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.


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.”

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, Luke,” 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, Luke!”

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, Luke? 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.”


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 splurts 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.

5.b) Summertime Madness Part Two

Hehe so it’s been over a year . . . 

I apologize. Here’s the link to part one, in case you missed it.

Jake’s lips part and then my tongue is rubbing against my best friend’s like it’s the most natural thing to do. He kisses me like he’s drowning, so, so eager that I can’t help but be infected, giving into his pace without a fight. I grab onto his thighs, hitch him up and feel his legs wrap around me. He makes this soft little noise in the back of his throat as he rises up against me, and I have to fight the urge to turn around and get him on the bed, to get him under me and pinned down. Utterly unaware, he smiles into our kiss and rubs his stiff dick on my straining cock.

And I just snap.

I spin and practically throw him onto the bed, watching him bounce up, eyes going wide, before I’m on him. I push his hair off his face and meld my lips to his, my leg sliding in between his, not stopping until I can feel his erection on my thigh. His lips open so willingly for me, his hands clutching at the front of my shirt, popping open a few buttons. I tangle my tongue with his, lose myself in the pleasure of kissing him. Jacob arches his back, presses his soft stomach against my hard cock, and smiles mischievously against me.

“You want me,” he whispers and then I’m on my back with my stiffy once again dangerously close to his ass. He grinds on me, rubs our erections together and makes this soft little moan of a noise.

I reach for him without thought, propping myself up on an elbow and going for his thick, wavy hair with the other hand. He does a slow little rolling motion with his hips and pushes me down by my shoulders. His hands drift across my arms, sliding over my long sleeves and settling on my wrists. I let him hold me down, let him hover those sweet lips above mine, and revel in the way he rests himself on me, feeling secure in the fact that I won’t try to overcome him.

Finally, his mouth makes contact with mine and it’s all I can do to keep still and not give into the light touch. He moves his lips against me slowly, teasingly, like he knows I have no intention of kissing back. Then they break apart and enwrap my bottom lip, his tongue sliding out to wet me. I feel it snake back and forth, my eyes slipping closed as my head fills with uninvited ideas for where else Jacob could lick me. When he pulls away I almost sigh my relief, my cock pulsing madly for his attention.

His hair tickles my chin, makes me tilt my head away, and then a pair of soft, moist lips press against my throat. I groan, hands curling into fists as he sucks at my skin, not hard enough to make a mark, but enough so that I know he wants to.

“Jacob,” I warn him, but make no move to break free of his grasp.

Instead, I just lay there as he drifts towards my collar bone, nudging aside my shirt’s collar with his face. His breath bursts across my exposed chest and I realize that maybe, possibly, him opening my shirt wasn’t really an accident. I curse under my breath, my eyes lifting to the headboard as he gives the dip between my pecs a long, slow lick. His lips settle just above my heart and starts sucking hard, trying to pull my skin into his mouth. Yet again, my mind fills with pictures of him on his knees, head tipped back and mouth open for my cock. My hips buck without thought, effectively dislodging him from my chest.

I pull my hands out of his and grab onto the full swells of his ass, hitching him up my front and slamming my lips on his. I push his ass down, make him feel my steely shaft twitching for his attention. He sways down on me, lips parting on a breathy pant for air. I dip my tongue in between them, suck his tongue into my mouth and nip it with my teeth, massaging him after for all I’m worth. I roll over, get him back underneath me and grind up hard against him. He moans for me, his fingers weaving into my hair, yanking viciously as I do it again.

It’s official. I want to fuck him, want to get my hands in his pants and hear him scream my name when I make him come. My gut tightens, head tipping back on a throaty groan of frustration. He peppers my jaw and throat with kisses, hips lifting into the pressure of mine. I reach down between us, cup his engorged dick through his pants, and listen to him gasp when I massage him with little rolls of my fingers. I rub him up and down the best I can through his jeans, feeling absolutely starved when I see him writhe.

His hands fist my shirt above the swells of my biceps, his eyes fluttering closed as he swivels his hips, tries his hardest to get himself off. “Seth,” he practically whimpers. My lower half throbs.

I shut my eyes and bury my face against the side of his neck, hands fusing to his hips and pulling up as I thrust forward. He cries out, barely muffling himself with his hands as I suck on his neck, kiss him over and over as we slide against each other, rubbing and humping and colliding together in a desperate mutual need to come. I can feel the heat rising, my movements becoming erratic, my balls pulling taut. But before I can come, Jacob sucks in a sharp breath, his body faltering. I quickly push his hands aside, my mouth closing over his just in time. His cry vibrates my teeth and sounds so incredibly sweet to my ears as the heat flows right out of me, my cum shooting free.

