm, curling my arms even tighter around my pillow, content to ignore the person and slip back into my peaceful dreams.

“You have three seconds,” the voice says, deeper this time, rougher around the edges.

I hum something incoherent under my breath. A set of hands find my hips, making me shiver lightly, but I manage to shrug it off as a handsy maid, trusting in my father’s power to get them away from me sooner rather than later.

“Two seconds.”

A nice, warm blanket falls across my backside, melding seamlessly to my ass like a second skin. I hold the pillow loosely, fingers spreading wide and grabbing at the silky sheet beneath as the blanket slips, parts my cheeks, and slides down against my tender-feeling hole. I grunt under my breath, hips bucking up into the pillow in a quick, reflexive move to escape the sudden pressure building there.

“You’ve run out of time, boy,” the voice coos behind me somewhere. And then the blanket is really pushing and I’m gasping awake, straining against the set of hands holding me down, arching away from their owner’s cock forcing me open. “You finally get it, huh?”

I shiver at the feeling of the man’s chest sliding up against mine, his hips bucking, shoving in another inch. My body throbs, heats like a well-trained machine, and lets him sink right into me. It’s only when I look to my right and see the hulking profile of Mr. Oakley looming over me in our reflection that I remember letting myself be led into his basement and used like the average whore.

His striking eyes grab at mine from the mirror, holding me in place, forcing me to watch as he lifts up, reveals my much smaller frame pathetically curled up around his long, thick pillow. He licks his lips and makes a show of entering me again, his eyelids drooping, lips parting as if the sweetest parcel is upon his tongue. I groan, face flushing, as he murmurs what a good boy I am, offering myself up so early in the morning.

I can do little more than watch as he shows me exactly what he’s doing, let’s me see my body react, shivering, jerking, tensing in pleasure. It’s only when he rubs himself right up against that sweet spot inside me that I break eye contact, my vision swaying as a moan is torn from my throat. He chuckles, yanks me off his cock and flips me onto my back. He spreads my legs and holds me open by my thighs as he rocks back in, head tipped back in pleasure. I make a soft sound in the back of my throat at how easily my body lets him in, my hands grabbing at his arms without thinking as he pulls out and rams me full of his cock, obviously over the whole “slow fuck” thing.

He takes no pity on me and instead tightens his grip, moves my legs farther apart, and goes at me like a dog might its favorite toy. He throbs inside me, long and thick and so, so ready to burst. I can feel the tension building in him, feel it make him thicken inside me. He takes one long, slow dive, groaning under his breath as he repeats the action over and over until I’m panting and leaking all over myself, squirming to climb up his cock. It’s something about the slow torture of his actions that makes me desperately want to come, to have my morning release as soon as possible.

And he gives it to me, shoves me full of his slick dick and pounds me raw on it. I can hardly remember to breathe with how fast and hard and rough he goes at it, my body incapable of doing anything other than clinging to him and coming all over him. My balls empty in seconds and then I’m on my knees, sitting on his lap with my arms around his neck and his tongue in my mouth.

“A little bit more, boy, just . . . uh, a little,” he grunts, palming my ass and tugging me up and down, swirling up a great big mess inside me.

Without thinking, I push him down, give into the heat pooling in my stomach and push my hair out of my face as I balance on my knees. “Shut up, old man, I got this,” I say through gritted teeth, jaw set as I take over, setting the pace faster, clenching up on him as best I can in an effort to mimic some of my favorite girls. He jerks once and then he’s erupting, shooting like a hose into me.

I start pulling off, more than ready to head home and put this bizarre night/morning behind me when he catches me by my hips, yanking me down hard. I moan, back arching into the sharp collision. His cum gushes out of me, making a liquidy mess of my ass, as he holds me there, lets me feel it dripping out of me.

“I-I–!” I cut off on a sharp cry, back bowing as he lifts me up and fucks me in short, fast thrusts, frothing up his juices inside me and making me twitch to life. He groans and sits up, catches me by the chin, and rubs his tongue along my bottom lip. “I-I thought you s-said–”

Mr. Oakley slides his thumb into my mouth, shushing me as he pulls out completely. He looks behind me, no doubt watching as his thick, foamy cream drips free. “So erotic,” he murmurs, his cock throbbing noticeably in agreement when he plugs me up with it. His thumb presses down on my tongue as his other hand finds my wet hole, petting the soaked ring as it clenches on his shaft. He bucks into me, gives me two quick thrusts before he remembers what fun he’s having and goes back to playing.

He curls a finger into me pulling my hole out of shape and I can’t help but shiver when I start dripping his cum down his dick. “St-stop,” I gasp escaping his thumb with a single twist of my head, “you said only a little more!”

“Yeah,” he says evenly, “just a little more, boy, so keep giving it to me ‘till I say enough. I’m nowhere near satisfied with this tiny tasting. Or do you want your Daddy to get my money or not?”

I groan under my breath, not because he threatened me, but because I can feel him thickening to his full size inside me. He’s excited. In a last ditch effort, I push him back down and quickly, clumsily clamber off of him. Practically stumbling from the bed, I take two, three steps and then a sharp bolt of pain rolls up my backside and I’m on my knees.

“What . . . the fuck,” I take in a long, shaky breath, “did you do to me?!”

He chuckles, drawing my attention, and I immediately regret it. There, above me, he sits on the edge of his bed, looking like a hulking giant with one of the longest, thickest erections I have ever seen. An electrified jolt goes through my dick, stiffening it up fully for him. A soft whimper catches in my throat. All humor falls from his face, a purely predatory glint taking over his gaze. Without thinking, I shift forward on my knees.

Entranced, I watch as thick fingers wrap around his base, squeeze it up halfway and then go back down. And then, he’s pointing it my way and rubbing his tense balls in the other hand. His glistening head beckons me like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, my fate sealed by the appearance of a white pearl dripping out. It curves down the underside, leaving a trail of slick, mouth-watering skin. And then I’m catching it, following its path with his hands in my hair and my hands replacing his. I keep my eyes closed in shame, my entire body sensitized to his gaze being on my face, my ass, my dick.

I take him onto my tongue, into my mouth, and only let my eyes rise when I swallow him down, my body remembering the way he told me to breath last night, to swallow every inch and hum around him. I do as he asked yesterday and he groans like a man on the verge of coming.

“Be a good boy now, Luka, and get that ass on my cock. I have no intentions of coming anywhere else,” he practically growls the words his voice a low rumble across my senses. It vibrates my nerve-endings, tingles through my dick, and draws me up into his lap once more.