I rest my forehead on his and chuckle to myself, my breath ragged. “I haven’t done that since high school.”

He smiles, his arms coming up around my neck as his head tips back, slightly letting our lips brush together. “I haven’t done that ever.”

My lips curl around a smirk. I nudge his nose with mine and tease, “So I’m your first, then?” I meant it as a joke; everyone in our group knows that Jake is a virgin.

But then I feel his fingers fidget at the base of my neck.

“What?” I push up off of him, my voice full of disbelief, “You had sex? When? Where? With who?!”

He looks at me almost apologetically. And he must sense just how much emphasis I put on the last question because all he says is: “Raf.”

Rafael. Fucking Raf of all fucking people? He’s not even gay! He’s like the poster child of heterosexual assholiness! “You’re lying,” my voice comes out flat, emotionless, “tell me you’re lying.” I know he’s not. He’s not avoiding eye contact or chewing on his bottom lip. He’s telling the truth.

Rafael fucked my best friend.

I’m off the bed in seconds, popping my shirt’s buttons back in place, and heading towards the door. I don’t even know what I plan to do, I just know I want air. I want to be outside where the air is freshest and breathe it all in so deep my lungs might pop. I take all of two steps before Jake is at my shoulder, clinging to my arm.

“Seth! I didn’t know what to do back then. You had gotten your first girlfriend that lasted more than two weeks and you told me you’d had sex and I was just so confused!”

Turn towards him. Comfort him. You have no right to be this angry. Don’t take it out on him. I open my mouth to tell him it’s alright and that I’m just being unreasonable, but all that comes out is: “You fucked Raf of all people.”

And as if that isn’t bad enough, at that moment the door swings open and in steps Rafael, my bags in his hands.

He just kind of stands there, looking between me and Jacob, kneeling at the foot of our bed, for a while. Without thinking, I step between them, arms crossing over my chest.

He nods in understanding. “So you know, then. Sorry, man, it only went on for like three months tops.”

I haven’t played football in a while, but I recall most of it when I rush my friend, slam him back against the door across the hall. My body works on autopilot, holding him in place with one forearm across his shoulders. And then my fist is plowing into his ribcage and I’m hearing the most satisfying grunt of my life. Somewhere in the distance, there are feet pounding up the stairs, voices shouting at me from all directions, but all I can really hear is the absolute silence within my head.

Someone pulls me back and I willingly go with them, slumping against the opposite wall and watching on as the girls and Jacob flounder around a slightly hunched over Rafael. Matt’s hands clap against my cheeks, shaking my head slightly back and forth.

“Hey!” He practically shouts, “You in there? The dead fish eyes thing is creeping me the fuck out, man.”

I blink hard, my ears ringing, and when I open them I can hear everything clearly again. There’s no longer a slightly muffled quality to life. I shake off Matt’s hands and nod once. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Andrea asks incredulously, “Fine?! You just attacked Raf for no reason! Apologize or something, Seth.”

Before I can tell her that there’s no way in Hell that I’d say sorry, the so-called victim himself speaks up. “No, no, it’s fine. I probably deserve it for all the things I did to–”

“Mother fucker.” I step forward, ready to nail him in the head this time, but Matty and Kelsy cement themselves to my front, making all sorts of calming noises in an effort to appease me. It might’ve worked, but over their heads I can just barely make out Raf smiling down at a very familiar brunet. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“You can’t kill Rafael!” The twins squeal together, pushing hard against my chest, trying to pin me to the wall.

I frown down at them. “Not Raf, you idiots, Jacob.”

The entire group stops what they’re doing, not daring to even breathe it seems. Slowly, cautiously, Kelsy opens her mouth, “What did you just say?” I glare down at her, not feeling inclined in the slightest to play her little game.

“Jacob?” Andrea says the word slowly, acting like she’s never heard it before.

“Not Jake?” Matt slowly steps away from me, looking towards the smaller boy with a raised brow. “What did you do?”

Jacob’s hands go behind his back.

He’s uncomfortable.

Without thinking, I step forward, effectively drawing back everyone’s attention. “As far as I can tell, this isn’t any–”

“I slept with Jake.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Andrea sighs deeply, resting her forehead in her palm.

“Woah!” Kelsy breathes under her breath, looking unsurely between all three of us, her eyes lingering on me.

“Seth just seemed to find out when I entered the room.”

Matty shakes his head, his hand clapping down on my shoulder. “Sorry, man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I shrug him off, “nice little reminiscing session we’ve got going on here, but I’d much rather do it over some drinks.” My mouth automatically pulls back into the smile I usually save for way too pushy girls. It seems to do the trick, letting the atmosphere loosen up as everyone else smiles back, wholeheartedly agreeing.