But Mr. Oakley is not to be fooled twice, he rolls us around, gets me bent over the edge, cheek pressed to the sheets as he steps up to the edge of the mattress and sheathes himself in my sensitized hole in one swift, hard motion. I arc off the bed, hands grabbing at the mattress as he rams himself into my stomach over and over and over, fucking me relentlessly, punishingly hard. I squirm on his cock, body pulsing like mad as he takes what he wants, chasing his climax rough and fast, heedless of my needs.

I leak like a faucet on his blankets, my mind going numb, my body’s entire focus being on my ass and mouth. My cries are higher now, more feminine as I get closer and closer, eyes closing, giving into being treated as an easy whore in favor of the sweet, sweet orgasm coming my way.

It hits me out of the blue, ripping through me in heavy tidal waves as Mr. Oakley thickens, swells on the cusp of–

We both moan in pleasure when he gives me his second load, my eyes sliding closed in relief, slumping over the edge when he finally pulls out of me. He’s done. We’re finally done. My legs tremble, threatening to give out from under me. And then his hands are scooping me up against his chest and depositing me onto the bed. For a moment, when he’s standing beside me, the horrifying thought goes through my head that he wants to go again, but then he’s folding his arms over his chest and stepping away and the fear dissipates.

“When you’re able to stand, join me in the shower. I’ll clean you,” he says, his voice as firm as steel, and then he’s gone disappearing through the bathroom door.

And the fear has returned!

Utterly unwilling to do anything else even remotely dangerous with him again, I sit up and look around for my clothes, wanting nothing more than to bathe in my own shower. When I don’t spot anything of mine, I take to his dresser, making my wobbly, hunched-over way there and digging through his clothes. In the end, I find one black sock, one red one, a blue cardigan, and a pair of gray sweatpants. Oh, how my stylist would weep.

To avoid the catastrophe of having to explain the mess I’d make of his clothes to the maids, I use his discarded shirt on the floor to wipe myself as clean as possible and wear the mismatched socks as shoes on my way out. Getting outside is easy enough, realizing I have no keys, wallet, or phone is noticeably harder. With a quick glance back at the Oakley’s God forsaken house, I decide a seven mile walk home is more than worth it.

About halfway through the first mile I realize how hard poor people must have it. A half mile later, I decide I need to get a car that has buttons instead of key slots. A half mile after that, I come to understand what “starvation” truly is as my stomach eats my kidneys. By the time I reach halfway, I have to sit down under some trees by the side of the road and pray for it to rain perfectly purified bottled water. And I’m thoroughly convinced by the time I reach the main gate that the “walk of shame” should henceforth be known as the “walk of Hellish suffering” so that all who hear of it can properly sympathize.

After terrifying the gatesmen and sending the kitchen into a tizzy about providing the “haggard Young Master” with a nutritional meal, seeing my calm, judgment free bedroom brings a great sense of relief. One that is quickly out done by a refreshingly hot shower, a thorough scrubbing, and a clean, neatly pressed outfit. My oasis only gets better when a maid comes in with a fruity Gorgonzola salad with a strawberry vinaigrette dressing. Oh, how sweet it is to be victorious!

Sure, I slept with a guy, but my dad’ll keep his deal, never know, and I get to continue along the path of being his only successor. Almost a complete victory! I’m on the verge of making myself forget all about the incident when a knock comes on my bedroom door.

“Young Master, your father requests your presence in his office. Mister James Oakley is here,” says Miss Rita, our aged housekeeper.

“Of course, he is,” I mutter to myself, but call out to her that I’ll be down in a minute.

Exiting the bathroom, I avoid looking towards my messy bed and instead head for my closet, pulling back one door and grabbing the first pre-made outfit I see. Thankfully, it’s not terribly “I’m trying way too hard” like most of the others my father has stashed away there, so I don’t mind getting dressed. Once I’m decked out in a pair of light gray slacks and a white button up, I suck in a deep breath and make my way down the hall and around the wide center of the house, to the study in the Western Wing.

I only find myself hesitating when the dark brown doors are before me, one hand stretched out towards the gold handle but unable to grasp it. On my wrist there are two faint, purple outlines. Last night’s memory flashes through my mind. I shudder and shake it off, forcing myself into the room. That wasn’t me last night. I would never allow someone to top me. I keep that in mind as the doors close behind me.

My father’s study is just as it used to be: bragging with rows upon rows of trophies and books that he’s never read. But one thing has changed: in my favorite seat sits a man with wide shoulders and thick brown hair, dressed in a professional black suit. Gone are the faded jeans and dirty hands, and in their place is a man who is visibly worth more than my entire town.

“So glad you could join us, Luka! We were just talking about you,” my father says with a prideful grin, his eyes flickering towards Mr. Oakley for approval. From my perspective the man doesn’t move a muscle, but from the way my father practically scrambles to find the words to say, he must’ve. “You just started your break, right? Well, I don’t have a position open at the company right now, so instead of wasting away all summer, Mr. Oakley’s agreed to let you work with him on his farm. He’s been shorthanded since he moved, so he could use the help.”

“No!” The answer is instantaneous. I don’t even need to think about it. There’s no way I’m–.

“Bad boy.” I shiver at the sound of his voice, looking towards my dad to see if he heard the barely audible whisper, but he’s just staring at me aghast, deaf to the man before him. My hands clench in my pockets, mouth opening to tell my dad again, but his guest overrides me. “Would you mind, Richard? Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll be able to convince him.”

My father glares pointedly my way, reminding me wordlessly that the deal is immensely more important than my summer, and murmurs his agreement. He slips out the side door, grumbling under his breath about his ungrateful son as he abandons me to the monster. As soon as he’s out of sight, my skin is crawling with goosebumps, and my limbs have gone completely stiff. Paralyzed, I watch on helplessly as Mr. Oakley stands, and comes around in front of me. He doesn’t touch me just stares down at me in that silently prying way of his. And then his hand is reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.

He taps the screen twice and then turns it towards me.

I stumble back a step, jaw dropping in horror. There on his screen, I’m bent slightly over, holding myself open for him, and dripping all over myself. “No . . . “ I breathe out in disbelief, watching it change to another shot and another and another. The only similarity between each one is the pink-faced, desperate star: me. I blink in disbelief, and the phone disappears into his pocket.

“Invite me up to your room.”

I groan in defeat, slumping back against the doors I entered through. He steps closer and closer, stalking me unabashedly. My voice cracks as I call out, “Dad, we’re going up to my wing to talk some more.”

He hums. “Good boy. Lead the way.”