“We have jello shots in the cooler! We were just in the process of getting them all out,” Kelsy says excitedly, looking to me as if she needs my approval.

I stretch the smile a little wider and use a hand on her back to nudge her forward. “What’re you waiting for, then?” The group starts excitedly talking amongst themselves about all the different drinks we can use to get drunk, and only stops when they realize I’m not following them downstairs. “Ah, sorry, guys, I have to shower first.”

They nod and tell me to hurry down, disappearing down the creaky steps. Sighing, I turn and head into my room, quickly undoing all the buttons of my shirt, and dropping it onto the floor. I keep my eyes away from the bed and my back to the person lingering in the doorway as I pick up my fallen duffle bag and set it down on the dresser beside the door to the bathroom.

When I have a new outfit picked out, I press my palms into the edge of the wood, and call out, “How long do you plan on silently watching me?”

“That depends,” Jacob says, the floorboards squeaking when he steps deeper into the room, “how long before you’ll look at me?”

I sigh, eyes slipping closed in defeat. Determinedly, I turn around, park my ass on the dresser and force the edges of my lips upwards. “Happy?”

His eyes blink rapidly, his hands curling at his sides. I’m upsetting him. He might cry. My stomach knots in on itself. “Not like that,” he cries pitifully, “don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?”

He shakes his head, bottom lip quivering.

I turn my back to him, listen to him sniffle as I yank back closed the zippers to my bag. I shouldn’t feel bad or angry. He didn’t do anything wrong. I did. I am. I rub at my forehead, feeling infinitely frustrated with myself, and try again. This time when I turn around, I don’t smile, I just keep my eyes on his, not allowing myself to look anywhere else. I don’t want to read him. I don’t want to know exactly how he’s feeling.

“You lied to me. You still don’t trust me enough to tell me anything about your personal life. And even though I’ve never kept a secret from you, never tried to hide what I’m doing or who I’m seeing,” I look towards the ceiling, smiling ruefully, “everything I find out about you is either through your overly honest body or somebody else. You confuse me and toy with me and turn me on and piss me off to no end.” I take a deep breath and try to quell the nauseous feeling of hurting him, of listening to him quietly crying to himself.

He hiccups when I look back down at him, his face bright pink and irritated from his tears. He doesn’t meet my gaze. He stares at the ground and seems to wither away beneath it.

I cuss under my breath and snag my clothes off the dresser. “Today, I figured out I liked you, and not in that younger brother kind of way I thought I did.”

His watery eyes fill with hope, and he takes a hesitant step my way, “Seth, I–”

“But now, now I can’t help but wonder about so many things. You were best friends with Raf first, you two were inseparable, and then seemingly overnight, I took his place. Is this how you get people to sleep with you? Am I just some sort of stepping stone in a long line of others? Was this your plan the whole time?” I rub my temples with my free hand but the aching between my ears won’t go away. “Just . . . be out of my room by the time I’m done in the bathroom.”

He calls out for me, but I cut him off with a hard slam of the door. I don’t want to hear his voice right now. It seems like everything that comes out of his mouth when I can’t see him is a lie.

“Fuck,” I grind my teeth together and turn on the water, more than ready to be rid of any evidence that I fell for his tricks.


I jog down the stairs, feeling pretty refreshed after my shower. I can hear the ruckus of the group throughout the whole cabin, and follow it down the long central hallway to the den. There, surrounded in the furs of Andrea’s great grandfather’s prey, my five friends sit on the wooden floor, a plethora of shots and glass bottles displayed in the center of their circle. I take a seat between Kelsy and the couch, leaning against it as I reach into the center.

“Seth baby!” Kelsy squeals into my ear as my fingers curl around the neck of a tall bottle of Jack Daniels. She sways into me, resting her back on my chest, and points unsteadily across the circle at Jacob. “You’re a bad boy! You made him cry.”

I spare him a glance, but he’s looking anywhere but at me. “He’s a big boy, Kels. He’s fine.”

“More importantly!” Andrea exclaims, one arm slung around Raf’s and Matt’s shoulders, “you’re just in time to play my favorite game.”

“Oh, no,” I playfully groan, taking a quick gulp of my drink. It burns nicely, warming me up well enough considering I usually go for something stronger.

“Oh, yes,” she wiggles her eyebrows my way, “it’s time for . . .  naked Twister!” The whole room explodes in protests, to which Andrea cackles like the maniacal witch she is. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding!”