The walk is short. So short. But the entire way, I can’t help being incredibly aware of his intentions. He practically wraps them around my neck and chokes me with them with how close he walks to me, his hand placed dangerously low on my back, almost all the way in my pants already. And when my door comes up before us, I can’t help but contemplate going past it down the hall and leading him in a perpetual loop. A part of me knows better and pushes the door open.

As soon as it closes behind us, I’m pinned against its flat surface. Mr. Oakley presses his cock against my back and cages me in with his arms. His hips sway forward and I arch into the wood, hands scratching at it when he chases me, pushes in hard between my cheeks. My spine is wracked with shivers, and then his hands are on my hips and I’m groaning my defeat already. He grinds us together, moves me up and down his cock and teases me with hard mock-thrusts that make my head spin. I may not want to admit it, but I remember how good he made me feel. My dick twitches with excitement at what’s to come. I dig my fingers into the wood as much as I can and try not to squirm with every firm thrust he gives me, his hard erection sliding up and down my ass, mocking me.

He doesn’t say a word about how much I want it, just reaches around my hips with both hands and grabs onto my zipper. I almost whimper it feels so good to be taken into his fist, my balls cupped in his rough, hot palm. And then he’s stroking me in tandem with his dry humping, and I can’t possibly stay still. All the blood in my body is draining to his fingers, stiffening me fully in his hands and working my hips to grind myself harder on him.

“Fuck. Me.” I pant with every word, head tipping back to glare at him over my shoulder. His eyes twinkle with a smirk, and then his tongue is licking at my lips. And I’m opening, meeting his tongue halfway and closing the gap. My fingers find his hair, pull his mouth close as my other hand finds his raging hard-on. He throbs under my hand, bucking into me and pinning me tighter to the door.

“You don’t deserve it, boy,” he growls into my mouth, but lets me open his pants anyways. His erection is feverishly hot, pulsing madly when I wrap my fingers around it.

I suck in a harsh breath when he presses his thumb into my tip, wordlessly reminding me that he can stop me from coming. I rub him nice and smooth, flicking the tip on the pad of my thumb and thoroughly loving the way his grip tightens in all around me. Tilting my head back even further, I nuzzle his neck and whisper more fuel into the fire, “If you want something, take it.”

He practically shoves me into the door, my pants hitting my knees as his fingers dive into my heat. “You’re coming home with me and you’ll stay there until I’m done with you,” he orders me in a whisper, punctuating exactly what his message implies by shoving his fingers against my sweet spot. I moan freely, revelling in the way he immediately jams his fingers in my mouth, and holds my head back on his shoulder, taking command of my every movement. “And then you’ll come again the next day and the next,” he pulls his fingers out of my ass and replaces them with every inch of his throbbing cock, “and the next.” The last words are like liquid lava on a sigh of pleasure, he so obviously enjoys sheathing himself in me.

I gasp around his digits in my mouth, my nails scraping at the wood as he pounds me into it. He avoids my spot and fucks me hard and fast, doing exactly as I’d said: taking what he wants. This is for his pleasure. I moan loudly at the knowledge, arching my hips into his thrusts and letting him use me. James shifts his grip from my jaw to my neck, asserting himself even as he rubs my prostate raw on his shaft. The need to come builds in my stomach, trickling down my dick and coming out as heavy, white drops.

All at once, he’s out of me.

I slump against my bedroom door chest heaving and painfully aroused. Before I can get so much as a question out, he’s already telling me what to do. “Turn around.” I do as told.

He reaches out, cups the back of my neck and pulls. I frown against his lips, more than a bit confused when he licks gently at the dip between mine. I open and he pulls back.

“Get on the bed.” I blink unsurely up at him, one eyebrow lifting before I remember the faint ache to my hips. Then, I get on like he said to. “Good boy,” he whispers as he places one knee onto the edge and lazily strokes at his dripping length, “now, on your back, legs open.”

He watches me for a moment, just slowly takes in every exposed inch of me, and then sets the other knee on the bed. I almost squirm it’s so frustrating to watch him slowly get closer and closer. And then he’s right between my legs and I’m sitting up, wrapping my arms around his neck and–

He pushes me back down. “Bad boy.” I flinch and groan in acute agony, chest tightening as I toss my head back against my mattress.

“Touch me,” I demand through gritted teeth, glaring at him for all I’m worth, “fuck me. Do. Something!”

His lips curl upwards, his hands landing just inches from my sides. I have to fist my blanket to keep from grabbing at him. He’s just watching me. Staring right into my eyes as he drives me fucking insane. I scratch at the comforter, drag more of it into my clutches. Mr. Oakley full out smiles now and leans off of me, slowly, meticulously unbuttoning his shirt. Every muscle in my body stiffens. Not because he’s so wonderfully tanned or muscled — which he is — but because I want to touch him, to lick every inch of his caramel toned chest and run my fingers through the faint brown curls peeking out the top of his pants. I want to bite into his shoulder and wrap my legs around his trim hips and scratch him until he bleeds.

I moan in defeat and grab onto him, pulling him down and taking his bottom lip into my mouth. “I can’t. I want it,” my voice is thick and soft and desperate. God, but I’m desperate. His hips slide up between my wide open legs and I shiver, closing them in around him as I nip at his bottom lip. “Take me.”

I whimper at the slow grind of his hips. My nails finally sink into his golden, delicious back. It ripples beneath my touch. And then my fingers are moving down and he’s thrusting his cock against me.

His hands push my thighs back, spread me open for his shaft. He rubs his head on my hole. I shudder, every part of me open and waiting for him to give it to me. He ducks his head to my ear and presses a little harder. My eyes almost roll back in my skull. It’s torture. He wants to torture me to death. His tongue rings a small patch of skin as he pushes just a little bit more. I wet my lips slowly, hungrily. Almost there. It’s almost in. Just a little bit more pressure.

“Bad boys get nothing.”

The words are so soft I almost don’t hear them, but I certainly take note when he gets off the bed entirely. No, nonono! I lift onto my hands and stare aghast as he pulls back on his shirt and zips his pants. Without thought, I’m on my knees at the edge, reaching for him. “No, I was good. I was totally good!” He eyes my outstretched hands incredulously. I drop them, reflexively hiding them behind my back. “I mean, I can be good. I’ll be good, I promise!”

He sighs and rolls up his sleeves, taking one agonizingly slow step back towards me. Anticipation gnaws at my insides, makes my hole tighten up and loosen like a starved, waiting mouth. But then his lips are descending on mine and my ass is the last thing on my mind. My eyes drop to his lips, head tipping back and hands fisting behind me, the nearer he gets.

He’s barely a hair’s breadth away, just about to make contact, when he stops. His tongue snakes across the thin gap between his lips, skirting along that same bottom one that I had just had in my mouth, nibbling on it, on the verge of finally having sex. “The next time I fuck you, you’ll be in my house, begging me for it. So go be a good boy and tell your daddy you’re working for me this summer. I’ll supply your transportation. Don’t wear any underwear.”

I shiver, goosebumps flooding across my skin as he calmly steps away from me and leaves the room. Working for Mr. Oakley, I roll the idea around in my sex-clogged brain, but all that I can really focus on are those two words: next time. He wants to fuck me again.

I shudder, sparks of excitement rolling down my spine. I hunch over my knees, groaning at how quickly my body’s already reacting. He was just inside me not even ten minutes ago and I’m already like this, wet and hard and so, so ready to feel him looming over me again.

“Crap, this is madness,” I mutter into my mattress.

Still, I get to my feet, gingerly getting back into my clothes and straightening them out. I glance forlornly at my boxers, but leave them at the foot of my bed, abandoning them there as I make my way back to my father’s business study.

I don’t hesitate this time when I reach the double doors leading to my dad’s study. I push my way inside and keep my eyes off the person sitting in my chair. My father watches me expectantly, his eyes slightly narrowed.

My mouth opens. The words I want to say are lodged in the back of my throat. I can feel them, the thick knot they form, and try to cough them free. Nothing. I swallow them down and try to distract myself. “How’s the deal coming along?” James shifts in his chair. Wrong. That wasn’t what I was supposed to say, I know.

My father’s expression immediately lightens up, his fingers stroking the curled edge of his mustache. “We just signed it yesterday morning. Your mother’s already preparing the party arrangements.”

If I Stop Talking (June 4th, 2018)

Like Josh and Patrick and Melanie and Vanessa, like my great aunts, my uncle, my cousins, my mother: if I stop talking, will you forget me?

It’s stiflingly obvious, a reoccuring pattern from the time I was eight to today, and it lingers at the base of my throat like a shackle that pinches at my bones and holds my tongue.

If I don’t make a sound, will you not see me anymore?

If I hold my breath, will I pass before your sight? A gossamer haze that you simply have to blink to see through?

I can’t say a word. I can’t move my arms. My throat is tight and my bones are heavy. Can you see me? I’m too afraid to move, too hopeless to try. Because if I move, you’ll have to acknowledge it: the fact that you forgot me.

“Who’s this?”

“Do I know you?”

“Have I met you before?”

I wish I were braver.

Maybe I could scream. Give a shout. Grab your shoulders and shake your head to the floor. Maybe I could say the things I want to say, ask the questions clouding up my lungs.

But my body is heavy and tired, and I’m so full of fear that I’m paralyzed. I open my mouth. See me. Hear me. Tell me you know me. Does anyone know that I’m here?

But the pattern is clear. The path ahead is too well trodden. I know what will happen. The pain of pure silence is nothing compared to the vocalized proof.

I will not move. I will not speak. I could not if I wanted to. Because like Josh and Patrick and Melanie and Vanessa, like my great aunts, my uncle, my cousins, my mother, like the people I haven’t said a word to yet, if I stop talking, you will forget me.

And on days like this, when the list in my head only grows, I can’t help but think: if I were to stop breathing, would I cease to exist?

Stream of Consciousness (6)

May 6th, 2018

If the moon were a person, I’m sure I’d be married.

It’s hard to explain something I have not and will not ever come to know, let alone possess. Fumbling, I can only grasp at words that cannot quite touch my reality. Beauty, grace, refined. She is all of these. Astounding, enchanting, distracting. I cannot wrap her form in the fragile bindings of my own language, cannot trap the astounding nature of her being in the labels that would only dull the truth.

Yearning like nothing I’ve ever known before, bright and burning, clawing up the back of my throat, clogging my eyes and ringing my brain to a strained rag. It fills my chest with bees, rattles the cage made up of my ribs and their sting, that biting pain, prickles upon my sting. I seek her likeness in the puddles of stars, in the flashes of light at the corner of my eyes.

And when I finally find her,

Oh, the relief!

Uncomparable. Insurmountable. It washes over me like the loving caress of a lover. It soothes my mind, slackens my shoulders, smooths my hair, and weakens my knees. I can breathe again. I can see. Nothing could undo my peace in that moment. Rain or sleet, I am serene, my chin lifting to bask in the kiss of her light folding around my cheeks like soft, gentle hands. I am hers and I know it. Her face will be the only thing flashing before my eyes when I pass on. And I know it.

Stream of Consciousness (5)

May 6th, 2018

Pedals fall like broken fragments of a body once whole, torn from what they had known without a semblance of mercy by an unassuming breeze. An army of pearly white dancers, the beauty of their downfall captures the eye and is relinquished only in the face of stubborn, jarring reality.

Stream of Consciousness (4)

March 35, 2018

Piece Three

Hollow, sweet words leave cavities, rotting holes in a holding cell waiting for the non-artificial it was promised so long ago. Holes piling up like grains of sand on the shoreline, soon it forgets it ever had teeth at all and loses the will to yearn for something that is never coming.

Stream of Consciousness (3)

March 35, 2018

Piece Two

In the dead of the night, we turn our faces to the sky, our strides lengthening until it seems as if on the next step our soles will land in the inky black backdrop of the stars and we’ll be lifted from this plane and set to walk the path of the eternal cosmos. We are made of the stars. We are the children of the moon, siblings of the universe, destined for one endless horizon.

 

Stream of Consciousness

February 21, 2018

It was like rain, falling in quiet drops, pooling in the crevices of my heart, slowly building, gathering its strength. It overpowered with a silent ferocity that bore the voice of a pride of lions, each clamoring for recognition. And like mist upon a summer-time lake, it evaded my frantic attempts to possess it, to take it into my hands and give it tangible shape.

Surrender To His Pleasure: Pt. 1

So, this is a little something I’ve been working on, and I have it mostly plotted out at this point, so I figured I’d, ya know, share~

“Son, I know all about you. I want her home by ten, or you can kiss my deal with your daddy goodbye.”

The man standing between me and the beautiful southern belle who has already fucked me on a number of occasions, is the same man about to make my dad’s business lots and lots of money. You can’t tell from his ripped blue jeans and oil-stained hands and messy curls, but Mr. Oakley is worth millions upon millions of dollars. His only daughter, however, just turned eighteen and is therefore in my territory. I let him know as much with a little smirk as I sneak a glance behind him and wink at her. She blushes, peering up at me through her eyelashes.

“I mean it, Luka,” her fuming old man says, “be even a second late and I won’t give that deal another thought.”