“Why don’t we skip the games tonight,” Matthew suggests, quickly looking my way and then pretending he didn’t, “our teams are gonna be all screwy otherwise.”

The witch makes a soft oo-ing noise, apparently having forgotten the earlier debacle in her fun. “No teams, then?”

“We could play that king game again. I liked that one!” Kelsy says, reaching her hand out and stealing my drink. She takes a sip of it and then grimaces, looking up at me from her spot slumped against my chest. “Since when do you like Jack?”

I roll my eyes and look towards Matty. “When are you going to build up her tolerance to alcohol? It feels like I’m babysitting over here.”

He smirks. “No one told you to sit next to her. Would you rather have Andrea trying to cuddle you?”

“True, true,” I nod and wrap my arms around his sister, pulling her up into my lap. “What drink do you want next, sis?”

She does this weird little giggle-snort mix and halfheartedly tries to get away. “It’s so weird! Somebody help! Andreaa!”

“No shouting in the den!”

“Andreaa, I want to play king!”

I look towards the mama hen, making my best attempt at puppy eyes for her. She huffs and shuffles around, looking over the sea of empty bottles behind her. Finally, she turns back towards the group with a triumphant grin and a deck of cards. She pulls out numbers two through six and the king card, and while she’s shuffling, I ask Kelsy to fill me in.

“So,” she begins, her gaze intent, “this is like a game of dare but without being able to know who you’re daring. The king gives out dares and then calls out the numbers that have to do it, so whoever’s king is in charge, but they can only give out three dares.”

I nod. It seems simple enough. Now I just have to hope that none of my friends become king or things are going to get very perverted very fast.

Some of the bottles are cleared away and then the cards are laid down flat in front of everybody. On the count of three, we all reach in and pick up our card, holding it close to see what we got.

I’m number six. I curse under my breath and look around for some smiling shit-eater. Surprisingly, I don’t spot any. Which means one of my worst nightmares has come true. Putting Kelsy in charge of anyone is a bad idea. She has a tendency to go too far very quickly once she gets into anything, making her the worst person to ever compare to higher up royalty.

“Kelsy’s the king!” Andrea declares loudly, looking almost pleased.

“Aw yiss,” Kelsy rubs her hands together evilly and scrambles onto the couch. Everyone quickly places their cards face down so she can’t see them. “Numbers two and three kiss!”

Raf and Matt look around, make eye contact, and turn green. Kelsy screams like a banshee, bouncing up and down as if she’s been electrocuted. I eye the two men with very real pity as they inch towards each other, creeping forward on their hands and knees. Their faces come closer and closer, and at the last second turn, so they’re only kissing each other’s cheeks.

Andrea howls with laughter at their victory, pointing mockingly at a pouting Kelsy. Kelsy glares right back and angrily says, “Numbers four and six,” I tilt my head back to look at her, “are banished to the closet for seven minutes!” Well, that was rather tame. The king looks at Andrea, waiting for her to stand, but the other girl doesn’t.

I almost laugh at Kelsy’s failed attempt at punishing Andrea until it dawns on me that if the mama hen isn’t going in with me, then that can only mean one thing.

The group seems to realize the same thing and suddenly the light atmosphere is evaporating. I take in all the serious, concerned faces of my friends, and sigh, getting to my feet. In an effort to save the mood, I force a lighthearted smile and bow to them, reaching my hand out for Jacob to grab onto.

“What is he, a princess?” Kelsy giggles, making most of the others laugh along with her.

“Oh, please,” I joke, fingers curling around his and tugging him up against me, “one princess is already too much to handle.”

Jacob stays completely silent and tense as the rest of the group starts cracking jokes about how spoiled Matty’s made Kelsy. Not bothering to wait, I make my way to the hallway, towing my unwilling partner behind me. Across the hall is the largest closet on the property, so I drop his hand and step inside. He seems to hesitate on the threshold, his fingers fidgeting at his sides.

“Come on, the sooner we start, the sooner the seven minutes is up.”

He closes the door behind him, effectively sealing us in chest to chest, packed together like a pair of sardines. Thankfully, the space isn’t completely dark since the door jam seems to be a bit too big for the actual door, giving us a good deal of light. The only complaint I have, besides the obvious, are the wooden shelves pressing uncomfortably against my spine, but I bear it, knowing that if I move away from them, I’ll end up giving Jacob the wrong idea.

“I didn’t lie to you,” he says softly.

I scoff and take a glance at my phone’s screen. “Don’t bother, Jacob.”

“Well, when else am I supposed to talk to you?”

“Anytime during the three months you were screwing Rafael, but that’s just common decency between pals, wouldn’t expect you to know anything about it.”

He huffs. “You’re being childish!”

“I know, hence why I don’t want to talk to you!”

“Then, don’t talk. You did all the talking last time, so now it’s my turn!” I bite my tongue and stand there. Not like there’s anything else to do. “I didn’t sleep with him on purpose–”

“Oh, come on! So you just fell onto his dick?”

“Shut up! I might have, but I don’t know. The first time, I was drunk when he found me, and then suddenly it was morning and I was very, very–

“Spare me the details, princess.”

“Fine. After that, I was really unsure of a lot of things, like why I was jealous of your girlfriend in the first place and why I liked you so much and why I did that with Raf. I was a teenager, Seth; my hormones were all over the place, and I was so fucking confused. It was so much easier to just hook up with someone familiar than to tell a straight guy that I would very much like to personally experience all of the stories he told me. Do you know how terrified I was of you finding out? You play football! You’re huge. You fuck anything with a vagina and leave a trail of testosterone anywhere you go! I read so many stories about people like you beating the shit out of people like me for even mentioning the word gay.”

I clench my jaw. “You thought I would hit you?”

“Wouldn’t you? Didn’t you hit Raf today? And you said you wanted to kill me!”

After I came just from rubbing against you,” I have to swallow hard to keep from remembering it, quickly changing the subject to avoid anymore talk about it, “I would never hit you. Rafael is a different story. He’s like the walking Hulk; he can take a few punches and then some.”

“But . . .” he trembles against me, his voice growing softer, “the way you looked at me, Seth! Don’t you hate me? Aren’t you disgusted by what we did?”

I push my fingers through my hair and shake my head. “When the fuck did I say that?”

He finally looks up at me, his face shrouded in shadows. “You don’t have to say it for me to know, idiot. I’m your best friend. I may not be some weird sort of psychic like you, but I can at least read your expressions!”

“You suck at reading me, then.” Even though I know the time isn’t up, I still reach around behind him and grab at the handle. I open the door and squeeze past him.

“Seth,” he calls after me, following behind as I head for the kitchen.

I sigh, scrub my fingers over my face as we pass the den, and turn right into my destination. Surprisingly, all the counters are clean, void of alcohol in any shape or form. How disappointing. Moving around the island in the middle of the room, I head straight for the fridge.

Just as I’m reaching for the handle, Jacob slides in around me, his entire body pressed against the door. I lift an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “You do realize that I’m by far the stronger of the two of us, right?”

His jaw clenches. “You won’t hurt me. You said so yourself.”

Sighing, I look him over once. “You’re trembling. Get out of the way.”

“Can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen?” He smiles sheepishly up at me.

I roll my eyes and lean into him, let my face come within an inch of his. “I can handle the heat. You can’t.”

He eyes me determinedly, not backing down. “Can you? Every time I try to talk seriously with you, you either walk away or tell me to.”

I roll my eyes heavenward and push off away from the fridge, settling down against the island instead. “Haven’t I heard everything you have to say? Why are you still pestering me?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking my positioning. “What else am I supposed to do to make you listen to me? Fade away into the night?” I grit my teeth, knowing that if I open my mouth I’ll say something stupid, like yes, and then he’ll do something even dumber, listen to me. “I won’t, even if you tell me to.”

I frown at him. “Why not?”

“I lied,” I fling my hands in the air, mouth opening to say I knew it, when he continues, “I didn’t become friends with you because I thought you were cool . . . or at least not in the way you thought I meant. And I didn’t just suddenly stop being best friends with Rafael, either. I’ve liked you for a long, long time, like before you even knew I existed, because Raf took me to one of your home games. And you were so fast and strong, and then you took off your helmet and your hair looked like the most delicious lion’s mane I have ever seen and–”

“Did you just call my hair delicious?”

“Focus, Seth! And then I kept seeing you in the halls and you had so many fans. And then Andrea invited you and all of us out and I thought I was gonna die I was so happy! And you liked me. You told me that you liked me and wanted to hang out! And then–”

“Okay, okay I get it!” I fight back a smile and shake my head, “I accidentally became friends with a crazy stalker fan.”

He tries to protest but gives up before even saying anything. Instead, he just leans towards me, watching my face, his eyes intense, focused. “I love you, and I,” he falters and takes a deep breath, stepping hesitantly my way, “I think you love me, too.” Another step. “Or maybe I’m just being hopeful,” another, “but you didn’t dislike kissing me or holding me.”

I watch him warily, for once not able to read his body language and kind of enjoying it. This Jacob is a new one. His steps are languid, graceful, as if he’s not on land but back in the water, doing all those entrancing different styles of swimming. I can’t help but react, my every muscle tensing, hands sliding back to grab onto the counter. I want to touch him. Fuck, I almost groan when his hand touches down on my chest, sliding up as his body leans into me.