I nod slowly, flicking my brown hair out of my eyes and redirecting my smirk his way. “Gotcha, pops, I’ll be sure to have her home by nine fifty-nine on the dot.” I look beyond him, reaching out and grabbing her by the wrist. She giggles and wiggles around him, scampering behind me and blowing her dad a kiss goodbye. His face pinches in obvious anger as I follow behind her, blowing him a saucy kiss as she hops into the passenger seat of my new car.

He holds up a hand before I can stroll around. I watch him curiously as he comes up right in front of me, grabs my hand, and whispers, “Whatever you do to her, I’ll do to you. Don’t test me, boy.” Before I can so much as wrap my head around his words, he’s dropping my hand, smiling at his little girl and heading back inside.

Shaking my head, I climb into my seat and pull away from the curve. Per usual, her hand finds my thigh in the darkness. Unlike the first time, I don’t have to guide it up, it naturally slides. She slips her hand into my already open zipper, reaching in and taking me into her nice and warm palm. She scoots to the edge of her seat and leans across, kissing at my neck and whispering if I missed her. I fight back a smirk. If only her daddy could see her now.

I tilt my head back, keeping my eyes on the road and enjoying her soft, eager touch. “I did, baby girl. I thought I’d have to knock your old man aside, I wanted to see you so bad.”

She giggles. “We’re going there today, right?”

I turn onto the dirt road and glance down at her with a wicked little smirk. “What do you think, babe?”

She does a little squeal and jerks me even faster. I groan, head tipping back dangerously as I turn down the familiar path. As soon as the deserted barn comes into view, I’m turning my head and locking our lips, my tongue plunging into her mouth. She sighs into me, shifting even closer as she takes my hand and leads it up her skirt and between her legs. She’s soaked through her cotton panties.

She pants as my fingers curl upward, stroking her puffy lips through them. “I may have liked watching you stand up to him a bit too much, Lukey,” she confesses in a murmur, hips squirming to press herself even harder into my fingers.

I promise to take care of her soon enough as I reach over and open my car door. She waits in her seat, happily letting me take her in my arms and carry her into the barn. Inside, I’ve lit the place with plenty of lanterns and cleaned the bed of any signs of the latina I had this morning. Since Maryanne just moved in with Mr. Oakley a few weeks ago, she hasn’t met Flora yet, so I figured it was safe to enjoy both of them at the same time.

Seeing the sweet little girl I’ve been slowly bringing out of her shell lift her skirts, hand me her wet underwear and spread her legs sends a wicked thrill down my spine and straight to my dick. When I first met her, she thought kissing was scandalous, but here she is, sprawled out in the middle of nowhere about to let me fuck her in the same place I took her v-card. That’s what I love about all the cute girls that move here from the country: they’re all virgins. They’re so unbelievably sensitive and tight that all other girls bore me. I like my women tight and blushing and wet at all times. As soon as they get sloppy down there, it’s time for me to leave them. Unfortunately for Maryanne, she’s getting looser and looser with every day that passes and Flora is only getting tighter.

I think of the cute little Spanish girl as I sink into her quivering, eager folds. Her creamy legs wrap around my waist and pull me in deeper as I remember the way Flora’s needed a bit of licking in order to take me. She was sweet. Delicious, even. I ate her happily, listening to her scream when my tongue was replaced suddenly by my cock. Mary’s moans breach my concentration, and I suddenly remember why I keep screwing her every chance that I get. She calls out for her daddy during sex.

“James!” She gasps and pants his name, hips squirming and muscles clenching all around me. It doesn’t bother me in the least. In fact, I find her little daddy complex cute. It’s the only thing that makes screwing her enjoyable. The second time I did her was when she started calling out his name, and since I didn’t know it was her dad, I was furious and came without her, letting her beg for a good five minutes before finishing her off.

Then, Mr. Oakley came by.

Mr. James Oakley.

For a while, her calling out his name was amusing, but now, it turns me on. She gets to fantasize about her big ol’ daddy doing her raw, and I get to determine if he does her nice and tender or wrecks her already loose cunt with a powerful, merciless pounding. Today, I decide he’s denying her an orgasm until he’s had his fill.

She cries and begs, writhing on my cock as I keep her on the edge, listening as her cries get more and more desperate. She calls me daddy and James and baby, and tries to push back on me as I hold still in her, letting the frantic squeezing of her walls do all the work for me. Then, I grab at her hips, pull her ass up hard against my abdomen for God knows how many times, and shoot into her stomach. Tears stream down her face as I pull out and give her my fingers instead, cherishing the starved, miserable look on her face before I push her over the edge, watching the relief come over her features. Once that’s done, I pat her panties in their place in my back pocket and pull her up off the bed.

She moans softly and sits down on the edge, legs opening as she lifts her skirt again. “Do me again, Luka!”

I eye her oozing core for a moment, just watching the juices drip free, and shake my head. The quicker I get her home, the faster I can get over to Flora’s house and have some real fun. “Not tonight, baby girl. Maybe in a couple days.”

She pouts but follows me out, not bothering to ask for her panties back for once. It’s because of how much she drips that I take them, loving the way she squirms whenever I bring her home. The truth is Maryanne is a huge worry wart. After every time I take her, she tells me to go to the store and buy her birth control since I refuse to wear a condom, and she’s constantly telling me her dad knows we’re screwing there, but if he did, I always argue, why does he let her go out with me anyways. He’s a man, he definitely knows that two hours is more than enough time to flip up a skirt and dump a load in some sweet little girl like Mary. Especially when she comes prepared to take off her panties and lift her dress for me.

Once I get her a water and the pills, she’s finally content enough to go back to her house. Unfortunately for me, today is the last day of the college football game, so the traffic is thick and slow, progressing at less than the speed of a turtle. Sighing under my breath, I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and check the time on my watch. Nine fifty-eight. I lean back in my chair at the ridiculously long line of cars in front of us. Two minutes to get all the way from the center of town to that far off shack he calls a house? I might as well call my father now and tell him I fucked his business partner’s daughter and screwed him out of the big break he’s been waiting half his adult life for.

I groan under my breath. My dad just might disown me this time if I tell him something like that. There’s no doubt in my mind that no matter how my step-mother may protest, he’ll really put me out on my ass. I wonder who would take me in then. Certainly not any of the girls I’ve slept with and left to be put back together by some other guy. Well, there goes a good percentage of the town.

By the time we make it to the light at the end of the street, I’ve already calculated how many people I can rely on in a time of need. None. I glance at my clock. Eleven ten. I’m so fucked. Mary tries to make conversation, but I completely ignore her. Because she wanted that stupid medicine, my life just might be ruined. We’re over an hour late, not ten or fifteen minutes, but a whole fucking hour! For pills!

I groan, rubbing at my forehead and hoping her dad might’ve gone out or fallen asleep. But when I turn onto his street, his driveway is lit up with his bright red pick-up truck parked outside the garage, and he’s sitting on the porch. Of course, he doesn’t look upset, instead there’s a short glass of liquor beside him, a rifle beside it, and a book in his hands as if he’d settled in long ago for my arrival. I am so fucked.

I glance at the clock. Eleven thirty five.

I’m beyond fucked.

Getting out of my car is perhaps one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life. My dad needs that deal more than he needs me, that little annoying thought runs through my head over and over as her daddy stays where he is, calmly licking his thumb and turning the page.

“Maryanne,” he says at last, making his little girl flinch behind me, “go on inside now.” She scurries to safety as if the hounds of Hell are at her feet instead of mine. Minutes tick by with just me, him, and that damn book.

Huffing, I cross my arms over my chest and snap, “Honestly, say something already!”

He blinks up at me, pretending like he didn’t know I was there. “Why are you still here, Luka? Run along now and tell your daddy that I’ve changed my mind.” He dismisses me with a lazy wave of his hand.

My teeth grit. “No.” There’s always some way to appease a girl’s parents, and while usually I’d appeal to her mother, Mr. Oakley doesn’t have a wife. What does he want? I look him over. I could give him money for new clothes.

Before I can attempt to be charitable, he’s chuckling under his breath and finally setting the book down on the little end table next to him. “Boy, you must be out your Goddamn mind,” he drawls, a smirk stretching his lips. “Do you think I’m stupid? Believe it or not, I grew up ‘round these parts, and know all the places guys like you take girls like my daughter. And I’m a man that stands by my word. Your father won’t see a penny from me whether you tell him why or not.”

“That’s–!” I cut off, throw my hands in the air in frustration, and decide to just try again tomorrow morning after some rest. “Don’t think this is over. I’ll have words with you to–!”

I come to a halt, one foot poised to take a step and the other just landing. He tugs at my back pocket, something giving way, and a great cluster of unease gathers in my gut. Suddenly, I’m very much aware of the rifle I’d seen earlier and how far, far away my car seems.

“Son,” his voice calls, as cool and calm as ever, “what did I tell you before you left?”

I whirl around and, sure enough, clutched between his fingers are Maryanne’s panties with their white floral design. That’s just my luck today, isn’t it? I palm my forehead and try to remember what useless shit he must’ve said earlier. Did he threaten to shoot me? I can’t recall for the life of me!

“Come on inside, son. Wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors.”

“What?”

Before I can plant my feet, his calloused fingers are curling round my upper arm and yanking me forward. I keep one eye on him and the other on the gun, chest heaving in relief when he completely ignores it. It’s only when the door to his house slams shut behind me that I realize that I’m in his house and there could very well be a quieter hand gun somewhere nearby.

“L-listen, sir, now I didn’t–!”

“Save it, boy.” He strolls forward, taking a right and entering the kitchen, without hesitating in the least he goes right on through to a door at the end. When it opens, there’s a set of stairs going down into darkness. He folds his arms over his chest and leans against the door. “If you accept your punishment, I’ll consider sparing your daddy’s contract.” That’s more than enough to get me down the stairs. He stops me at the first step with a hand at my shoulder. “You’ll be needing this.” I frown, reaching out blindly for the railing as he ties something thick and heavy around my eyes. His mouth appears at my ear, “Once we reach the bottom, you’re to tell me everything you and my daughter did, starting with the handjob in the car.”

Oh my God, he saw that?! “You saw?!” I demand loudly, tilting my head back instinctively.

Something clicks closed behind me. “I did. C’mon get a move on. Don’t fall.”

“Why don’t you go ahead of me then? Or take this damned thing off me, huh?”

“No,” is all he replies.

I wait a few seconds, and then hesitantly stretch one foot out, sliding it along until the step I’m on ends. I do the same thing again, just taking them a step at a time with the constant pressure of Mr. Oakley watching me from behind. If I slip up, do I fail whatever test this is? Almost immediately, my foot presses down on nothing but air and I’m pitching forward. Thick arms catch me around the waist, pulling me back against a broad chest. I can’t help but feel small against him both physically and because I’m blind. He’s bigger and stronger and . . . and warmer, I realize with a start. His front radiates warmth almost as well as a bonfire. Instinctively, I lean back on him, welcoming the heat over the chill of the unknown in front of me.

“Didn’t I say to be careful?” He grumbles, breath gusting past my neck and making me shiver and turn away. Despite his complaining, he holds me to him and whisper-orders for me to move my foot forward. I reach out hesitantly, hands unconsciously grabbing at his arms in case he’s trying to trick me into falling into something. Instead, when he tells me to step down, I feel nothing but the solid wood of the steps. “That’s it. Good boy. Now, move it forward again,” he murmurs, bottom lip gently caressing the shell of my ear, “and step. Good boy. Keep going.”

I want to say something about how I’m not even remotely part canine, but decide against it considering he’s trying to help me. Besides, by the time he guides me to the bottom, I don’t exactly mind his insanely belittling word choice. Instead, I almost miss it in the silence and stillness of the room. It’s almost like there’s nobody here, but I know better. He’s here. I can feel his warmth somewhere in front of me. Biting the inside of my cheek, I hesitantly reach out, flinching when my fingertips connect with him. I can’t tell if it’s his back or front, so I just pretend it’s the latter.

“Now what, pops?”

He chuckles.

Fingers wrap around my wrist, tugging me forward. I stumble towards him, anticipating the collision only to be guided round in a circle. Dizzy and discombobulated, I feel him step up close to me, his hands lifting mine above my head, and his breath hot and even on my face. I tilt my head up, looking to where my hands should be even though I can’t see them. As soon as I do so, his fingers are replaced by something cold and hard. The thick bands are unwavering and consume most of my wrist, leaving me feeling shackled and very, very uneasy.

I tug on them and hiss at Mr. Oakley, “What the fuck is this?”

His hand finds my jaw, grabs onto it and pulls until my face is turned towards his general direction. “You have a story to begin.”

Despite him being right in front of me, my body goes cold at his words. Something in his voice is different, not at all like his usual calm one. It freezes all the words in my throat and makes me pull harder on my hands. I’d look up, but his grip on my chin is firm, far too solid for me to have a prayer of breaking it.

It tightens. “Speak.”

I lick my lips nervously, eyes squeezing shut where he can’t see them as my mouth opens, giving in so easily to that one, cold word. “I just took her to the old barn on fifty-third.”

“You’re skipping parts. Car first, then the barn.”

“All she did was give me a handjob!” I bark, cursing and attempting to rip my head out of his hand.

He hums under his breath, and says, “Well, since your hands are out of the question, we’ll just do this.” Before I can ask what this is, his hands are leaving my face in favor of my pants.

“Woah!” I thrash backwards wildly at the first touch of his fingers on my button. It hardly even fazes him. Instead, he presses into me, traps me between him and a freezing flat surface. He reaches in, finds my cock and wraps those thick, rough fingers around it. He gives it a stroke and my hips buck, my teeth biting into my lip as he guides me out, exposing my dick to the chill of the room.

I shiver, horror flooding through me as he tightens his grip on me, lets me feel every callous-toughened inch on my smooth skin. This is definitely not the hand of a woman, he says with his touch, mocking me with it as he pumps me in his tight fist. Despite the fact, I can feel myself reacting, heat pooling in my stomach as he strokes his heavy, calloused thumb across my head. I twitch to life in his hand, lips parting in horrified wonder at the delirious pleasure of being jerked off in such a hot fist. And I’m glad then that I can’t see him. His expression can only possibly be taunting my weakness to pleasure. I lean my head back on whatever’s behind me, biting at my lip at how slow his touch is. It’s nothing like how Maryanne had touched me. She wanted me to come. He wants me to beg.

“Faster,” I murmur at last, “she jerked me faster.”

Another chuckle. “And? Did she make you come?”

No. “Yes,” I breathe on a sigh, hips lifting into his teasingly light grip.

His lips find my ear. “I don’t believe you,” he whispers, his hand completely avoiding my head. He takes my earlobe into his mouth, nipping it with his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. I shudder, swelling in his hand and exposing my neck to his mouth. “Good boy,” he praises in a husky murmur, his thumb rubbing my head round and round as his lips descend on my skin.

His kisses are hot and lingering, like he’s frenching my neck and loving every second of it. The idea makes me drip. He smears my juices down my length, mouthing at my neck as my shaft jerks in his grip. I want to come. If I could, I’d fist my hair at how beyond ridiculous this is. I’m being jerked off by a man, and I like it. There’s no denying it, either. Here I am, wet and hard and held in a tight, coarse fist that could only ever belong to a man. And he knows it, revels in it as he stops touching me altogether.

I groan, body hot and throbbing as I sag back against the cold surface. I can still feel his touch, it sizzles across my throat and dick, and makes me ache like some pathetic bitch in heat. But I don’t mind nearly as much as I should. Instead, my lips are opening and words are spilling out. “I kissed her and brought her inside. She gave me her underwear, and I fucked her until she cried.”

He doesn’t say anything just slams his lips on mine and tugs at my dick. I pant into his mouth, head spinning at the ease in which his tongue dominates my mouth. I can hardly think beyond trying to keep up and not turn to mush, but I certainly notice when his hands yank down my pants. They hit my knees and then I’m kicking them off, swaying into his chest as he gives my shaft one last long pull. It’s when he sticks his fingers into my mouth that I realize something I should’ve a long, long while ago: I’m not the one doing the fucking this time.

I remember my words then. Until she cried. Despite my obvious fate, I find myself getting hotter. I suck on his fingers readily, licking and stroking at every single one as if they’re the sweetest candies ever to enter my mouth. He groans, and then they’re gone, curling over my hip and finding my crack. I sway into him, lips parted in wonder as he wets my hole with his fingers, caressing it back and forth and back and forth. I gasp when on a random pass he slides a finger into me.

“Good boy,” he praises, his other hand kneading my ass cheek as the hot, slick digit pushes inward.

I moan at the wicked thrill that moves through me at his words and touch. Tonight, I’m going to let a man fuck me. His finger gets a friend, and the two of them curl up into something that makes my entire body light up like fireworks. I bury my head in his neck, legs trembling and back arching as he rubs it round and round until I see white and my cock is shooting with abandon, emptying a load onto us.

“St-stop,” I gasp, hands fisting as he continues playing with it, rolling and pushing on that spot until I’m fully hard again and trembling on the verge of coming once more.

“Come,” he says lowly by my ear, shoving his fingers hard into my sweet spot. I do so with a muffled scream into his neck. My legs give out as my cock twitches and jerks and spurts erratically. Dangling by my wrists, I feel almost grateful when he lifts me up by my thighs and settles my legs around his hips. “Such a good, good boy.”

I moan pitifully, leaning into his chest and tugging at my aching wrists. “I want to touch you.”

“Say please.”

I whine the word, sighing in relief when the bonds come undone. Weaving my fingers through his hair, I pull his mouth down to mine and kiss him feverishly. I want it, I admit readily, arching my back and rubbing myself on the hard bulge of his pants. “Fuck me.”

He groans, tells me what a good boy I am and wets his cock in his slicked fingers. I feel him at my entrance then, waves of his heat crashing against me just before his thick, ridiculously big head shoves its way into me. I squirm on the large bulbous tip, lips parting in disbelief at how scalding hot and wide it is. He burns me on it, branding me deeper and deeper with every thickening inch until my hole tingles numbly and he yanks me down the last few inches. I can taste him on my tongue he’s so far in me, and it makes me impossibly hard and eager to feel his cum spill into my stomach.

“You should see your face, boy,” he murmurs in his thick, hard voice, “you want this cock so bad you’re drooling.” I lift my hands to my face, but he quickly pins them down, holding them against the thing behind me as he gives me a sharp thrust of his hips. I moan like a bitch. Feeling him rub his thickness on that spot does incredible, sick things to me. He entwines our fingers, pressing me hard into the wall as he pulls out and dives back in. He does it over and over and over until I’m nothing but another woman on his cock, crying his name and begging to come.

Instead of giving me what I want, he pulls out of me, sets me on my feet, and turns me around. I stick my ass out without thought, hands flat against what can only possibly be a wall, and welcome him back into me. He fists my hair and smacks my ass as he pounds me into nothing, whispering in my ear that Maryanne can hear me and that he’s nowhere near done.

He takes me hard and fast and mercilessly keeps telling me all the things he’s been wanting to do to me, all the times he saw me and wanted nothing more than to fuck that smug smirk off my face. When I’m on the verge of coming he stops, bites my ear and makes me come by squeezing on his dick and listening to his words. In bright, colorful words, he describes all the ways he can punish me with cuffs and cocks and dirty, dirty games that make me squirm. I can hardly stand it. Every dark, taunting word that leaves his mouth makes my dick drizzle my juices down my legs, makes me realize that I’m no better than the girls I make go home with wet thighs and dripping cunts.

And I know when he rams in ball’s deep and relieves himself in me that I like it.

“My good boy,” he says as I spread my legs wider, let him sink all the way into my drenched heat, fist my hair, and yank me up and down that thick, thick cock of his. Mr. Oakley’s lips find my ear and I’m submerged in the scent of sex, the feeling of his skin smacking against mine, and the sound of being called a “good boy” over and over again until it’s all that my ears can recognize.

|| Part Two: Here ||

A Girl’s Love

This is a little something I began a couple days ago. So far, there’s no real plot, just a premise, but I really liked this little intro piece to the characters so I felt like sharing it here. Don’t really expect any updates or chapters, stuff like that, because it’s really only an idea I’m working on as of now. I’ll let you know if anything changes after this though!

Written 12-20-17

“I loved a girl once. With pretty brown hair and pretty brown eyes and pretty pink lips that only ever opened to tell others lies. I kept her like one might keep a stray cat. I knew that at any given moment, if she wasn’t at my side, she was sneaking into another person’s home, another person’s bed. And it didn’t bother me as much as one might expect. I respected her lifestyle. I had no desire to change it, to chain her to me and drag her that much closer to death.

“My work is dangerous, too dangerous, I thought, for me to be keeping pets. I wanted to keep a palpable distance between us. I wanted for others to see her in my arms one day and a number of others on any other. I was frugal with my time. I gave her one day, maybe two every other week, and the rest of my time, I spent doing my job.

“She never asked for anything, but she was a well-kept woman. I provided for her without ever making it too outwardly obvious. I deposited money every so often into an account I’d set up just for her, I kept the police off her tail, supplied her with a new home whenever it became apparent that her most recent caretaker wasn’t treating her as well as before.

“That was one thing we never talked about, though you probably don’t care: the bruises, the scratches, chunks of skin torn off. I provided her with a safe, silent space. She came to me not for an ear to listen to her woes, but a place where nothing was ever asked of her. Don’t mistake me, I still took care of what I had to. A few dead men popped up on your radar no doubt, broken and bloodied, torn to the point of barely looking human. I did what I wanted. She didn’t ask for anything. She didn’t have to.

“You see, with my line of work, I’ve learned to read people far too well. I’m more in-tune with their thoughts than their words. But my cat. Oh,” I shake my head lowly, “she had me fooled pretty damn well. And that’s why I loved her.

“I can admit that now, you know. Now that she’s dead and nobody’s looking to catch me. I could climb the highest tower and tear my lungs apart screaming it to the world, and no one would care. Because that girl, that pretty, pretty girl, misunderstood me. When I told her I didn’t want for our lives to be entangled, that I couldn’t afford to let her stay with me. She thought I was stretching myself, going beyond my means to provide for her.

“The truth was, I’d never been outwardly interested in her going ons, I had purposefully kept myself apart from all of that. But that girl, she didn’t know how not to get involved. When she gave herself to me, she gave completely. Utterly and without hesitation, she gave.

“She saw the world I live in as a cesspool I’d fallen into, stumbled into one day and couldn’t fathom how to get out. Not knowing that I chose this, that I could get out any minute if I wanted, she climbed in, straining to reach me, outstretching her every limb trying to catch a wisp of a ladder, something to hand me, to help me find my way.

“She gave herself to the darkness ever so slowly. It was a visible thing that overcame her, that hardened her eyes and mouth, shortened her kisses, softened her steps. She came to me like a whisper in the night, a sweet temptation, murmuring promises of better things I had no interest in. She clung to me almost protectively, like the night was a menace intent on sucking the light from our lives.

“A few days before I killed her, she saw me as I truly am. I killed my target with a smile right in front of her, with an ease that she instinctively recognized as one I hadn’t acquired but was born with. She called me a monster, a deceiver, scum, what have you. And then she ran from me, she emptied the account I’d made for her and tried to lose herself in the cold mountains to the north, holed up in a run-down cabin.

“I would’ve been content to leave her there, to let her think she was rid of me, hidden away and safe. But that poor woman was so confused, so terribly wrapped up in her own thoughts that she ended up coming back all on her own. She came to me, hands still wet with the blood of her last kill, her footprints a shadowy stain on the floor, shining in the moonlight.

“I’d known I loved her since our first meeting, but I’d never considered her own feelings, had never thought that someone could consider me so deeply ingrained within themselves that they’d do what she did. Of course you know though don’t you? You know exactly what she’d done that day before coming to me. Who she’d killed.

“Her father was a stupid man. His hubris was a black cloud before his nose, preventing him from seeing that his daughter’d grown to see his business for what it was, to sniff out the amount of power he had and slowly claim it for her own. That’d what she’d been doing, of course, all those days swimming in the filth with me in mind. She’d been cultivating a new found strength.

“So, yeah, you could say I helped build up the cartel. That’s one way of looking at it. Or you could see it how I do, detective: the woman I loved gained too much power too fast and I was obligated to protect her pretty little lifestyle one last time.”

The man sitting across from me, breathes out on a long, contorted breath, his lips pursed in thought, eyebrows furrowed. “Miss Castello, what does that have to do with your charges of murder?”

“You wanted to know why I killed those gang members in their homes, asleep in their beds. I’ve told you. I confess.”

I slouch backwards, feeling the cold wood of the stool on my bare shoulder blades and tip my head up towards the ceiling. The detective is, of course, scrambling to get his recorder out of his coat. His hands frantically pat at the many pockets in his coat, going from his lap to his chest. He pulls out the tiny black device just as the warmth I’d been waiting for finds me.

Slender fingers slide into my hair and along my scalp just above my ears. Her hands gently hold onto me as I let my eyes slip shut. The man is choking on his tongue when the back of my head comes to rest on her stomach, her warmth seeping into the very air around me, snaking around my body and effectively lashing me to my seat.

“Have you waited long?”

I don’t bother answering. Her men have been tailing me all day, reporting back to their new mistress about who and what I’m doing. She knows I’ve been here for half an hour, knows that the detective here has been badgering me wherever I go. I don’t have to say a thing.

“I-I” the intrusive man clears his throat, his stool creaking as he shifts his weight, “I thought you said you killed her?”

A soft, twisted laugh vibrates the stomach I’m resting on.

“Metaphors are lost on the human race,” I mutter, already having lost  interest in speech. “Does this woman look like the girl I was talking about? How could I dream of keeping her like any kind of animal, stray or not? Think before you speak.”