“You like me,” he says in a whisper, his eyes locking with mine. There’s something different there, too. The usual soft brown has turned molten, tempting.

“What,” I clear my throat, trying to rid it of some of its scratchiness, “are you doing?”

He smiles faintly up at me, and I lean in without thought, my eyes stuck on the soft curl of his lips. “I’m showing you what I usually try to hide.”

I hum, my hands slipping away from the counter in favor of grasping his hips. “And that would be?”

“How much I want you.” His head tips back, tongue snaking across his bottom lip.

I pull him closer. “Seduction,” I slide one of my hands’ fingers into his hair and pull backwards, “won’t solve any of our problems.” My lips find his neck, my breath bringing up goosebumps along his skin. It feels so good to touch him again that I willingly forget for a moment that I was mad in the first place.

“I know,” he says, hands drifting back along my waist, “but I don’t care if you only ever want me for sex, so long as you’ll be mine when we’re together.”

The words come out softly, innocently, but they manage to jar me back to reality where that is an incredibly fucked up thing to say. I sigh against him, my arms curling around him and hugging him to my chest. “I’m not that kind of person, Jake, and you know it.”

His hands grab at my shoulders, attempt to push me away, but I won’t budge. This is awful, I finally acknowledge, completely fed up with this festering knot in my stomach. I shouldn’t be jealous. I’m in my senior year of college; I have no right to linger on what happened during my high school days. I didn’t even think of Jake in that way before.

I huff and let him go.

Part Three: Coming Sooner than 1+ year, I promise!

Hear Ye, I Do, Though Not Often (Oh and an almost face reveal pic)

Or rather, that’s what anyone who follows my pathetically, irratically active blog must think: “Hear ye, I do, though not often.”

Aye, yet again, I poofed.

So~ quick rundown time, shall we?

I met that Daddy Dom I mentioned before (D.D. as I believe I formally dubbed him) and it was horrendous~ :3

Few notes about D. D.: he was creepy, he could not smile without his face twitching up into a sneer, he looked about 30 years older than all his pictures, his eyes were oddly misted over as if he was perpetually in a state of either almost-asleep or almost-dead, and his voice was the epitome of snobby rich dude — think: voice of rich old guy on a show like Fairly Odd Parents, and you’ve got D. D.’s voice.

Needless to say, I have not talked to him since. Namely because, he looked like he may have been 50 as opposed to late 20s as I’d been told and~ we had absolutely fucking nothing to talk about. Oh, and did I mention how he repeatedly said, over coffee and casually as fuck, that I obviously~ liked him because only he could make me feel like a woman.



Okay, so yeah, D. D. has been lost to time for me. I met him oh like~ a few days after my post about him, so~ I dunno a while ago.

Then, I went to Florida for two weeks, hung out at Universal Studios, drank some butter beer and got some awesome new pjs. During that time though, I created a Tumblr (no, none of you may add me because my user has part of my real name in it) just to have some fun, non-creepy social media in my life and started talking with some littles and Daddies in the community. One fella, we’ll call him Sleaze, was the typical “call me Daddy” upon saying hello type, and while usually, I’d straight up ignore this type, I thought it’d be fun to see his reaction upon me being straight up bitchy. Oddly enough, he appologized and said he totally understood. So I was like: o.o oh . . . Maybe Sleaze isn’t so bad, afterall.

Foolish but whatever.

Another guy, who I originally didn’t even bother to learn the name of, didn’t bring up DD/lg at all when we first started talking even though his blog is all about it.

Anyways, while I was in Florida those were the two main people I talked to. Surprise surprise, Sleaze always managed to turn the conversation sexual and the other guy — ah, let’s call him J — never became even remotely sexual. Needless to say, I cut off Sleaze by like day 5 because I was just exhausted from constantly reminding him to keep it in his pants.

J turned out great though \o.o/

We talked about food and CT and some hilarious drunk stories from his past (one involving him, completely drenched, and three of his friends, one of which was naked, running away from a wedding party that just so happened to see them) and~ I dunno, just fun things like that, little, natural conversations :3

Anywhoville~ so during my time in Florida, I became pretty close with this J fellow and allowed him to give me small things to do. It wasn’t anything big, ya know? Like I had to put my teddy bear in timeout one night because J had told him to give me a kiss goodnight but my bear didn’t want to. Or~ I had to eat at least one piece of fruit one day because J was worried after I only ate nachos the day before. Small, cute things. I mean, I recognized he was Domming me, but~ I liked it so whatever. Ah though there was one night where I had to touch myself before bed.

But ya know o.o that was nice too so~

Wellp on my way back from Florida, he talked to me about being safe, having a good flight~ and then we made playful little bets about when I would land c:< 

Oh but anyways, this story is probably boring for you guys, so I’ll cut to the chase: J is officially, as of October 7th, when my collars came in, my Daddy Dominant. Now, in some cases a collar means marriage or engagement, but my day collar just means that I am his submissive now and that I fully~ submit to him and whatnot, it’s not marriage. We are not married. I’ve been talking to him for like a month now. It’d be crazy if we just decided to woop off and get married just like that.

So yeah, that’s my journey so far with this whole DDlg thing.

Oh and another thing o.o/ I forgot to mention this before but~ I am also into kitten play, dunno if I ever brought that up, but there it is.

On a side note: I’ve been very busy with work lately, so I haven’t been writing as much, but I’m hoping that I’ll be able to push myself to do that more since I have two days off this week (today and Saturday).

Red one = play, it’s lined with gray-black faux fur inside; locked one = day

So, here are the “almost face reveal pics” as promised. They’re of me in my collars. Both of them, my day and play collars, were bought for me by J, by the way, in case you were wondering, and so far at work no one seems to have noticed or cared that I wear my day one. The play collar, of course, is for play time only, though today Daddy wants me to practice kneeling while wearing it. So yay~, exciting c:< 

My day collar with the choker I typically wear :3

Anywho! That is all for this update :3

Ciao for Now,

Amelie J. Hyde

Creating Our Forever

Let’s talk about sunshine on rainy days and the safety of land on stormy seas. Let’s talk about gold in the streets of Hartford and dragons while we sit on a plane.

I want to be silly and weird and have childish conversations, avoiding the things that matter for the irrelevance of 100 years from now. I want to forget the serious things in life and live out a fantasy where tomorrow never comes and forever isn’t a time but a state of being.

Let’s drive away on the winding, ever-changing ripples of time and forget the drab, the dull, all of the mundane. Let it fade away under the mist before our wandering gaze so long as you remain here with me.

I once asked an old boyfriend of mine to tell me a story where we never die and all he could say was: we won’t die, we’ll become stars. But I don’t want to burn billions of miles away from you or sit in an empty vortex without air or sound. I want to listen to the drumming of your heart in the safety of our own forever and lie upon the softest grass, the sun forever shining over us.

So if it rains, talk to me about sunshine. If we’re adrift in a storm, remind me of the land. If we’re in dangerous territory, distract me with fanciful tales. And if we’re ever stuck with no place to go, don’t tell me when we die, we’ll become stars.

I want to associate us with all things positive and beautiful, and when I’m with you, I want forever to become a state of being that we can fall into together.

▪☆ Written Oct. 10th, 2017 ☆▪

Day Eight: Change, She is

Of steel eyes, unyielding brow

The mountain does not move.

Of titanium roots, all-proof soul

The mountain will not fall.

Insurmountable, it stands.

Weakened ankles, broken spirits

The traveler loses all hope.

Crippled wings, shattered fingers

She touches the ground.

It is not without regrets or scars

That her body flattens grass.

It is not without help and love

That her body, weary, rests.

Broken bones, damaged faith,

A kind muse knows all.

Ruptured heart, burst lungs,

A kind muse heals all.

Songs of joy and sorrows dealt

Crumble for singing seamstress.

Mended wounds and loving scars,

She alters the course of time.

Creative Writing Notebooks: An Addiction?

I confess: I have way more unused notebooks than I know what to do with.

I have a purple spiral-bound one from seventh grade that has all of the Spanish words I’ve ever learned, crammed full of vocab lists I’ve been meaning to get written down. I have two different ruled legal pads – both gifted to me on two different Christmases by my grandmother. I have two moleskin notebooks sitting around with half-baked story ideas and rambling, dreadful, moody-teenager-considering-the-possibilities-of-life poetry. I have three small spiral-bound notebooks each containing a different novel. And a number of other notebooks that have had their contents ripped out and burned away, left empty and ragged in my “box of plenty.”

My point?

I don’t have a single unlined notebook or a leather bound one.

Why do I want an unlined notebook?

Well, I heard – from myself – that blank pages might actually work better for creative writing than lined paper, which can be seen, subconsciously as restrictive. I have noticed that whenever I’m out and about, I tend to scribble down plenty of ideas on blank computer pages and, later, when I look back at them, I love how all over the place my little notes can get.

Which, brings me to my next purchase – after, of course, I buy my sister her late as all Hell birthday present, a few books for my younger sister, and a new mattress pad!

I am going to get an 800 page notebook for (approximately) thirty bucks on Amazon. I know, I know. Why, Amelie, do you feel the need to get eight hundred pages in one convenient notebook package? I don’t know. But doesn’t it just sound adorable?

At first, I was thinking I’d end up forking over $130 for an 800 page leather bound notebook, but I recognized that if I did that, then it would just end up like most of my other ones: dedicated and abandoned to part of a book I’ll most likely never finish. So, my solution: when I run out of pages in my little black notebook (I’m actually about 1/5 through it right now), I’ll start using this behemoth for my writing needs.

Currently, my little black notebook is dedicated to all things random. I have short stories, journal entries, financial plans, lists of things I need to get, bills and when they’re due, the entire plotline to Savage, story ideas, new languages and their core words, poetry, random thoughts, detailed descriptions of people I’ve seen on the bus or at work, and so, so much more. Pretty much it’s my brain. I keep my brain in a little black book that never, ever leaves my side. Seriously, I take that thing with me even to work.

And I’m feeling a little sad since my brain is filling up so quickly. I mean, what will I do when I run out of room some dismal day and have no fresh, already aired out notebook to take its place? A girl simply cannot go without her brain. She can’t.

So, that’s why I need 800 pages. Because my brain must be sustained.

After I buy my new brain – probably going to get it in like a nice, earthy brown color this time – I plan on getting one of those cute, unlined, leather bound notebooks. This one, is purely experimental, as I don’t know how or if writing on blank pages will affect my writing at all, so I’m obviously not going to get 800 pages.

I’m getting 600.

Ha! I kid.

At most, it’ll have like 150-200 pages, but that’s pretty small for my notebooks.

Anyways, there you have it. That’s how I rationalized the impromptu purchase of $70 or so worth of notebooks.

Pray I never am able to work my way around the unreasonably expensive fountain pen that I so desperately want to go with my leather bound notebook. For now, I’ll keep my scheming strictly restricted to things that will cost me less than $100 – so long as it’s not food related.

Ciao for Now,

~ Amelie :3

In a Swing State

Two balls attached to conjoined strings,

We drop from the same height.

On opposite sides of a crater, we fall;

Me, a bit faster, harder than you.

Plummeting, a crash is inevitable.

At the bottom of our swing, we shy away —

Me, out of fear; you, something unknown.

Arcing back up to our original height,

Gravity pulls us back down, reinitiates

The fall that we’re both resisting.

Shyly, weakly, we evade each other;

Over and over, we give up and then in.

Written Sept. 1st, 2017

Day Seven: One Hundred Word Confession

What does it take to gain her attention?

How much must I embarrass myself?

Is it useless? Am I in denial after all?

Probably. I’ve wasted all my efforts.

I’ve struggled to preserve her happiness

At the expense of my bleeding heart

I have dedicated and damaged myself

For a friendship I will never believe in.

And if I were to put my foot down, it,

Inevitably, would expose the phantom

That she has made her life’s foundation.

To end my suffering, I’d destroy her.

And so, without ever taking a step, I

Will always back down for her happiness.

My sister starts her stories with “once upon a time.”

Anne, as previously mentioned, loves me. As her older sister, I dare even say she idolizes me. Why? Because after she found out that I write, she had to write.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not the type of girl to go around screaming because my little sister loves me so much she copies me – I got over that in middle school. What I do go around screaming about is her introduction phrase:

Once upon a time.

I get it, I do. She’s fifteen and just started writing. She’s still learning how to express her ideas. It’s like when a young child is being taught how to write an essay; they’re given a format to use until they develop their own style. I understand, really. On a logical level, I totally get why she’s doing it. On a supportive, sisterly level, I even encourage it by only offering praise.

But on a more primal, writer level, I rage.

Internally, I hear her say those words – she reads her stories to me over the phone – and my soul screaches in agony.

Once upon a time.

When did I grow to hate that phrase so much? Was it when it was turned into a show? Or perhaps before then when I tore up one of my earlier stories that I’d found with a similar intro?

I don’t know when this hate began to grow within me, but it has only served to flourish every time I hear Anne say, “Once upon a time.” That, and suddenly. Oh, how I despise that word. I use it, of course, when I’m too lazy to simply make whatever happened appear sudden in nature. Nonetheless, I hate it.

Once upon a time, I killed the phrase once upon a time and moved on to maul the dickens out of suddenly.

Regardless, in the end, I’m thrilled that we have something in common that I generally love to do.

Ciao for Now,

~ Amelie

P.S.: Sorry not sorry for the rant c: