Savage: Part One, Chapter One

As a teenager, Sophia Andrews had had plenty of “worst days ever,” and each time, she was utterly convinced that nothing could make her retract her declaration. It was almost a given that she would say the phrase at least once a week, being the only daughter of a highly regarded mad scientist did that to her. Everything that seemed to go wrong around her took on a heightened degree of importance. If her tutors were even ten or twenty minutes late, it was a sign from the great Gods of the future that her father was not to keep fiddling with his time machines.

She considers it the cruelest kind of irony, then, that she’s now stranded in time.

She had thought her father’s sponsors were kidding. What kind of monsters, she had thought, would send a new adult out into the seas of time with nothing but a hunk of metal to help keep the sharks away? She was betrayed in an instant, her naïve ideals broken before her very eyes, and she found that it was with the lightest of sensations that she had been ripped away from her home, her time. One minute she was standing still, trembling and surrounded by big men with even bigger guns, and the next, she was here, feeling as light as a feather. Wherever here is, that is.

As far as she can see, there is only white. There’s nothing around her. She’s just standing, or lying, she can’t tell which. Either way, there’s nothing she can do to get away, nothing to change the fact that she’s been sacrificed, condemned to share the same fate as her mother. She coughs, chokes on a thick lump in her throat, her arms curling around herself at the thought of the woman who gave birth to her. The very same woman who died because of her.

Sophia had been six, playing hide and seek, when the lights went out.

It started out just like any other day. Her mother was supposed to come into her father’s lab and look behind the pile of boxes Sophia was hiding behind. She was supposed to chase her, catch her, and praise her for being so good at hiding.

Instead, the power turned off.

Much like the light that suddenly swept Sophia out to sea, the darkness had descended upon them like a curtain finally set loose of its bonds. There was a moment, a brief flicker of one really, where her six year old self had made eye contact with her mother. She was too young to understand, to even notice, really, that her mother was standing in the dead-center of the time machine’s platform. Her mom knew, though. She sent her child a soft, barely there smile.

The generator kicked in, and then her father’s project was humming, coming to life. Three magnetic rings lifted out of the ground, created a thin barrier between their trapped victim and the rest of the world. Sophia can still see the white light filling up the spaces between them, reaching up between each ring and creating a cylinder of pure light in the darkness.

There was no screaming or tears or pain. Her mother was just there, somewhere behind the light show that was playing before her daughter’s eyes. The rings were spinning, whirling in place in a feverish, rhythm-less dance. The room was filled with the sound of a million fans gaining power, reaching their peak, and then dying down, slowly, as the rings sank back down. The curtain of electricity dropped with them, and when the lights came back on, her mother was nowhere to be seen. All the young girl knew back then was that her mom was gone.

She had always thought of death as something slow, drawn out, something she could adjust to with time. That’s not how it went. It was a flash. A bang. A light turning on. And then, off. One second, a person’s alive. The next, they’re not. And everyone is calling them dead, but it doesn’t feel like they’re dead. It feels like playing peek-a-boo with the boo part yanked away.

The people around Sophia had called her the daughter of a hero, of a woman who would make the unthinkable sacrifice in order to further the human race. Her father had been sure to tell the world that it was on purpose. Most thought he meant that the couple had planned it, but his daughter knew the truth: if her mother was the hero, then that made her child the villain. And she lived with that for the twelve years following her mother’s passing.

Now that she’s finally seeing for herself where her mom had gone, she feels the beginnings of a smile come over her. This, she thinks, is exactly what Ma had seen. The empty space around her starts to blur, so she looks up towards the top of her head, blinking rapidly in an effort to dry her eyes. There’s no time for tears. The time for tears had come and gone while she had been trying to reach a shred of humanity left in her home.

With weak hands, she lifts the metal cube she’d been sent through with before her. It doesn’t tell her where or when she’s going, it just blinks its red light at her. There’s no sound. No voice is trying to tell her what’s going on. There’s nothing but a bunch of unlabeled knobs and buttons and switches, and that one, central red light. She looks away from it, but all she sees is the white nothingness. Her chest constricts, pupils dilating, and then she’s screaming into the void, daring it to say something back. Her arm lifts, pulls back. The hunk of useless metal is sent flying.

The lights go out.

~ | ~ | ~

A basin, the people have always called their little world such, with tall, jagged edges in the form of unconquerable mountains for walls. Above, thick, angry gray clouds reign supreme, a reminder of why the Laws were put in place. Below, the land is divided by one long, tumultuous river that begins at the base of one mountain and travels along the charred ground where a vast forest once was, only to die suddenly and without reason at the bottom of another.

On either side of the great body of water, is a stretch of land where soldiers go to fight for their kingdoms out of the way of civilian eyes, and eventually, where they all are hoping to die. The place where most deaths occur is surrounded on either side by a thick layer of densely packed, prickly, never-green trees. They grow tall and thick, in bunches and circles, patterns many a traveler have tried to master, but once a person enters the woods, it is one thing to have as good a map as you can, and quite another to traverse the forest without ever having a drop of sunlight.

Beyond the woods, on both sides, are villages, or rather many small clusters of tiny clay huts, gathered in tight around one long, oval-shaped building, and protected from the outside with tall, wooden fencing. Both kingdoms have four gated groups beyond their city walls, each specializing in one particular source of food. It was a tradition originally started when metal birds still flew in the sky and the entire world was within reach. The time before Earth was destroyed, before the sun went away and sealed them into the prison they call a basin.

The people living beneath the clouds do not see the symmetry of their kingdoms, cannot grasp how alike both territories are. They see only the Fenza to the north and the Jinza to the south. They see that one celebrates the life-giving powers of men, and the other pays homage to the female’s ability to carry children. And where the Fens have a king who must never marry, the Jins have a queen who will never reproduce. They know that the stretch of burned land between the territories is long and hard to get around and that the people opposite to them are not like they are. They look different and speak in odd ways, and that upsets the faint hearted people of either side. Thus, the battle wages on, both kingdoms demanding that blood be spilt, but that they never see a drop of it.

In this land marred by inescapable wars, a young female Champion of the People has been ambushed. Her encampment lies on the outskirts of the northern territory, Fenza, stashed away within the very edge of the forest. She stands before the battle, observing her warriors. If she so chooses, she won’t have to engage in hand-to-hand combat. She is decorated with His Majesty’s favor, carrying all of his gifts on her person to broadcast how important a captain she is to her nation. The enemies will not dare to test her strength unless she enters the fight of her own will.

Upon her hips, she carries four different daggers, from twelve to twenty-four inches, of His Majesty’s personal collection, and upon her back, four swords. Two handles hook over her bare shoulders – dyed red for the army she laid flat for her king – their blades curving down behind her arms and around to just under her ribs. They’re the type to be clutched in her fists and then swoop backwards over her arms, descending past her elbows. The other two swords are her preferred weapons in battles: scimitars. They cross over her back, creating a familiar x with their sheaths, the blades hooked outwards just before the handle, creating a nice surprise for her enemies.

The only thing that sets His Majesty’s gifts visibly apart from all the other warriors before her is the gems embedded in their clear hilts, making them glint and shine no matter where they are. The stones within her weapons are of incredible value, rare finds that can only come from His Majesty ordering the mining of the mountains. They’re contained within a special binding element reserved only for the royal family. The red-hilted weapons were crafted with some of the precious rocks that were given to the Fenza during the times when the sun shined over the land.

The captain, Slédaun, catches the eye of a Jin among her men, and holds the contact as she reaches back and pulls free her scimitars. They make a pleasing, ringing sound when she draws them across the metal lining at the end of their sheaths. The sound lingers in her ears, a familiar lullaby to her senses. On light steps, she descends from the lifted platform of her tent, entering the fray with a peaceful feeling in her chest. The Jin watches her carefully, his gaze dipping, taking in the amount of His Majesty’s belongings she has. This one, she knows, will not dare to underestimate her. Most men she’s ever fought saw only a woman in a battlefield full of men and missed the scattering of bodies at her feet. This man is not such a fool. He will offer her a good fight.

She pauses, a ring of her warriors spreading outwards, offering a more open pathway to her. They are well-trained. Their aim is not to endanger her, but to honor their captain’s prowess as a warrior. She sets her feet and hefts the weight of her blade, a pleased warmth spreading down her arm and branching out through her stomach. For four days, she has missed the gentle dance of battle, has longed to clash with the enemy sooner or later.

It is with tangible glee, that she joins the Jin warrior in a dance to the death, matching his steps with hers and twirling within close range of his sword. He does not dual-wield like she. His attacks will cost him more in defense. She keeps that in mind, letting him strike at her, hack at the black plated armor traveling up the sides of her legs. The ringing of mountain-made armor on metal, draws her own blades down on reflex, taking a dip into the inner muscle of his forearm. His dancing falters, his steps falling out of sync with hers.

She takes over, steps closer and increases the pace, pressing him backwards, deeper into the pairs of dancers around them. Slédaun lets her weapons move freely, like extensions of her limbs as she pivots around him, tucks in close and pushes one arm straight out. Her blade slides in under his ribs, and she can’t fight the biting sting of disappointment at having ended his life so quickly. He jerks when she pulls back again, body going stiff. Not wanting him to suffer on his way, she aims higher this time, going straight for the heart.

Slédaun pauses mid-thrust of her scimitar to look towards the sky overhead. For a moment, when the tip of her blade had pierced his skin, she thought she’d seen sunlight, shimmering at the edge of her vision. Her mother had told her of the ball of fire hidden away from them, had vividly painted in her mind a giant glowing warmth hanging above the trees. Expectantly, she watches the sky, her lips pinched together in concentration. There, her eyes narrow, fixing on the sight of a white thread cutting through the thick covering of clouds and smoke above, cutting through the darkness. It is not sunlight though, the warrior recognizes that. This light is different. It carves a straight path through the dense mottled gray overhead, and hurtles towards…

Slédaun tracks its trajectory with her eyes, frowning when the tops of the trees cut off her view. It’s while she’s backtracking, searching for where the light has gone, that she notices something irregular: a flicker in the corner of her eye. Her interest piqued, she turns away completely from the battle overcoming her camp. If today is her day to die, then it will happen whether she’s paying attention or not.

Sheathing her blades over her shoulders, she squints at the sky, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’s going to see something. Her eyes strain against the darkness blanketing the basin, determined to view whatever it is that caught her attention. Huffing, she raises her hand back to the handle of her scimitars, and is about to return to fighting off the ambush when she spots it: further down than the first light she saw, is a thicker strand traveling perpendicular to the ground. This new one is brighter at the end pointing towards the ground and tapers off at the other. This one, she knows, is going to land in the forest.

While she watches it fall, it dims, becomes less white and almost a pale yellow, barely visible even to Slédaun who prides herself on having great vision. It flickers in and out of her sight, sometimes giving into the dense fog that hovers just above the treetops, and other times repelling it. Until at last, at long last, it succumbs and vanishes from view.

Glancing back at her men valiantly driving away the Fens, the warrior looks towards the edge of camp, her gaze connecting with that of her Court-appointed observer. He doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s watching her, so she doesn’t try to hide her escape, she simply places her fist over her heart to send him her regards, and then walks away, heading into the bowels of the forest. His Majesty will forgive her. Especially, when she brings him the meteor.

Her mother had told her about things like this: burning drops of light that used to fall during the time the sun ruled the skies. Meteors, she called them, rocks that were pulled down to the ground. Slédaun was not a stupid child. She did not think her mother to be useless like the other children. An unmarried female warrior is a smart one, whether they have children or not, at least they still have the right to battle. So, she listened, because her mother was smart, and her mother was strong, and those were all the things that Slédaun had wanted to be.

Yes, she muses to herself, His Majesty will forgive me. I will fetch him a gift from the sky.

~ | ~ | ~

When the world stops spinning, Sophia opens her eyes. At first, all she sees is a dark nothingness. She squints, rubs her eyes, and tries again. Dimly, she can just barely make out a tree-like object towering over her, but it looks burnt, completely black and lifeless. She tries to get up and take a closer look, but her limbs twinge sharply when she attempts to move. Reluctantly, she stays where she is, trying to be as still as possible to avoid causing the pain to get any worse.

Around her, there are only trees as far as her eyes can see, or at least that’s what she assumes are the source of the pitch black nothingness lurking behind the nearest ones that she can see. If she could turn her head, perhaps she would be able to make out the wilderness around her, the wild tangle of tree trunks and shrubs and pointy, prickly underbrush all woven together on the forest floor, creating almost a shield between her and the nasty little creatures hiding in the shadows.

Sophia’s never been afraid of the dark. She could sleep just fine without a night light when she was a child, but being in her own bed and in the middle of a patch of black trees are two completely different things. Here, she can feel the fear unfurling within her like an eager poppy for the first drop of sunlight after a long, restless night. It is not a pleasant feeling, and she is not happy in the least to experience it. To her, it serves as an unnecessary reminder that, for the first time in her life, she is alone and there isn’t the slightest chance that she’ll randomly stumble upon someone she recognizes.

The thought is enough to make her cringe, her very soul curdling at the idea of being so quickly and completely torn away from everything she’s ever known. Her fingers spread outward, thoughtlessly seeking out the solidity of the ground beneath her to steady the raging of her heart. It gallops within her chest, beating against her in waves of stampeding horses. That’s how her mother had always explained her irregular heartbeat to her; tiny horses, she had said, naysayers to your desires.

Sophia laughs, humorously, dryly.

She wiggles her fingers, testing the waters. When no pain interrupts the movement, she stretches them, points them as far outward as they can go. Her hand is unusually stiff, but there isn’t the faintest pinprick of discomfort, so she rolls her wrist. Nothing. Pleased, she attempts to sit up, deciding that the pain from earlier must have been a residual effect of time travel. Almost as soon as she reaches the halfway point, approximately forty-five degrees off the ground, her lower back constricts on a muscle cramp. Crying out sharply, she drops back down, curling over onto her side in an effort to ease the strain.

“Ow, ow!” She mutters, one arm reaching back to rub soothing circles into her irritated back. With a last, almost accusatory throb, her body finally relaxes, and she’s forced to admit that perhaps she shouldn’t try to move around for a good while.

As if in mockery of her decision, the treetops shake violently, and a massive dark cloud propels itself from their straggly branches and out into the far off, grayish distance. Birds, Sophia thinks bitterly. Being envious of a tiny brained organism is not something she’s used to, but then again, so is being curled up in the fetal position outside of her father’s compound. Beggars can’t be choosers, but they certainly can be spiteful, she acknowledges as she listens on with a touch of glee as one bird gives a harsh, grating squawk of a noise followed shortly by an unusually satisfying thump.

She snickers to herself. That’ll teach them to mock me.

Her pleasant mood lasts for all of two more seconds before it dawns on her: birds don’t have a tendency to just drop out of the sky. As far as she knows, that hurts, and primitive animals are prone to avoid things that cause them pain. Why then, did that one give a death cry and then plummet to the ground? Sophia curses under her breath, and slowly, gradually uncoils her body. Her torso doesn’t protest this time. Instead, it’s her legs’ turn.

Her palm connects with her forehead as she falls limply upon her back, her thighs and calves feeling as unyielding and rigid as brick. Somewhere out there is the source of that animal’s death, so, of course, it stands to reason that her ability to run far, far away is gone.

She lays in absolute stillness. The best defense she has without her legs is playing dead, something she did often as a child, but was always discovered to be alive when she had to breathe. Determined that she’ll actually manage to go without oxygen this time around, she digs her fingertips into the ground for strength and tries to still the increasingly rapid beating of her heart. She doesn’t have to wait long for her resolve to be tested.

Almost as soon as she stops moving, there’s a vibration tingling her fingertips, followed by another and another. The pacing of the vibrations is slow, spaced out evenly as if someone is tip-toeing around, trying to be as noiseless as possible. She feels it in her bones, it’s here. Whatever took down the fast moving bird has finally arrived to take another head to mount on its wall. Sophia’s worst fears are solidified, when the tremors become strong enough to travel up her fingers and into her palm and she can just barely make out the sound of dirt crunching under a delicate, slow step.

Her visitor creeps closer and closer until they come to a stop beside her, one foot settling in the gap between her arm and her side. Sophia tries not to squirm as she feels a light caress against her ribs and a puff of cool air skimming over her face. Unfortunately for her, her mouth is open, so she has the good fortune of tasting instead of smelling the metallic cloud of blood surrounding her curious observer.

If she should open her eyes, she would scream at the sight before her: the face of a painted native hovering so near to hers. She’d take one look at their pale, almost silver looking skin and the golden glow of their irises, and never stop screaming until her lungs gave out.  But her eyes remain closed, so all she can do is sit and wallow in her own imagination, which gives her guest crevice-filled, blood-stained teeth and burned, rotting flesh.

The thing sniffs her again, this time daring to poke at her cheeks and hair, and the young girl desperately tries to quiet the frantic, irregular drumming of her heart. It palpitates in her chest, banging against her ribs as if to shout to the heavens, “I’m here! I’m here!”

Her lips dry, a silent plea filling her head for her entire being to lie still and wait, until she fears it may burst free of her numb throat. Something thin and sharp touches down on her neck as if aware of the words struggling to break free from there and intent on helping them along. There’s no doubt in her mind then that if they escape the exact opposite of what she wants will happen. She wails internally, wanting nothing more than to screech out her anxiety and curl up into a ball to await her fate. In spite of her despondent thoughts, a pitiful whimper of a noise claws up from the depths of her stomach. The thing above her jerks back, and instead of cutting her throat open as she’d expected, it backpedals a few steps and vanishes. There are no tremors, no vibrations, just a penetrating stillness in the earth and air.

Sophia can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves her, sitting up quickly and clutching at her throat with one hand. It’s while she’s sitting up and on the verge of collapsing with thankful tears that something rustles in the trees above her. Her head whips up, sending a wave of black clouds before her vision. The world tilts precariously and she sways to the side, the hand at her throat lifting to try to balance her head.

Once the world is upright again and her vision has cleared, she can see a blurry, shadowy movement in the dark bushes beyond her little protective circle. She tenses, legs tucking up close beside her, more than prepared to throw caution into the wind and run for her life.

Or at least, that’s the plan, until from above, a faint hissing noise pierces the night, drawing Sophia’s undivided, petrified attention. Her body trembles uncontrollably at the sight of a slender-faced person perched within the entanglement of tree branches. Or at least, she would call them a person, but the more fitting word that comes to her mind is savage. In the glint of the little bit of light managing to sift through the thick storm clouds overhead, Sophia can just barely make out the sharpened canines peeking out of the native’s glistening, ruby red lips. The hissing noise, she quickly realizes, is coming from there.

“Oh God, I’m gonna die!” Sophia moans, tucking her legs tightly to her chest and rocking forwards and back again. The motion is soothing, distracting from the harsh reality of the absolute whack job surveying her from above.

All at once, the hiss shifts into a lilting hum, and the leaves are rustling agitatedly as the person within them leans forward, one hand extended to the thick, low-hanging branch below them. Sophia looks up again, and chokes on a sob.

She can see more of the other person now, but the sight is not exactly comforting.

Above the lips, that are most likely still wet from the bird they just killed, is a small nose with thinner, longer slits than she’s used to seeing on a human. And above them are two almost rectangular shaped, narrow eyes. The barely there lighting doesn’t allow for a great view of them, but she can at least see the whites.

Though, she’s far more transfixed by the person’s skin. It’s paler than the moon yet verging on an almost unnaturally strong silver color, as if it’s been bleached and bleached to the point of not even looking human anymore. A thick, hollow diamond of red covers most of their face, coating the already bizarre colored skin in what Sophia can only hope is paint. Between their eyebrows is another diamond but smaller and filled in.

Something flutters, settles beside its head, but she has to squint in order to see what it is. Resting on their shoulders, are thick, dark dreads with flashes of sleek, wide ribbons interwoven over their surface. The bands of hair are bigger than any that Sophia has ever seen before, looking about as round as three of her fingers combined. It’s while she’s focused on the native’s unusual hair that there’s a flash of silver, and her gaze catches on the most important thing about the person before her: the wickedly curved blade in their hands.

It is practically double the length of their forearm and narrows down into a fine, deadly point at the end. The part that steals Sophia’s breath away, though, is the portion farthest from the handle. It gleams with a faint red color. It killed something. Breathing hard and unable to focus on anything other than the weapon, she almost misses the smooth, effortless glide of the person as it moves to the ground – almost.

It lingers with its free hand on the low hanging branch and one foot extended toward the ground – the other poised to do the same – as if intent on denying gravity and taking flight instead of landing. Unfortunately the moment can’t last forever, and the hand releases its hold, allowing the savage to touch down silently. Head tilted and pale yellow eyes flickering in the shadows playing over its face, it remains where it is. The movement is beyond graceful and so far out of Sophia’s uncoordinated league that she feels a spark of admiration for the creature that could pull it off.

However, it’s while she’s admiring the native, that she notices something she really should’ve earlier: boobs. It’s a she, a very half-naked she. Her torso is crisscrossed with thick, vibrant strokes of more of the red paint. It creates one giant diamond that starts between her supple breasts, fans out across her abdomen, and ends just as her skin tight pants begin. Around it are slightly thinner branches that disappear behind her back but reappear to curl upwards along the slight v shape at her hips. Much like her face, there’s a smaller diamond that’s filled in, but this one’s covering her belly button.

Sophia’s eyes lift warily, pausing in stunned horror on little spikes of whitish-gray bone extending lethally from the unknown person’s elbows and shoulders. It’s a dangerous, incompletely dressed she. Its mouth opens and a stream of incomprehensible music emerges. The words are light and upbeat, dancing through her listener’s ears to the most exotic, fast-paced rhythm the time traveler has ever heard. It’s a seamless blend of high and low pitches, as if two people are speaking together but with one voice. It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard, Sophia admits readily.

Then it stops and appears to be waiting, its yellow eyes fixed earnestly on her fairly shocked listener. A response then, the crazy knife-bearing native wants me to respond. Breathing in deeply, she briefly considers the idea of trying to sing back to the woman, but quickly relinquishes the idea. She very strongly doubts that her unworked throat muscles could produce anything even remotely similar to what she just heard. They’d probably snap trying.

Instead, she pulls herself upright, tries not to let the fear show, and says, “Hello.” It doesn’t come out quite as elegantly as whatever the woman had said, sounding to Sophia’s ears more like a cross between a hiccup and a croak than an actual person’s voice.

~ | ~ | ~

Slédaun eyes the mutant before her, watching as it gives a pathetic little squeak and flops to the ground, eyelids fluttering shut. If she were a better Fens, she would’ve tried to catch the poor little creature, but she is not such a person. She sheathes her dagger and purses her lips, a hiss bubbling up the back of her throat. She came here for a rock, and instead, she’s found some dying breed’s weak spawn. Will His Majesty accept such a gift? What use are small sky people of unknown origin?

Lips curling in distaste, the warrior looks towards the sky for an answer. Why send down something so unnecessary? Puffing up her chest in indignation, she steps up to its sleeping form and nudges it once with her foot. It gives the same little wailing sound it made when she’d originally tested its throat for life and rolls over. It’s only when it’s laying completely flat before her that Slédaun takes a moment to look it over more carefully.

Before, she’d been convinced that she’d have to bury the dead intruder, and was taking its measures with her eyes, missing the opportunity to assess it as closely as it had her. But perhaps, on closer examination, it will reveal that it at least carries something of value. She crouches down beside it, reaching out with one exploratory hand, and hooks one finger in the creature’s poorly managed hair.

The warrior’s jaw almost drops in awe of how soft and light it is. She pulls the pleasing strands up higher, and this time her mouth does open, her grip faltering and letting them fall. Before her is a golden-haired mutant. Her eyes drift to their chest, brows knitting at the appearance of barely there swells in the torso’s covering. A female mutant.

How fortunate. Slédaun almost smiles, assured that His Majesty will forgive her. The only thing left to do now is sneak her in past the man observing her. If he sees the girl, he’ll definitely try to lay claim to the warrior’s find. Thankfully, he judged the woman as an easy target due to her sex, so there aren’t any extra sets of eyes that she has to avoid. The task before her is an easy one. She’ll wait until the clouds reach their darkest and then creep into camp. Of course, she’ll have to find an extra mat somewhere and store her in the spiritual tent set beside the captain, Slédaun’s, tent. Her soldiers are loyal, so she feels secure in the fact that none will touch something she’s so obviously trying to keep to herself.

Satisfied with her strategy, the warrior scoops up her prize, tossing it over one shoulder and draping one hand over its—

At the touch of bare skin on her palm, she drops it.

Heart racing in her throat, Slédaun eyes the brazen little creature before her, watching it make more noises under its breath and roll over away from her. Quickly dusting her hands off on the sides of her hips, the warrior avoids looking at the female’s bare legs. It’s valuable, she reminds herself, so I can’t abandon it for being inappropriately dressed. Just pick it up. Pretend it’s a child. A dumb, germ-infested child.

Gaze lifting to the clouds overhead, she counts slowly under her breath, bracing herself for the degrading act of touching an unconscious female’s legs, and hesitantly reaches down for it. Sighing deeply at what she does to keep His Majesty happy, Slédaun hefts the dirty, disgusting child over her shoulder and draws her dagger with her free hand. This time around, there will be no avoiding the forest dwellers by taking to the trees.

How wonderful indeed, she thinks sarcastically.

Dare of the Day #2

Dare of the Day #1 can be found here.

In case, you didn’t know yet, Dare of the Day is something that Camp NaNoWriMo is doing. They send you a Care Package, and somewhere in it there’s a dare from whoever was in charge of the package that time. The one I got the other day is as follows:

Dare of the Day

Today’s dare comes from @Castiel_Watson on Twitter

Pick out a theme song for each of your characters. Why did you pick that song? Would the character like that song?

Do you have a dare you’d like to see in a future Care Package? Use the #DareNaNo hashtag on Twitter to suggest it! 

So, here it goes. Be forewarned, I have hella characters (okay six), and I’ve been dying to get to know them better, so I may have . . . you know what? I’m just gonna dive right in.

Shall we?

These first three are in order of who’s point of view (POV) comes first since the book is split into three parts and follows each of their perspectives per section. 

Sophia Andrews (Main Character – MC)

Song: Because of You by Kelly Clarkson

Reason: When Sophia was around six, she witnessed her mother being sucked into her father’s time machine. Both herself and her dad blame her for it, and since then, she’s tried to be as cautious as possible, never getting too close to anyone and trying not to get involved in the lives of others. Which, I think, almost perfectly matches with Clarkson’s song.

Would Sophia like the song? Probably not. It emphasizes putting the blame on the other person, but Sophia’s more the type to think that everything is her fault, so she’d hear this song and only feel even more guilty.

 

L’eodanist (MC – pronounced lee–euu–d-ah-n–ist)

Song: Once Upon A Time (Not long Ago, I Was A Hoe) by Mariahlynn, awesome choreo for it here.

Reason: L’eodanist was born to a family that had fallen form grace and offended the Royal Family by stealing money, so he had to work his way up from there in order to get back into the palace, much like a hoe now turned mostly civilized.  Much like Mariahlynn’s song, he doesn’t try to hide where he came from and he embraces most everything about who he used to be and who he is now. However, he’s not as proud as the song might suggest, so . . .

Would L’eodanist like the song? No. He doesn’t like bragging or over-sharing, and he especially hates loose women, so, y’know most of the song is out of his favor.

Slédaun (MC – pronounced sl-ey-dah-on)

Song: Alright, I cheated here. She’s a cross between Astrid S’s Jump and Zella Day’s Sacrifice.

Reason: Slédaun is a warrior who’s gone numb to the idea of death, and while she’s wholeheartedly dedicated to the lives of the people she cares about or is indebted to, she doesn’t have very much regard for her own. She’s not suicidal, but at the point that the story picks up at, she’s taken to viewing life as temporary, something that only ends one way for everybody. So, I chose Jump. On the other hand, she’s the kind of person to do everything in her power to make it so that other people – *ahem* Sophia *ahem* – can live. She could have internal bleeding and a broken arm, but she would still fight to her last breath if a person she’s in charge of is put in harm’s way.

Would Slédaun like the songs? On a linguistic level, no. She doesn’t speak English, and finds it to be a complete waste of her time to learn any other language besides the one that the people of her time speak. On a sound level, yes. Slédaun has a tendency to favor higher pitched voices and since both artists have them, she’d probably still listen to them for the time that they’re playing and never again. So, all around, maybe . . no, not really.

The next three characters are organized from least to most evil. Enjoy!

Emsamni (em-sah-m-knee)

Song: Towards the Sun by Rihanna

Reason: No matter how bad things seem to get for him or his friends, Emsamni seems to always find the bright side, or a way to make things bright again. He’s not one to linger in the dirty water of plans that fall through or the “what if”s of life. He’s definitely one of my more calm, super positive characters (which is probably why my pessimist self finds it so hard to keep him true to himself when trying out dialogues), and that is definitely one of his strongest points.

Would Emsamni like the song? Oh, heck yes! Not only is Emsamni a linguist who’s fascinated by the ancient language of English, but he’s also very fond of music, something that is greatly interwoven with the language of his people. He’s not a very picky person, so honestly, I could give him that vine about a druggy owl and he’d think it was the best thing ever.

Amradra (ahm-rah-drah)

Song: King by Lauren Aquilina

Reason: Well, first off the most obvious one (to me, not you, you don’t know who this guy is), he’s the king of the Fenza kingdom, so there’s that. But on top of that, he’s constantly trying to protect his throne and his family from the cutthroat atmosphere of the Court. There’re a lot of instances throughout his reign where he’s felt that there’s nothing he can do, that his position is his in title alone, and has felt the restrictions of a man without power trying to choke him of oxygen. In those moments, he visits his children and tries to think of the others who are depending on him to keep them safe. I think this song fits his constant struggle particularly well considering that it talks of gaining back your strength in a time of feeling lost and sad and like nothing you do will ever make a difference.

Does Amradra like the song: Only in secret. He’s a king so he can’t appear too weak or dependent on others without inviting in his enemies in to take a stab at his weaknesses. In the privacy of his room, I could totally see him grabbing all his concubines and interpretative dancing away the night with a sea of food with them.

Draunslé (dr-ah-on-sl-ey)

Song: I Mean It by G-Eazy

Reason: The epitome of self-involved with a touch of overwhelming honesty and holding true to the words that he says. Yeah, that kind of sums up this character. Oh, and you can’t forget the obsession with proving himself to be better and more powerful than anybody else. All of which can be said about either Draunslé or G-Eazy, your choice!

Would he like the song? No, as the lyrics suggest that G-Eazy is more powerful/important and sleeping with the woman that Draunslé is involved with. If he heard it, he’d probably just send out his people to take care of his light work (aka kill him).

~|~|~

Well, that’s it. I’ve finished.

I’m kind of sad. Like, I wish I had more influential characters so that I could go on for a good five pages. Wouldn’t that be fun? Hopefully, more people will suggest dares that have to do with my characters. There’s just so much that I’m dying to say. So. Much!

Anyways~

Ciao for Now,

~Amelie J. Hyde

Next: creating a character that’s the complete opposite of myself

What fun!

Apology Poem, Courtesy of NaNoWriMo Care Package

In case you didn’t know: Camp NaNoWriMo – which you can learn more about here – sent me a care package ( . . . like two days ago, but whatever)! So, I’ve decided to actually do one of their suggestions, because it sounded super neat. The dare went pretty much like this – actually, exactly like this, I just copied and pasted it – so here it is!

Dare of the Day

Today’s dare is from our Camp Counselor, Ibi: 

I dare you to write a long-ass poem—a never-ending poem. No rhyme or reason. Don’t focus on paragraphs or quotation marks, or even capitalizing. Throw words on the page in the most minimalist way possible. Focus on nouns and verbs and beautiful adjectives. Play with onomatopoeia and metaphor and alliteration. Don’t end your poem to begin another. Simply continue it, add to it. And I promise you, you’ll see your writing evolve.

Do you have a dare you’d like to see in a future Care Package? Use the #DareNaNo hashtag on Twitter to suggest it!

So, yeah, first things first, I tried in the beginning to do that whole “minimalist” thing, but I couldn’t. I’m way too used to punctuation since I write so much, but I tried and it shows, and no, it does not go on forever (I mean, obviously). Also, somehow I ended up making like a mini story out of this . . . so, really I didn’t end up doing anything that they said to do, and I suck at dares.

Lesson learned. Let’s go!

 

Apologies

they always seem to flow freely from me

like a burst of sewage from a broken pipe

it’s almost funny, really

I’m not even remotely apologetic

On the inside, if you could see that deep,

I’m not at all sorry

but since all you’re hearing is my voice

it’s not that hard to mistake me

Apologies

They stink

Much like the trash when I forget to take it out

I apologize afterwards

But I don’t really mean it

I love doing nothing and doing chores is not

Nothing

Never mind

I’m sorry, this came out all wrong.

Let me start over.

Apologies

Are about as valuable to me as

A seventy-five year old prostitute

A man who abandoned his country in its time of need

or

A person who would rape another just for giggles

Apologies

Are something we throw at one another like toys

And somewhere along the way we thought it was okay

That no one really needs to believe in what we say.

But I say nay, nay.

If your words do not match your actions,

what am I to listen to?

The beating of your heart when it races for me

And her

And her

And her

And every other girl you’ve thrown that phrase at?

Should I get in line and wait my turn, forcing my lips to conform

To the smiles of the idiots around me?

Apologies

This didn’t come out quite the way I was expecting.

What I meant to say, what I’ve been dying to tell you is:

I love you.

So, go on, say your “sorry.”

I get it. I do. Apologizing is second nature to you.

Even when you’re crying and upset, and I can see the fractures

Splintering through your chest, you force a grimace

That, I suppose, resembles a smile.

And then, you

Apologize

Like clockwork, like a never ending tape set to replay,

You say those two – sometimes three if you’re feeling particularly motivated –

words to me.

Or do you throw them?

Like scraps of meat to starving dogs.

So that you may call on them another day,

You ask for their forgiveness as you starve them to

Death

Who will apologize to me when you let us die?

Will you write it in your will?

May I see your will already?

Both of us are still functioning, yes,

But barely.

You’re more like a robot, going through the motions,

and I’m that life-like doll you keep around as arm candy

Perhaps, one day, you’ll glue wings to my back,

but much like you’re meaningless apologies

I doubt they’ll actually work.

Snarky

Lately, you’ve taken to calling me a snarky female dog

That’s not very nice, you know.

You should apologize, but of course we both know

Lying to my face never really did work out well for you

did it?

I suppose you faking who you really are worked in your favor

I was fooled

Sometimes I still am.

I look back on that man you used to be

The one with the wit and the charm and all the manners

And I think to myself, “huh, guess I should’ve fallen for that guy.”

Snarky, you say? Who?  Me?

Apologies

Continue on with your day, leave me be

I have no interest in your games or your toys you wave around in my face

I’ve found something even better than you

His name is

Rhetoric

A device I once discussed with you,

But it went right over your head, sloshed around in the empty

CREVICE

you call a brain

And seemed to slide right out your ears,

Reminding me of that time I asked you

Anything

Anything of particular that I say to you,

You seem to promptly forget,

Like the scarecrow that shoved all his straw and hay out as soon as it was put in

I stuff you full of information

About me

About us

About the others

The “side dishes”

Yet it all seems to come right back to

Apologies

I didn’t hear you

Over the sound of my own ego.

Yes, yes, I know, darling,

You’re terribly frightened of me,

A woman with actual brains,

Not the tiny nut you have stashed away for winter,

and it scares you so, but

Don’t fret, honey,

Apologies

Are our way of saying, I love you

Aren’t they?

Or is it the other way around?

Do we say I love you as if it, in some way,

Can undo the damage of sticking together without actually being together

Like all our sorries and plays at forgiveness are all just a cover up,

A screen we erected to hide what we truly mean?

Apologies

I don’t care enough about you to actually argue.

Apologies

I told you I loved you once, but it was like an acidic reflex,

Completely out of my control.

Apologies

Are spewed from a string of other “not really listening” phrases,

and this is the one that shuts you up the fastest.

Apologies

Ignore me.

I’m not really here

Anyways

I’ve found someone else.

And I guess that’s all you need to know, so

Apologies

That I’m leaving you for someone who doesn’t actually talk to me

For someone who never seems to have time for me

I seem to have a “type,” but you have a sick, twisted dependency on that

So, don’t you worry, darling,

I’ll be back,

And, surely, this time, I’ll

Apologize.

Touch Me: Chapter One (Rewritten)

Here’s the run down:
1) I edited chapter one
2) I finished chapter two
3) I went back to edit chapter two
4) I realized “chapter two” should really be chapter four
5) I wallowed in sorrow for about thirty minutes
6) I wrote out the plans for the new chapter two (God help me if it turns out to be chapter five or seven, I’ll cry)

So, here’s chapter one. I swear this is chapter one. Please don’t kill me for breaking my promise of updating this \>.</ I tried so hard!

~|~|~

“We’re lost aren’t we?” Toby whines beside me, his big brown eyes filled with worry.

I suck my teeth in response, unwilling to associate with him for even the second it would take to tell him that yes, we are indeed lost. It’d be better if he wasn’t beside me in the first place, but I can’t exactly force him to go back in time and stay with the two women who adopted him.

My eyes drift towards his in disgust, lips curling at his appearance. The kid looks like a miniature angel, and it ticks me off beyond reason. Until they decided to adopt Toby, I was always the good kid who they loved more than anyone else, and yet here he is – my replacement. Now I’m lucky if I go two hours without being reprimanded. I jam my hands into my pockets to keep from shoving him again and shake some of my bangs out of my eyes.

When people see us together now they automatically assume I’m the adopted one. Unlike me who has black hair and green eyes, Toby looks like our adoptive parents with his blonde hair and brown eyes. Being out in public with them is much more stifling than before because of him. If I didn’t absolutely despise the very idea of violence, I’d probably push him down a hole and leave him there. He’s really small so there’s no way he can climb his way out.

For the first time in months, I find myself smiling.

“]-James, can we go back to the t-trail now? I think there’s-.”

“Just shut up. Jesus! You talk so much for someone who’s supposed to be quiet!” I hiss venomously, eyes narrowed on him. He shies away from me, bottom lip trembling faintly as he wraps his arms around himself. My eyes roll at his dramatics as I pick up the pace, using my much longer legs to get ahead of him.

He scrambles around behind me, struggling to keep up. I huff and am about to turn around and tell him to bug off when a white archway appears just a few feet to our right. I jolt to a stop, making Toby collide into my back. Beyond is a perfectly maintained garden with a light brown walkway that diverges a few meters in to go around a thick circle. Both the raised circle and the greenery around the path are littered with rows of dark red roses. The scent of fresh flowers drifts towards me the longer I stare, my gaze lifting to the height of the circle where the most vibrant rose I’ve ever seen stands engulfed in a fountain of sunlight.

Toby makes a soft sound of awe behind me. And then he’s running towards the little sanctuary.

“Hey!” I shout after him, eyes widening in horror as he enters somebody’s property, giggling happily. “You fucking idiot,” I hiss under my breath, glancing around quickly before trailing after him. A faint chill slides down my spine as soon as I pass into the area, and I find myself looking back at the forest beyond without thought. Heaving a sigh of relief when it’s still there, I take my hand out of my pocket and stroll toward the giant flower.

Toby scampers around somewhere beyond it in the field of flowers, so I pay him no mind. Leaning on the white stone platform, I hesitantly reach out to touch one of the enchanting rose petals.

A drop of water slowly slips down the side of one, its depths filled with the glint of vivid yellow sunlight mixed with the rosiness of the flower. Just as my fingertips brush at the stray drop, I feel a burst of warm air against the side of my neck.

“Careful, little one, if you touch me too long, I’ll think you like me,” A very deep male voice fills my ears, making my stomach and cheeks heat at how sinfully smooth he sounds. Like the embodiment of chocolate, my mind supplies as fingers coast along my hip, their soft touch managing to sear my skin.

I gasp and try to twist around, but his firm hand pressing low on my stomach easily traps me against him. I shiver despite the fear sliding like ice into my veins. He’s so much bigger than me. His body exudes waves of power without me even having to look back at him. His front swells and dips against me, proudly displaying the bulging muscles that make up his broad chest and tapers down into his trim waist. I swallow hard in a mixture of emotions I really don’t want to address right now.

Instead, I force myself to speak. “I wasn’t touching any–.” I cut off on a gasp, body jerking forward and catching myself on the stone in front of me as his abnormally hot palm cups me between my legs. He’s not applying any pressure or grabbing at me like some sort of barbarian. His hand is just there, enveloping my balls and dick in a thick, warm blanket, a phantom of a touch. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel his skin on mine, the feel of him stroking me, holding me in his palm. What the Hell?!

His chest vibrates on a deep chuckle. He gives me a slight, barely there squeeze. My breath leaves me in a single gush, my length tingling happily as he massages me with his thick fingers. “Pardon me, but I haven’t laid eyes on such a stunning human like yourself in such a long time,” the man purrs behind me, his voice wrapping around me in sweet, hypnotizing waves, “being touched by you, even for such a brief moment, seems to have been too much for me.”

I groan softly as something hard and big presses against the dip between my ass, sliding upwards until it’s nestled against my back. I shiver, my eyes drooping in unthinking surrender as his fingers find my zipper. He teases it down. My dick swells, my breath quickening at the idea of being touched long before he reaches into my pants, the excitement of being out in the open doing crazy things to my hormones.

The hand on my stomach slides up as he wiggles his fingers into the opening of my boxers. The back of his fingernails trace the outline of my abs, trailing along the slight swells and dips before continuing on their way. The pads of his fingers ghost along my sternum, drag across my collarbone, and slip back. I feel his fingers bury themselves in my hair and then tighten, grab onto a handful of strands. I make a soft, very unmanly noise as my head is tipped back, my eyes drifting open. A gasp leaves me at the sight of the man behind me.

He’s huge, yes, but his skin is a light, stunning violet in some places and hazy in others, as if covered by a thin layer of fog. I stare, enchanted by his exotic coloring. Most everything about him is decidedly not human, from his green irises and pupils to the vibrant, unnatural red of his hair. His lips, I can’t help but notice, are a normal, moist-looking pink. I find myself shivering against him, not in fear but something much more deadly to my sanity.

His lips curl around a satisfied smirk, his other hand wrapping around my lightly pulsing dick. My lips part in wonder at how unbelievably warm he is, the firmness of his touch mixed with the addictive heat filling my stomach with knots and making my shaft twitch with the desire to come.

He chuckles, his grip on my hair firming up. “That’s it, little one. Let me see your face when you come.” I shiver against him, a rush of arousal going between my legs at his words.

He rubs my tip in circles against the heel of his palm, taking my pre-come onto his skin before he smears it down my length. My breathing quickens as he jerks me off, strokes me faster and faster until my legs quake and I have to lean forward and grab onto the stone slab to stay standing. He follows me, melds his front to my back and lets me feel him throbbing angrily against me, his cock flooding me with its searing intensity the closer I get to coming.

A soft whimper of a sound leaves me as someone else’s hand comes up underneath his.They push my pants down just enough to get their hand in my pants and cup my balls. My fingers scratch at the concrete as they roll them in their fingers, giving a weak tug and making me groan. The one behind me makes a low growling sound. The hand falters and falls away, making me cry out at the loss.

His fingers coming around my head and dipping into my mouth silence me easily. I feel myself jump in his hand, my eyes drifting closed as he begins grinding on me, his hips undulating in one smooth, hypnotic motion over and over. I can’t help but move back against him, listen to his sharp intake of air, and grin to myself at the small victory. “No one else is to touch you,” he says lowly, sharp teeth nipping the shell of my ear, “your pleasure will be from me alone. Remember this, little one: your orgasms belong solely to me once I get inside you. I will accept no less for answering your call.”

Even if I could process what he’s saying, I probably wouldn’t respond. I’m far too busy watching Toby on his knees between two twin males.

They each have a hand in his hair, talking as they guide his mouth to one of their dark shafts, the tip rubbing its white juices against his lips. Both men watch ravenously from above as his lips open, cheeks flushing as he licks at the large head presented to him. The one being licked at tips his head back on a moan, the one beside him looking jealous as Toby sucks up and down his cock, his expression blissful.

The one behind me chuckles darkly. “The child seems to have dark desires of his own.”

I watch on stunned, barely hearing his words as the little, innocent boy rubs at his own crotch and slurps at the juices dripping from the man. Both men tighten their grip on his head and push. “Desires?” I question hesitantly, feeling my body grow uncomfortably hot from watching Toby being pushed down the thick cock, his lips stretched wide around it.

There’s a firm squeeze on my shaft. My hips buck as his fingers guide me by the chin to look back at him. “Humans call us out with their wicked desires. Your touch was so full of exquisite sin that I had to come out and taste you for myself,” his eyes darken with his own desires, his thumb rubbing back and forth over my tip as he speaks, “I can see it in you, little one, the craving you try to hide deep inside,” He purrs down at me, his eyes flashing a deep, startling red. His voice is as thick as honey as he whispers against me, “To be pushed down and controlled by another man. To feel him force his way into you and have all your pride stolen away.”

I cry out softly in a mixture of distress and need. My skin is coated in goosebumps as he gives me a slow roll of his hips, lets me feel the proof that he can give my wish to me. His hand tightens on my dick, sliding down slowly as he draws out the sweet torture of anticipation.

“I want it, little one,” he says softly by my ear, his tongue flicking out to taste my earlobe, ‘‘I want the pleasure of seeing you become no better than a female on my cock. I want to hear it in your voice when I take you, hear the cries only a woman can make being driven from your lips.” I shudder and pant for air, my lungs momentarily forgetting how to work. He smiles against the side of my neck. “And what I want, I take.”

My pants drop to the ground.

“Now, bend over and spread those pretty cheeks for a real man,” he whispers, wracking my body with shivers as I eagerly lay my chest flat on the thick platform. “Come now, little one, follow instructions. Show me that hungry ass hole of yours.”

My hands unsteadily reach behind me and grab onto my soft skin. I can hardly contain the need pounding through my veins as I open myself up to him, my teeth biting into my lip as one of his wet digits from my mouth appears at my entrance.

He coos to himself, “Such a pretty shade of pink for such a lewd position.” He presses it against me, lets me feel it pause on the verge of coming in, just waiting to stretch me wide for his cock. I shiver, my hole twitching, grabbing at the offered finger. “Can you feel that? The way you’re already trying to suck me into you?” His voice is anything but amused, the husky, velvety words full of something far more carnal in nature.

I cry out softly at the feeling of something thick and angrily throbbing coming up under his finger. He lets me feel his wide head against me, teasing my quivering entrance with it. Without thought, I move myself back.

He hisses, hands grabbing on tight to my hips as I feel the beginning of his tip against my insides, his pre-come bubbling down its sleek head and sliding into my opening. I try to push back on him some more, but his hands firm up, preventing the action. “Little one, you’re playing with the wrong nymph. I have not felt such a tight heat on my cock in far too long. If you provoke me, I can’t guarantee your safety,” He grunts even as he begins sliding the thick head into me, groaning under his breath as he slowly makes my un-prepped hole accept it.

I moan loudly, back arching as I tighten up around the large bulbous head being fed into me, my eyes fluttering closed as it widens out even further; my hole stretching around the beginnings of his shaft. He groans even deeper than before, slicking his length with one hand and flexing the other on my hip as he gives me inch after inch, each one getting thicker and thicker until my ass starts heating at the work out he’s giving it and my stomach begins to ache faintly. Still, the hot rod goes in and in and in, reaching up deep inside me and rendering me breathless.

His hands slide up onto my cheeks, brushing mine aside as he grabs onto giant handfuls and tilts my rear up into the push of his hips. I whimper pitifully as he picks up the pace, sinking into me faster and faster. He groans about how good it feels to be in such a small human and I finally feel his knotted base press up against my twitching opening. I squirm, only realizing when be fully stops that he’s impaled me on a monstrously large dick. It reaches deep into my stomach, making it bulge out unnaturally with how much he’s stuffed into it. But it feels good. God, does it feel nice and warm buried way up inside me. He gives me a nice full feeling like I’ve just taken a large gourmet meal instead of a magnificent cock. My hands reach out above me, fingers digging into the dirt as I hesitantly tighten up on him, try to judge just how deep he goes.

His hands massage my cheeks, kneading them in his large palms as he begins sliding out. “Don’t worry, little one, my come is a very potent aphrodisiac,” he breathes out above me, his voice very obviously lost in pleasure as he slides himself around inside my stomach, “being full of my cock will give you nothing but pleasure.”

He proceeds to prove it by pulling out a few inches and shoving back in. My eyes pop wide open, back bowing as I cry out sharply, my lower half flooding with warm tingles. His thickness pulsates inside me, its sleek length feeling like a second heart when it’s so deep inside me. I tighten up around it, fingers arcing through the dirt as I intimately feel every inch of him. He’s throbbing inside me like a rapid beating heart, flooding me with excitement and making my hole spasm around his girth.

His abnormal manhood at least has a normal, prominent vein going down from just under his tip to his base. The bump it forms on his skin, making it hard not to notice as it rubs against my prostate teasingly. My eyes slip back closed as I enjoy the slow way he rocks himself into me, unhurriedly taking out more and more each time.

Then I remember Toby and I’m lifting onto my hands to see around the roses. My mouth goes dry at the sight. He’s completely naked and covered in bite marks. He moans loudly as the one behind him goes harder, matching the hard pounding of the one buried in his throat. Their hands are holding onto him hard, making sharp indents in his pale skin, a few bruises popping up already along his body. Still, his expression looks more than content, his cries only of raw need as they take what they want from his small body.

The one behind me growls and yanks me down hard on his cock, his tip knocking hard against my prostate, making fireworks go off behind my eyes. “The darkness in you is growing. Do you want to be inside the tiny human too?” He wonders, one of his hands grabbing onto my hair and using it to jerk me up and down his angry shaft. I bite into my lip to no avail, sweet little noises still bursting through. He groans and thrusts up harder and harder, meeting me halfway as he seems to lose himself in me. “So tight,” He says, his voice thick with awe and fingers fisting at my hair.

I moan and writhe against him, my body on fire with the need to finally come. My dick can hardly take it anymore. It’s leaking hot and heavy between my legs, twitching about wildly for his attention with every hard push in. As if sensing my growing frustrations, the man chuckles and rams up against my sweet spot.

“Oh God!” I practically scream, back bowing as I go hurtling to the edge, shaft jerking sporadically as little gushes of pre-come spill from my tip.

His palm appears at my tip, pressing against it firmly as he drives himself into it again and again. I whine like a lowly mutt and squirm my hips, trying to break free of his hand. He rubs my prostate back and forth on his fat length, sending sharp waves of tingles down my own. My dick fills with come but there’s nowhere for it to go.

“Please!” I gasp at last, toes curling in my sneakers.

His chest slides against my back, shoving more of himself into me as he nibbles at my ear. My mouth drips with soft, feminine noises as he slowly grinds himself against the sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing me as he blocks me from coming. “I told you, didn’t I? Every orgasm you get belongs to me once I get inside you,” he practically coos in satisfaction, “why should I let you come before I do?”

I fist handfuls of dirt, my nails biting into my palms as he pulls out to rub his head on my prostate over and over again. My eyes roll back in my skull, tip weeping big fat tears against his hand. “Please let me come,” I pant at last, eyes pricking with mortified tears. “I-I can’t take much m-more of– ohh, please!” I beg openly, unabashed as he begins rocking himself in and out, in and out. My body trembles beneath his, my knees weakening as I feel him taking what he wants from me, chasing his pleasure deep in my walls.

“’Fraid not,” he whispers against the side of my face, “look how close you are to tears. Makes me want to see you cry and beg even more than I already do.” His free hand slides up and down my back as if to soothe me before he presses down firmly on my lower back. “I’ve never made a little boy cry before,” he muses to himself, “I wonder if it can make me come. I so want to see this tight ass dripping with my seed . . . “ he trails off and leaves the thought hanging in the air.

And then I’m really screaming, throat aching as he fucks himself hard and fast against my prostate. My body burns with the orgasm being denied to it, every one of my nerve endings sizzling as he abuses my hole, rubs it raw on his mammoth cock.

Then I feel it, the hard jets of his come as it spills from his tip, pelting my sweet spot. He hardly wastes a second before he’s moving in me again, jumping right into the flow of things even as he drops the last few globs into me. I cry freely then, great big tears of frustration rolling down my cheeks.

“W-want i-it,” I stutter pathetically, throat hoarse and my face on fire at having to resort to begging again.

He chuckles. “Finally giving in?” I nod weekly, shoulders drooping low as he comes to a stop inside me. His wet hand disappears from my shaft, appearing right after on my hip. “Good boy. Now then, who do you belong to?”

I whine under my breath, my eyes squeezing shut even as my mouth freely says what he wants to hear, “You.”

I shriek in surprise as he lifts me up, spins me around to face him, and shoves me down his colossal cock. “Come for me, my little one.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

Carnal Delights ~ Chapter Two

The worst part about sleeping with your teacher has to be the way people look at you afterwards. Before it happened, I could count on being relatively invisible in the hallways, but lately I feel people staring much, much more. No matter where I go, I can feel them: the probing gazes of strangers. Some like to pretend that I can’t tell, but others blatantly stare me down wherever I go.

What’s worse is the way girls have been flocking to me lately. Apparently, every girl ever wants a gay best friend. The only problem with that is that I’m not entirely sure I’m gay. Maybe I was just swept up in the moment. I mean, it’s not everyday that I get led up onto a stage and messed with.

Sighing in frustration, I slump lower in my seat and try to think about where it all went wrong. I should be preparing for graduation, but instead all I can do is hide in the library and try to avoid the last period of the day – his.

History has quickly become my most dreaded class. At first I thought it’d be fun to be in class with him and that I’d be able to do all these sly little things to mess with his head. Instead I discovered that: 1) I don’t know how to sexually tease anyone and 2) he’s infinitely better at it. Whether it’s a secretive little smirk or his hand touching my shoulder, he manages to get under my skin and make me a stuttering, blushing mess every time without fail.

I hate feeling like a girl with a crush, so I’ve taken to skipping the class entirely. Something I’m slowly coming to regret. Every time I see him in the hall now he’s the only one who doesn’t look my way – completely avoids it even – and I’m forever being reminded of what he was like before he slept with me: a brick of ice lodged into my side.

Sighing heavily, I slouch further in my seat, my forehead sliding up against the wood until I fear I might get a splinter, but maybe a little pain is just what I need to get the drive to approach him. Truthfully, I haven’t directly talked to him since last week when he was–.

I flush in mortification, utterly unwilling to think about Friday. If there’s one thing I don’t need right now, it’s to remember how amazing it felt to finally get what I wanted. Shaking my head, I curl my arms up under my cheek and try to convince myself that maybe going back to how it was before the night at the club would be the best solution. I must have tried this every day that I’ve sat in here, and just like all the previous times, I’m not very persuasive. No matter how I struggle against it, every time he appears in my thoughts, I’m distinctly aware of the truth:

I miss him.

And not in the way that I usually miss people. This is completely different. Before, if I slept with someone and never saw them again, maybe I’d pine for them every so often, but with him it’s like I’m being drawn around in circles, unable to un-tether myself to him, and drowning in all the “what if”s. Like what if in the time that we haven’t been around each other, he’s fallen for the girl in the super short skirt? Or what if he’s been having people stay after with him every day since he began teaching and has been treating them all to a special night on a really comfy stage?

What if he doesn’t miss me like I miss him?

Keeping my thoughts in order and away from that particular question has been all that I’ve been focusing on lately, because God knows that if I slack just a little bit, I’ll lose all drive to leave my house. There are no words to describe how humiliating it is for me to be the only one looking too deeply into things that don’t even matter to him, and then having to walk into the room where the cause of all my frustrations waits, utterly unaware of how I feel.

“Honey, the bell for the end of school will be sounding soon.”

I peek up through the tangled mess I still insist on calling hair and force a smile at the little old lady standing in front of the table. Ms. Hendrick is nice enough. Why couldn’t she be the one that’s running my history class? She’s a librarian so she’s probably read enough history books to be able to teach children about it. Mulling it over in my head, I stand from my seat, say a few kind words, and head out the door. Now to wander the halls until I can leave for home.

This process is so ingrained in me now, that my feet just move on their own, going this way and that listlessly. Of course, a few hall monitors ask me where I’m headed, but just a little smiling gets them to go about their business, so my stroll is relatively uninterrupted. It isn’t until I find myself standing in front of his door that I realize where I am, where I brought myself to.

“Did the bell ring yet?” I mutter to myself, one daring hand reaching for the handle. Before I can grab onto it, a shrill ringing of the bell fills the hall. Springing away, I hurry along as fast as I can, content to play the coward as opposed to taking the first step towards trying to reenter his arms. I get a few steps away before a lasso of steel engulfs my upper arm and yanks me to the side.

Before I can get my feet properly under me again, I’m sent spinning with a solid push against my chest. Gasping, I reach my arms out blindly, my palms connecting with the edge of something metal. My eyes fly open, latch onto the sight of a familiar steel mini fridge and the pink carpet beneath it. The similarly colored couch against the left wall and the wall-to-wall bookshelf in front of me seal the deal. This is definitely Ms. Wassum’s office, my original history teacher who left on maternity leave.

Before my confusion can fully settle in, an icy, awfully familiar voice sounds behind me. “Are you done avoiding me yet, Mr. Malkovich?”

Reflexively, I flinch at the sound. I’m preparing to turn around and see if it’s really him or if my ears are just playing tricks on me when a set of large palms come down atop my hands, caging me in against the frigid surface. “Mas-mister Richardson?” I fumble thoughtlessly, the last title I’d called him almost slipping out.

He chuckles darkly, unamused, his head nudging my cheek, forcing me to tip my head to the side. “So, you do remember me. Funny, with all that skipping, I figured you’d have made yourself forget that I’m your Master by now.”

I can’t help but shiver, an unwanted shudder moving through me at having my fears confirmed. Breathing in deeply in an effort to clear my head, my eyes almost roll back in my skull at the flood of heady, spicy cologne that fills my senses. Beneath the tides of his scent, I can barely make out the rose perfume that used to fill this room. My body tingles with how dominant even his smell is. Is there any part of him that isn’t?

Instead of thinking about the answer to that question, I’m forced instead to listen to the pounding in my ears as he steps up incredibly close behind me, melding his body to mine in a way that’s dangerously familiar to me.

“I wonder how well your body remembers my touch,” he muses to himself, his fingers curling around my wrists, increasing the feeling of control he has over me. “Chest down.” My every nerve endings tingle at the sound of his command, my body following his direction without giving me even a moment to consider it.

I only find myself hesitating part way when I realize how the positioning he wants doesn’t exactly benefit my efforts of escaping. His hand comes down on my back, and I have to bite into my lip at the sweet little tremors that race through me when he pushes me down. My breath escapes in a swift burst as he leaves me open to him, his hips pressed against my exposed backside. My fingers curl into tight fists, fully aware of how similar this is to our positioning on Friday.

I feel like squirming when he doesn’t move a muscle, just stares down at me with his cock alarmingly close to my core.

At last, his hands vanish and reappear to slide down my sides, settling on my hips. “So, you do remember. Good. Who am I?”

I know what he wants to hear as surely as I know the sky is blue. My teeth bite down harder, my eyes squeezing closed. I don’t want to say it. But I do at the same time. Oh, how I want to say it. I can feel the words gathering on my tongue, just itching to be set free. And I realize that beyond a shadow of a doubt, I want to feel him again. But I know what’ll happen if I do: I won’t be able to hide from it anymore. Neither of us would let me.

His fingers slip a fraction down my hips. I shiver and shake my head quickly, chest lifting up in an effort to get away until one of his hands glides up my spine, ghosting along just above my shirt, and I’m giving in, sinking back down, back arching into his faintest of touches. I whine under my breath, hands grabbing at the fridge as his fingers hook into my belt loops and give it a hard tug.

“Please!” I don’t know what I’m asking for, but I need something. Whether it be for him to never stop or for him to let me up, I need it desperately.

“Say my name, Malkovich,” both his hands grab onto the sides of my pants, “call for me and I’ll let you keep your clothes on.”

He tugs. I gasp and squirm freely on the cold top, my body filling with anticipation. A wave of warmth goes through my crotch, my back arching into him as my pants are pulled on, slowly moving down and down and down. He pauses, his fingers fanning out over my ass. He grabs onto handfuls of my cheeks and lifts them up and open, stretching my boxers and forcing my pants down even lower. I lick at my lips, glance back at him over my shoulder, and cry out in distress at the raw, animalistic need in his eyes. He locks eyes with  me and fists my loose pants. A dark promise fills his gaze. If those come off, he’s going to fuck me. The knowledge is thrilling, makes me throb almost painfully as he silently promises me the satisfaction that I’ve often dreamed about.

My eyes drift closed as he yanks hard, his front pressing in, melding against my boxer-clad ass.

My pants catch on my thighs. He fists the waistband of my boxers in one hand and grabs onto my hair with the other, tugging me up as he rips them down in the back. I tremble against him, listening eagerly to the sound of his zipper coming down. His mouth closes over my neck. “I won’t stop, Cameron. I’m won’t let you disappear in the crowd this time,” he promises me in a breathy whisper as he lets me feel his broad head, lines it up perfectly with my entrance.

My throat closes up around all the words I want to say, the ones that would expose just how much I want this. God, how I want it.

He groans against me, his teeth biting into my skin. “Say something, Cameron.”

“Y-yes please.” I whimper pathetically, swaying back against him.

He curses, his fingers coming between us and pressing against my entrance. “Good boy.”

Before so much as a pinky can get inside, there’s a symphony of shouts beyond his door. He hesitates but quickly regains his focus, sliding his fingers over his wet tip and then presenting two of them to my hole.

A girl screams.

“God-fucking-dammit,” he seethes, breaking away from me and adjusting his pants. “Don’t you dare move, Cameron.”

The door slams open behind me and I jump reflexively, fingers tightening their grip on the mini-fridge for a moment before I release it. Turning around and pulling myself up into a sitting position, I stare down at my weeping tip in wonder. Right now, I should be bent over with his fingers buried inside me, on the verge of coming. I scrub at my eyes in frustration, completely and utterly convinced that lust is one of the most dangerous forces in the world. It makes me lose every ounce of cool I have in me, and forget all of the things I’ve learned over the years. Namely that illegal relationships are illegal for a reason.

Shaking my head at my foolishness, I stand up and pull up my underwear and pants, intent on creeping into the classroom through the conjoining door and leaving the campus without him finding out. Instead, I have my fingers tugging on my zipper when he opens back up the door. Every muscle in me tightens.

His eyes are glued on my hands, his expression perfectly blank as he looks back up at me. “Let go.” My hands flop uselessly to my sides. “Good boy, now you’re going to want to hold onto that fridge behind you.”

I lick at my lips slowly, uncertainly even as I grasp onto the edge of it with unsteady fingers. As soon as I do, he’s stepping forward, his hand diving into my pants and fisting my tip. My hips buck, head tipping back on a startled half-moan noise. He smirks down at me, supremely pleased as he strokes me fast and tight, jerking me off like I’m a toy he already knows like the back of his hand. My back bows as he draws the pool of heat out of me in the form of thick, creamy globs.

“M-Master!” I pant at last, chest heaving as the pressure builds inside me, the heat and tingles creeping up and up and up my dick faster and faster the more he pumps me. Just a little more . . .

He chuckles lowly, mockingly at my ear. “Want to come?” I nod quickly, breath leaving me too quickly for me to possibly have enough oxygen in me to respond properly. He squeezes.

“Yes!” I just about shout, tears springing to my eyes as he loosens his grip just a bit.

“Turn around and bend over.”

I move without hesitation, spinning around and laying my chest flat against the chilly surface of the fridge. Once again my clothes are puddling at my ankles, leaving me completely open to the looming substitute. His gaze burns up my quaking knees, sears at my skin as it trails up and settles on my bare ass.

“Grab onto the opposite side of the fridge, and don’t you dare let go this time.”

Unsure as to whether he’s mad or not, I hesitantly do as told and peek back at him once I’m done. My eyebrows come together when I don’t see him standing over me like he should be and–

“Oh!” I yell out in surprise at the first flick of his tongue against my hole, completely not expecting him to take the time to prep me. My eyes flutter closed at the second lick, fingers tightening on the metal as his own grab onto my cheeks and pry them apart, making more space for his face. I suck in a harsh breath at the feeling of his warm cavern closing around my entrance, soft, wet tongue probing at it as he lets me feel the slight suction of his lips.

Squirming back on his face, I rest my cheek on the metal and moan long and low as he sinks his tongue in, curling it up to taste my walls. His fingernails bite into my skin, his tongue pulling out sharply and shoving back in. I jerk, hips bucking at the sinful pleasure of him tongue-fucking my hole. His hands slide up, curling over my hips and yanking them back where he wants them.

I whimper, fingers digging at the metal as he goes back to licking at me, slowly caressing up and down the inside of my body and leaving my shaft to hang painfully erect between my legs. I need more, we both know it, yet he continues to ignore my needs, choosing instead to relentlessly swirl his tongue inside me, denying me the release I desperately crave.

He makes a loud slurping noise as he rocks back away from me, leaving me wet and cold and vulnerable to his probing gaze. There’s a hard snapping sound and then a wave of heat is rolling down my backside. I gasp, jerking up onto my elbows and gaping back at him. He stands perfectly in control behind me, belt in one hand, cock in the other. I can’t help but whine at the sight, watching on helplessly as his hand slides up his shaft as the belt comes down, cracking down on the same spot. I flinch away, backside already smarting as he moves his hand down and raises the belt again. I clench my teeth, face scrunching up in preparation for the next strike.

Instead, his slick hand slides up my crack, slowly moving up and up until three of his fingertips are pushing against my loosened entrance. I gasp softly, my mind going absolutely empty as they’re fed into me, sinking in all the way to the knuckle before Master’s satisfied.  His warm palm coasts over my stinging cheek, kneading it between his thick fingers as his other ones knead my insides. I moan at his gentle touch, pushing my ass into his fingers and shuddering at the hot tip that presses against me at the action.

Master groans softly, his hand smacking down on the upper swell of my cheek as he rubs his thick length on me, his tip deliciously near where I want it. I desperately clutch at  the sides of the fridge as his pinky joins his fingers inside me while I’m distracted, all four digits spreading out wide and sliding in and out, toying with my need for something thick.

“P-please,” I beg at last, cheeks flushing at having to ask him for something he was so willing to give earlier.

“No,” he says immediately, voice almost as thick as the cock sliding up under my pulsating core, “I’m not fucking you until I get you home and on my bed, on the verge of coming and crying for me to fill you with my cum.”

My mouth goes dry, head tipping back on a ragged gasp for air. He can’t mean it. No way. I know he can’t, yet the image is fully alive in my head: me spread out on a bed, tears streaming down my face as he rubs that broad head on my entrance, letting me feel it on the verge of penetrating me, and making me beg and writhe for it. It takes my breath away when he rams it into me, shoves it in as far as it can go and relentlessly pounds into my hole, screwing me raw as he finally takes his release deep in my stomach.

I pant for air, head spinning as I turn around and grab onto him. His mouth slams into mine, his tongue diving in as I lift myself up and guide his cock into me. I moan loudly, back bowing as he slams his hips up, drives me back so I’m sitting on the very edge of the mini-fridge. His hands grip my hips tightly, no doubt bruising them, as he pulls out an inch or so and thrusts back in, makes my teeth chatter with how much force he uses.

“So good,” he grunts into the side of my neck, teeth biting at me as he rams in and out, swelling up and throbbing erratically, “don’t come. I’m still bringing you home.”

I whimper and cling to him as he quickens his pace, fingers digging into my thighs to forcibly anchor me in place as he pummels my hole. He completely avoids my prostate, denying me the little bit of stimulation I need to disobey him, and forcing me to writhe for him as he impales me over and over and over before he’s satisfied. His juices brand themselves into my stomach, makes the temperature skyrocket as they flood into me without warning, stealing any hope I may have had about orgasming before he makes true of his promise.

He kisses up my neck between ragged breaths, peppering my skin with light kisses before I tilt my head down and meet his lips head on. I melt into a puddle the moment his tongue rubs at mine, my entire world turning into warm, mushy nothingness as he sweetly moves his tongue against me. My fingers tangle up in his hair, pulling that wickedly adept mouth even closer as I sag into his chest.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, fingers petting at the back of my head.

I hum against his lips, my own curling around a delighted little smile.

How I Survived NaNoWriMo & Why It’s Not Over Yet!

At a glorious 9 pm today, November 27th, 2016, I have finished the great National Novel Writing (NaNoWriMo) challenge of writing 50,000  words in 30 days in November.  I can remember so many times that I used to hear that one of my friends was going to do this crazy challenge, and each time, I always thought that I was friends with nut jobs. I mean, who would sit for thirty days and write that much? I was convinced they had to be insane, and that by being friends with them, I had also caught the crazy bug, because after hearing about it enough times, I wanted to do it.

The first time I participated in NaNoWriMo, it was the Camp version, so I didn’t take it very seriously and ended the first week with fourteen thousand, and promptly called it quits.

But this year. This year is my year!

I finally completed a book I’d been writing for a good two years (was promptly shot down for killing the main character, but let’s not linger on that one), and finished two NaNo’s within the span of two months!

This is the year of completion! And if you’re still making the last leg of the 50,000, you can finish it, too! The only thing standing in your way, at this very moment, is this post. What are you doing? You have work to do; you can come back later!

But, if you already finished or are wondering if it’s even a challenge that you want to pick up, then this is sort of directed at you.

A lot of people like to say that in order to complete NaNoWriMo you need to set aside writing every day and shut up your inner critic. I actually did the exact opposite. I sat down every weekend and sometimes on a Monday or occasional Friday, and pulled up thesaurus.com on Google, my Pandora radio, and my pacemaker.press site, and settled in to write.  There were some days where I wrote five thousand, two where I wrote in the hundreds, and, in total (excluding the 28th, 29th, and 30th), I didn’t write for twelve days this month.

Most of the time, when I was struggling to continue from the previous day, I’d reread almost entire chapters before getting the hang of the flow again. But what I mainly did this month was remember that this challenge isn’t all about winning. I mean, for some people it is, but for me, I just wanted to create something I could be proud about and freely share with the world. So, I backtracked and I deleted words and added some, and in the end, I only really wrote if I felt like it.

I understand that some people just can’t sit and write eight thousand words in a day for some reason or the other. However, I firmly believe that if you view your writing as something you’re doing for yourself and not for the green winner bar under your name on the NaNoWriMo site, then you’re more likely to write more and genuinely enjoy the time you spend either in front of your computer or notepad. If you’re not then it could be a number of things from you putting too much stress on writing to that story not being the one you want to write.

I know that whenever I found myself thinking of another story I wanted to work on more than The Sorceress and the Mating, I’d switch to that one. That way, I was just going with the flow, letting the words come to me rather than just sit there and force out words I couldn’t be happy with.

Sure there was that one odd scene in chapter three that I still just cannot wrap my head around, but I highlighted it a nice red color for future consideration and went on. I notice that giving yourself free reign to write crap and free reign to write stuff that you’d want to read have two completely different effects on me. When I let myself write crap, I write crap and I’m not happy with it at the end of the month, but when I let myself write how I usually do, I get to that 50,000 at the end of the month and just keep going, pushing on and on because I genuinely love what I’ve written. (That, and one of my supporting friends has been bugging me to finish a story all ready, and I think this is the one I want them to read.)

Which brings me to: Why NaNoWriMo Isn’t Over For Me Yet

As much as I hate to say it: I ended in the middle of a chapter. My MC just got shot in the chest and is struggling to reach the woman she loves as I type this. There is so much tension in the scene, that I’m actually glad I reached the goal, so that I could let my fingers take a break for a minute.

(Not that this is much of a break, but I’m typing noticeably slower than a minute ago, so I guess it’ll count as one.)

Currently, I’m on the fifth chapter and about sixty percent through all of the stuff I wanted to happen. So, unlike the story I wrote for my “Early NaNo”, Recover, this one probably won’t go over 100k words like I suspect that one will. Which in turn means that I still have a few more weeks of work on my hands (if I continue working at the pace I have been, otherwise this might take a lot longer). However, for once, I look forward to the days ahead greatly, almost as much as I do Christmas, because as soon as I reach the end of this book, I can already tell that I’m going to have fallen even further in love with my main character’s interactions. Which may screw up the ending I wanted because it’ll turn me into a sobbing mess, so I may just have to save the tragic ending for another story.

Thank you for reading to the end of this post! I hope you were able to take something from it, or just read something that amused you for a few minutes!

Congrats to all who participated in this year’s NaNo, and I look forward to seeing you take part next time as well.

Ciao for Now,

~ Amelie J. Hyde

Virgin Lover Boy – 1

The Sweet Cowboy

Being a freshman in college is like being a dish in a buffet: all the clubs and fraternities are interested in getting your attention, but you secretly know that each and every one of them will devour your soul when given half the chance. Or, at least, that’s how I see all the booths lining the main pathway and littering the green expanse between the buildings. From what I can tell, the goal is to hook as many freshmen as possible and haul them into a binding four year contract.

Head stooped low on my shoulders and fingers firmly flexed around the handle of my bag, I dare to take the first step forward. Internally shaking like a newborn giraffe, I set one foot in front of the other and study the cement as– cowboy boots?

Eyebrows scrunching together, I follow the lightly tanned boots up to a pair of faded blue jeans hung dangerously low on a trim set of hips, and linger on the dark, black treasure trail peeking out of them. So, it’s a guy then. Looking up quickly, I set my sights on his face instead, fully accustomed to the customary knuckle sandwich that usually comes right after an accidental look over.

Instead of a fist, I’m pleasantly surprised to see a bright grin directed my way below a pair of innocent brown eyes. I’m so surprised, in fact, that I find myself smiling back and eagerly accepting his offered hand.

With a firm squeeze and shake, he effectively gains all of my attention. Lips pulling back into an even brighter smile, he beams at me and says, in the thickest, honeyed voice I’ve ever heard, “Name’s Sam, Sam Fitz. Pleasure to meet you!”

I swallow unsurely and glance down at our unmoving hands. When I look back up, he’s still grinning, so I decide he’s probably the really forgetful type. “I’m Jeremy, but most people call me Remy.”

His smile softens a fraction as his head tilts a bit to the side. “Never heard of that nickname for a Jeremy before,” he looks me over once, “but it does suit you just fine.” Before I can possibly come up with a response to that beyond what do you mean, he’s already moving on. “Lemme help you with your bags, Remy!”

“Oh, no that’s–.”

I get hardly even that much out before he’s switching which hand is grasping mine and is taking my luggage. Blinking at the fast maneuvering, I’m too baffled to possibly put up a fight when he starts tugging me and my bag along. With a chipper little bounce in his step, he hauls me up by his side and weaves his fingers between mine, the calloused skin feeling awfully foreign on my much softer, smoother digits. Still, the sensation isn’t too bothersome, so I let him do as he likes. After all, he’s helping me. I’d probably get lost a number of times before getting up the nerve to ask someone for directions to my dorm.

“So,” he says at last, looking my way and pinning my eyes down with his, “what’s your dorm number?”

I flinch, stumbling forward at the first brush of his rough, heated thumb on the back of my hand. Blinking rapidly, I stare back wide-eyed, my knees quaking in a mixture of fear and dear God what country is he from where he can just smile and rub at my hand like that?! He gazes back completely oblivious to my incredulous stare, and waits for my answer.

Swallowing hard, I attempt to wiggle my hand out of his only to feel his fingers settle even further between mine. “U-um, B-406,” I stumble through my response at last, taking great relief in finally breaking the silence.

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head sadly. “Wow . . . I’d have never pegged you as that sort of person.” As if his words aren’t enough to draw my attention, he drops my hand as he says them. Drops it!

Now on high alert, I wring the bottom of my shirt in my hands, hesitantly licking my lips before I force my legs to carry me back to his side, having fallen behind since I’m no longer anchored to him. He doesn’t even glance my way. Oh, that building must be terrible! Internally preparing for a mental breakdown already, I ask tentatively, “Is . . . is it that bad?”

He scoffs. “Is the sky blue?”

Oh, no! “How bad is it?” I feel uncomfortably similar to a patient in Intensive Care asking their physician how large a malignant tumor has  grown, yet I still practically mold myself into his side, desperately needing to know the answer.

A shadow passes over his face, his voice becoming grave as he finally says, “The worst. It’s loud.” No. “Constantly partying.” No! “And there are more pregnant girls there than any other building.” Say it’s not so!

Devastated with my choice of dorm, I reflexively start nibbling on my fingernail, eyes sweeping this way and that as I try to remember what the fee is for switching dorms. It was large; I remember that much. So ridiculously huge that even my mother had hounded me for days about not picking randomly and thinking it through. I thought I had thought about it, though! Surely, I had so foolishly decided, the one named after the first President of the United States would be full of scholars.

“Hey, hey, Remy, don’t look so down about it,” Sam says comfortingly, his hand patting down on my shoulder, “since you obviously aren’t meant for that dorm, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” My eyes just about pop out of my skull as I see Sam for what he is: an angel! Ears completely open to his wisdom, I wait for it with baited breath. He smiles broadly and slides his hand along my shoulders, hooking it on the other side and pulling me right up against his side. “The place that I stay at is always quiet, full of studious, grade-oriented people, and, best of all, in my opinion, completely void of distractions!”

My shoulders crumble. That’s it then, I’ll just have to let him know that I’m bankrupt, completely out of the money required to get into such a wonderful oasis.

“And it’s free to transfer into.”

“What? Really?!” Almost leaping out of my skin in happiness, I turn almost completely towards him and scour his face for any sign of lying. His usual smile shines right back at me.

“Of course,” he says with a chuckle, “would I lie to you, Remy?” I shake my head emphatically. He smiles and rubs his palm up and down my upper arm. “Thought so. So, why don’t you just crash in my room there for the time being, and I’ll bring you to the office to switch into my fraternity tomorrow?”

“Fraternity?” My mouth tastes sour as it forms around the word, completely against every letter of it.

He smiles knowingly. “Doesn’t sound like a place for scholars, does it?” I shake my head again. He nods. “Thought so too when I was first told about it, but I’m really glad now that I let go of my prejudices and joined. The only thing that’s missing is a roommate.”

“I’ll be your roommate!” I will?

“You will?”

“I will!” Okay, I will. It’s not like it can possibly be any worse than where I was headed.

So, with some smiles and a lot of friendly arm rubs, I find myself here, standing in what can only be paradise. The “room” is immense. It’s a large, open square with two beds pushed into one corner, separated by a long nightstand, and a nice, fluffy rug beneath them. In the corner opposite that one is the living room with a wraparound couch and flat screen TV. In the corner to the left of the door is the kitchen with a small, oval island, and to the right is the door that leads to the shared bathroom connected to the room on the other side. But, that’s not what makes me love that corner. Instead, it’s the neat little organized desk there with its own small lamp and large cabinet space. In the center of the room, reaching straight up to the ceiling is a bookcase shaped like a cylinder. Sure, some shelves have small glass trinkets on them, but it’s a bookshelf that reaches the ceiling.

“I love this room!” I declare as soon as he lays my bag down on my neatly made bed, my eyes probably shooting out fat hearts and puffs of glitter with how happy this little sanctuary makes me.

He chuckles, and comes up behind me, hands settling on my shoulders. I hardly even flinch as he begins rubbing at my muscles, perfectly used to his overly touchy personality by now. Kneading my skin almost tenderly beneath his hot hands easily pulls a soft, barely audible groan from my lips. He gives a rough little laugh again, chin settling on one shoulder as his hands travel a tad lower, cupping and stroking at the muscles of my mid-back.

“My dad’s a masseuse, so this is like second nature to me,” he murmurs lowly, his thick voice sounding all the more hypnotizing as a whisper, “I used to massage my mother like this all the time.” His fingers pluck at the edge of my t-shirt, “Do you mind?”

I hum something remotely similar to a response, and slump back against his chest at the first firm grab of his hands on my hips. Thanks to the long drive I had to take here on top of the weeks of stressing about moving so far from home, his hands are more than enough to remind me that I am, in fact, exhausted.

They slide up, squeezing lightly, and slowly come back down, his touch getting lighter the closer he gets to the edge of my pants. As they come back up, he tilts his head in towards my neck, his voice dropping even lower, “if you start feeling sleepy, let me know, Remy, I’ll put you right to bed.”

Another groggy hum escapes me as my head tips back, welcoming the soothing bursts of his warm breath on my neck. It quickens for a moment before he blows on me deliberately, tickling me with a slow wave of air down my neck. For a moment, I’m aware of his hands coming around to my front, nudging me back so I can use him for balance.

“Sam,” I whisper, eyes struggling to stay open as he rubs his fingertips in tight, slow circles at the edge of my pants.

“Yes?”

“I,” I pause, the words leaving me for a moment before I manage to grab onto them again, “I’m tired.”

A light chuckle in the distance, followed by his soft, disembodied voice drifting towards me from all directions, “Don’t worry. Close those beautiful green eyes; your dear friend Sammy will take good care of you.”

~ – ~


“Remy, wake up; it’s time to play.”

Sam? I stir a bit, familiar with the soft, thick voice calling to me. As soon as I move just a bit, a tidal wave of nausea moves through me. Jerking forward, I’m blocked from moving too much by a set of hard arms around my waist. Frowning, I reach back unsteadily with one hand and feel hair brush the bottom of my pinky. Uncertain, I tip myself a bit to the side and slide my hand down as my eyelids flutter open.

Sam smirks down at me, arms tightening up on my hips. “Good evening, princess. Did you have a nice restful nap?” I rub at my eye with one hand, yawning deeply as I nod at him, not entirely sure why he’s talking like that, but figuring it’s just another aspect of his culture. Instead of giving me his usual smile, he looks beyond me, smirk widening in obvious satisfaction. Nudging the side of my head with his chin, he indicates whatever he’s looking at and says, “Say hello to your fraternity brothers.”

“Hmm?” I mumble under my breath, slowly pulling my arm back to myself as I twist back around and–

Oh my God!

Just feet away, men are plunging in and out of other guys, some making an obvious try at being gentle while others make their partners sob into their flimsy eye masks, taking their pleasure and leaving them a crumpled over mess, held up almost completely by either some toys or the hands of the man, or men, using them. I squirm backwards, chest seizing at the wetness between my ass cheeks and the hard chest I’ve backed myself into.

Sam groans, fingers grabbing at my hips and pulling that drenched part of me right up against something unmistakably hard and jutting out between his legs. I shudder, a fresh wave of nausea moving through my stomach as his lips appear at the shell of my ear. “I’ve worked them up into a nice little frenzy for you,” he whispers, voice rough and dripping with dark intentions, “to be honest, letting them watch me eat such a juicy cherry ass wasn’t only for their benefit. You should’ve heard the way you moaned, seen the way you came clenched around my tongue. A thousand blowjobs won’t be enough to keep my cock out of you now that you’re awake.”

My body is wracked with shivers at the sound of metal grating on metal. There’s a rustling of fabric, and then his hands are sliding down and taking great big handfuls of my ass into their large palms. It’s only when I feel the slightest increase in temperature that I throw myself forward. Or, at least I try to. I hardly even wiggle. He chuckles, but doesn’t offer an explanation; instead, he just gives me the tip of his broad head on my opening. My next instinct is to clench up, but all that does is make me all too aware of the spit dribbling out my open hole.

“How,” I gasp, back arching in a last ditch attempt at getting away, “how much did you lick it?!”

He pauses, his tip leaking a fat glob of its precum against me. “Until your entire body turned into nothing but mush and mine couldn’t possibly get any harder,” he says at last, voice sounding slightly strained as he holds back from shoving it in me.

He doesn’t restrain himself for very long, and it’s not long before I’m panting for air, hips squirming forward as his tip breaches my previously untouched canal, forces my limp, weak exit wide, and taints me with its hot strings of pre. He sighs in pleasure, hands curling around the juncture between my crotch and legs, and pulling me down even more of his shaft.

It widens substantially, wedging me even wider as he reclines peacefully behind me. “Good, good, take it in just like that,” he groans, kneading at me as he forces his way in deeper and deeper, “that a boy, Jeremy; spread those legs.”

I choke on a sob as I realize what I’m doing, my nails biting into his thighs as I open them completely and bend over just a bit, nibbling at my lip when he touches me even deeper. I moan under my breath as he rubs his fingertips into the base of my dick, unconsciously contracting around him and crying out at the electric bolts it sends piercing through me.

He feels good – so good.

Sam groans and yanks on me, fully sheathing his throbbing, scalding prick in my sensitized entrance. “Don’t fucking squeeze me if you don’t want a reason to hurt more than you already will come morning,” he growls, one hand weaving its fingers into my hair and forcibly tipping my head back on his shoulder, “now ride my cock, Jeremy; let me see you work for my load.”

His load. I roll the words over in my mind, the hot tides of nausea building in my stomach and moving my hips for me. I want it. I lick at my lips and roll my hips in his lap, eyes slipping closed as he fists my hair and pants in my ear, encouraging me to go faster, rougher. He bites at my lobe, tugs on it with his teeth as I deliberately clench as I take him back in, a little thrill moving through me as he rocks his hips up, makes me moan at the sweet collide of his tip with my walls.

“Don’t tease me,” he warns lowly, kissing at my neck and licking at it right after, “I will pin you down and have you my way if you play with me.”

The heat in my stomach builds, rolls around in the pit of my stomach as I bounce myself on him, squeezing and twisting and moaning like a whore as it overflows inside me, spilling out the tip of my dick in the form of white, thick streaks.

He yanks me off of him and spins me around, sending me stumbling back against the thin glass between us and the ravenous group beyond.

“You came.”

His voice is deadly, acidic to my common sense as I let him come up right in front of me and hitch my thighs over his hips. I squirm, lips parting at the brush of his hot, damp tip on the bottom of my ass. I should be exhausted, both mentally and physically, and yet all my body feels is horny – hungry for more.

I wind my fingers in his hair and slide down, easily taking his glorious shaft back into me. He curses, fingers digging into my thighs as I curl my arms around his neck and work myself up and down. He groans and lifts me up off the glass, hands sliding around and grabbing onto my ass so he can bounce me even faster on his steel-like cock.

“M-more!” I cry brokenly as he drops me down onto a bed, roughly flipping me onto my stomach and plowing into me.

He grunts and bites at my shoulder. “You’ll get what I fucking give you, so just lay down and take it.”

I arch up against him, nails clawing down the sheets as he rams in against something that sends sparks of blinding white light flashing before my eyes. “There! Oh, oh, yes, right there!” I cry, chest heaving as he targets it, pounding it on his dick, and sending me careening towards the edge once more. “Close,” I pant weakly, my hand coming up between my legs and giving myself a good, solid pump before it’s whipped away.

He traps my wrists by my head and goes completely still, groaning as I squirm my way up his cock. As soon as I have him buried in my ass, he lets go, making me keen in shock as searing lances of his come shoot up into my stomach. I clutch at him desperately, unintentionally milking his fat length as he leisurely pulls it out.

“I came,” he teases, licking up the shell of my ear. “How’s it feel to take another man’s cum deep in the ass?” He chuckles maliciously as he wipes his tool dry on my cheeks, lets me feel his semi-hard dick so close to where I still want it. I sway back on him, eyes fluttering closed as he uses one hand to guide himself between my cheeks. “I can feel you twitching against me. You want it that bad, Jeremy?” He murmurs mockingly against my ear as he strokes himself between my cheeks, hardening against me but denying me the actual thing I need. “Roll over.”

I roll, legs falling wide open. He smirks, hands dropping to rub up and down my thighs. “I want to see the frustrated tears in your eyes when I deny you your orgasm again,” He whispers as he pushes my knees up under my armpits and shoves his more than a bit dry shaft into my soaked walls. “So wet and tight,” he groans, lifting up on his hands and swirling his hips even closer. I moan long and loud, the flames jumping to life in my stomach. “Hey, keep those eyes open!”

They snap open, locking on his fully in control ones as he pulls out and shoves himself back in. “Fuck!” My entire body bucks as he hits that spot, all the oxygen bursting from my lungs and leaving me gasping beneath him.

He grabs onto the hair at the top of my head and none too gently pulls it up to force my gaze on his. “Like that? Want me to hit it again? Oh, look, it really gets you going, huh? Do you know how hot it is when you look drunk on the pleasure I give you? Makes me wanna . . . ” he trails off, eyes slipping closed as he slowly milks himself in my walls, “torment you with these slow, self-pleasuring strokes. This way, I can feel every little twitch of your ass on my cock and you get nothing but a bit of friction. Ah, I’m gonna cum if I keep this up. Yeah, tighten up, Jeremy, suck it right up out of my balls.”

He cusses under his breath, palming my ass as he sinks back in, murmuring under his breath now about how good busting a nut in me will feel this time. My back arches off the bed in frustration as his dick jerks inside me, on the edge of feeding me its juices again. I want them. God, but I want to feel their warmth piercing through me, but I want to cum much more. My shaft aches with how much I need to empty it, and feeling him bumping around inside me isn’t exactly helping.

“C’mon, Jeremy, put that ass to work, suck your reward out; it’s almost there,” Sam practically purrs he’s so lost in the anticipation of giving me another serving of his–. I moan as he shoots, grinding his hips against my ass and tipping them up to better take in his second orgasm.

My cry morphs into a scream as he takes my shaft into his hand and jerks it nice and fast in his rough, hot hands. I blow in seconds, clinging to his shoulders and breathing hard as he smirks down at me, his face glowing with how satisfied he feels.

“Remember this feeling, Remy,” He murmurs, fingers brushing my sweat-slicked hair out of my face. I lift questioning eyes his way, and barely have a moment to even begin to process what he meant before he’s disentangling from me and standing at the edge of the bed. “C’mon, your initiation is far from over; it’s time to play with the big boys.”

He jerks his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the still wildly going at it crowd as his other hand extends down towards me. Chest filling with borderline fear, I lift myself up onto my knees and bolt upright at the feeling of something hot and lumpy sliding down my insides. I fist the messed up sheets, biting at my lip as more and more come to a standstill at my entrance, pressing down and down and down until I have to slump over my knees in order to not let it all out at once.

Instead, the thick cream dribbles out my loose hole, continuing its downward path. The bed dips behind me and I yelp at the hot, wet tongue that laps at the new trail, cleaning up his mess with long, slow licks at my hole. He catches new drops just as they’re coming out, effectively cleaning up one little mess and creating a much bigger one.

I fist the sheet in my hands and try to muffle my noises in the mattress, eyes squeezed shut as I struggle to keep my hole at least partly shut. The feeling of his tongue moving against my wet, dripping hole is familiar and makes my ass turn to useless jelly. I struggle feebly against myself, panting and drooling like a dog as he wiggles his tongue into me and sucks out mouthfuls of his juices. He nips at me with his teeth, sucks hard on the rim of my hole, and renders me boneless in a matter of seconds.


Trembling with my ass stuck out as a buffet for his sinful mouth, I feel my face burn in embarrassment as the mattress fails to muffle my increasingly louder cries. He groans and spreads my cheeks wide, the flat of his tongue licking up from just beneath my sac to just above my hole before he shoves it into me.


“I knew it,” he brags, breath stroking my damp entrance, “this ass was made to be licked and fucked into submission.” He rests on his knees behind me and pushes a thick digit into my more than willing hole. “Change of plans: I’m going to finger and eat you out for a couple more hours, and then I’ll put you to sleep on my cock. They can play by themselves tonight.” My ass isn’t the only thing that’s willing.

I have only one request (for any of the people who know me in real life and have read this): please, don’t judge me.

For everyone else, I hope you enjoyed it! I had a surprisingly large amount of fun writing this. If you didn’t, I’d love to hear your suggestions and/or comments. The point of this blog, after all, is to challenge me to get better as I upload.

The Power of Gay Straight Alliance (GSA)

Gay Straight Alliance is a high school (perhaps even college, I’m not too sure) club with a rather obvious purpose.

I live in Florida; the land that was nicknamed the South of the South during the Civil War, and is still terribly behind in some areas. Yet, unlike my school in the North, it has something that wasn’t offered there: a safe space. Here for the first time I was able — simply by being in the room — to offer my support to several people as they came out to a room full of strangers. Or what should have been strangers, but in that particular room, none of us were; we were a group of people looking for others to understand and accept us. Without needing to say anything as pretentiously unoriginal as “you can trust me” or “please tell me,” as soon as we entered the room, each and every one of us wordlessly declared: “We will listen and we will care, but we will not judge.”

The impact was immense.

The relief on their faces when a thunderous round of applause went up just for expressing what they had never before put into words — whether that be that they like women or men or both or neither, or were born with the wrong one or none of the genders — was a privilege to witness. Truthfully, I envy those who had the courage to say such things in front of a group of thirty or so people. Not because I’m not out (I’m a proud bisexual), but because I’m far too shy to do what they did without significant prodding.

Today, you can search “coming out” on YouTube and find millions of sad tales where someone comes out and is surrounded by hatred. It’s mind-numbingly refreshing to see for yourself how a simple round of applause can bring someone to their knees in happiness.

This is the power of GSA, and I believe in it 100%.

. . . Also, I haven’t worked on my Early NaNo even once in the past two days . . . but GSA was fun.

Carnal Delights ~ Chapter One

I’ve always been the kid in the front of the class that all the teachers simply adore. They would fawn over me in almost every way imaginable as soon as I set foot in their class, and I would smile and blush, reveling in their attention. So, just how exactly did I wind up blindfolded on a stage in the middle of  the new BDSM club?

I can feel everyone’s gaze on me, sliding down my naked front and pausing on the blatant erection pressed against my boxer briefs. It doesn’t bother me. It should. Instead, I find myself trembling, my skin tingling in anticipation. And when the teacher who brought me here finally coasts his heated palm down my right butt cheek, I feel the contact everywhere.

~ | ~ | ~


It’s the last class of the day, but instead of being filled with happiness that the weekend will be starting shortly, I feel nothing but sadness.

We’d received a new long term substitute while Ms. Wassum has her baby and he’s a nice enough guy, but he hardly notices me at all! I’ve been struggling for two months to gain some form of praise and I’d been sure that today would be the day.

It wasn’t.

My perfect presentation had gotten less than an eyelash flicker out of Mr. Richardson.

Meanwhile, every other student who went up and read off of their powerpoint was rewarded with a smile and a brief speech on how great they did. What did I get? Nothing. Not even a “good work, Cameron” or a “nicely done.”

Sighing in defeat, I slump over my desk, one arm bent under my cheek as I watch a girl finish her presentation. Okay, it’s more like glance her way, but that hardly matters! My attention is focused on the one teacher who seems to hate me. Whereas during my turn when he seemed bored out of his mind, for hers he looks enthralled. His hazel eyes practically glow as she spits out random facts that have nothing to do with each other!

When she finally finishes, Mr. Richardson beams at her, his large palms slapping together. “Wonderful work, Stacey, simply mesmerising!”

“Oh, come on!” I groan aloud, eyes narrowed, “you were just ‘mesmerised’ by her mini skirt!”

It dawns on me when my gaze lifts to continue staring at him that maybe — possibly — I said that louder than I’d intended to.

Anger.

For the first time in my life, a teacher looks angry. And it’s directed at me. The room is filled with a deadly silence. Not even the bell ringing is enough to jar anyone from their seats. My stomach knots in on itself.

“I mean–,” I scramble to fix my mistake, but he cuts me off.

“You and I need to have a word,” his voice is hard, punishing me without even trying, “everyone else can leave.” I sink low in my seat, absolutely mortified at the murmurings of my classmates as they scurry away. “Mr. Malkovich, come.”

The atmosphere has shifted since everyone else left, and it feels way too similar to me being trapped in a room with a wild animal for me to be any sort of comfortable. I stay where I am. “S-sir, I didn’t really mean it!” I swallow thickly, wringing my wrists beneath my desk.

“Come. Here.”

Without thought, I come around to stand before his desks. My gut sinks as I realize as soon as my feet stop moving that I’ve brought myself closer to the animal. My mouth opens to find some way to fix this, but nothing manages to come out. His gaze darkens, flickering from my eyes to my agape mouth and back again. I barely repress a pained whine; he must be livid!

He shuffles a few of the papers on his desk around. Once he’s satisfied with how they’re set up, he grabs his keys from in front of his computer and speaks up without looking directly at me, “I’m going to look for students at a new club opening on the outskirts of town. You’ll be coming with.”

“U-um yes, sir!” The words come out in a mad haste before I can fully process what he said. When it finally dawns on me, he’s already disappeared into the hallway. “What?” I ask the empty air, and release a squeaky sound of surprise as I scurry after him. I ask the question again, louder as I practically jog to follow him out the exit to our left.

“In the car, Malkovich.” He states firmly, fingers curling around the handle of a sleek black car just a few paces away and holding it open for me. My gaze flits up to his face; it’s completely blank. I sit. The door closes.

Oh my God, I’m in his car!

My eyes pop open in panic as I reach for the handle, intent on leaping out first and dealing with the consequences later. Before my fingers can even brush the sleek gray metal, the door behind me clicks open and closed, the car shifting slightly as Mr. Richardson takes his seat. I freeze, his body heat searing my back. My eyes drop to my lap, body going numb as I watch his long, thick fingers glide over it, just barely brushing my thighs. He grasps onto my seat belt while I’m in this weird trance-like state. I’m strapped in and he’s back on his side of the car when I learn how to breathe again.

As much as I’d like to think otherwise, for a moment there I’d actually hoped he’d do something– anything to me that would prove that he doesn’t really dislike me. Shaking my head, I take in deep calming breaths as he drives away from the school, trying to brush off my thoughts. I’m not desperate. Just tired, very, very tired. It’s been a hectic week.

My eyes slide his way, pausing on the way his fingers wrap around the shifter and firmly guide it into a new gear. Okay . . . maybe a little desperate.

“No, not even a little!”

I gasp at the sound of my voice bursting into the silence, and clasp my hands over my traitorous lips.

“A little what?”

I slowly drop my hands between my legs, simultaneously deciding to just play dumb. “What?”

He glances my way, brows furrowed. “I said: a little what?”

I blink, my front teeth scraping across my bottom lip. I’ve never lied to a teacher before; I’m not starting now! “What?”

He sighs deeply. “Never mind. We’ll be at our first stop soon anyways.”

Now that catches my attention. “First? As in there’ll be more than one?” He doesn’t bother to reply, and I don’t bother to acknowledge the two octaves my voice just climbed.

~

I’m going shopping.

With my teacher.

After we had lunch.

Us — teacher and student.

I’m pretty sure my brain has shorted out in the short amount of time it’s been since we left the school. Otherwise there’s no logical explanation as to why I’m currently watching a man on a leather leash being led in front of a pair of mirrors.

The man on the leash is much smaller than the one behind him, but he still takes up a good amount of space in their reflection. Although, he doesn’t seem to enjoy that very much. His eyes are swimming with very obvious fear, yet somewhere lurking beneath that is curiosity as he stares down at the clothes the other man picked out for him.

I call them clothes but really they’re failing at their job.

Super short, black shorts make the man’s package look way bigger than it ever could in jeans, while somehow managing to emphasize the perkiness of his butt. Two studded leather strips of fabric come up from the shorts and cross over his chest, supposedly trying to cover his nipples. The thick suspender-looking mechanism goes back and crosses once more before connecting again with his britches. Around the man’s neck is a white collar fit for a dog with a black dog tag dangling from the front.

I look back towards the mirrors to see the boy raise two shaky hands and push his long bangs out of his eyes before turning my attention up to the man behind him. He’s a tall, broad shouldered guy, dressed in a loose pair of black pants and a steep-v-neck shirt. The only out of place thing on him is the leash connecting him to the smaller boy.

Come to think of it, those two men are supposed to be little ol’ me and Mr. Richardson. Obviously I’m just seeing things because there is no way I would ever–!

A small sales associate comes up behind us in the mirror. “Will that be all, Mr. Richardson?” He nods once, turning away from me to face her.

“Just one more thing, grab it for me now.” She nods and scuttles away.

I remain where I am, content to just stare at myself in wonder. Slowly, words start coming together in my head, and my lips open to ask, “How . . . how does she know you?”

“I heard the new club was opening and knew I’d have to go there to stop my students from being taken advantage of when they sneak in. Of course, I’d come here more often to get everything ready for the grand opening.”

I look up over my shoulder as he speaks, surprised that he answered me for once.

The girl comes in through the curtains behind us once again. “Here it is, sir. You’re all set to go now.” For some reason she sends me a wink before vanishing behind the curtain, leaving the red bag in my teacher’s hand.

He begins walking away, only stopping when the leash goes taut between us. He turns halfway back to look at me with one brow raises. “I can’t go out into the mall looking like this!”

He smirks. The sight of his expression changing makes my stomach flood with angry butterflies. “You can and you will. Come. I’ll be right beside you.”

My feet move willingly, carrying me to his side by some unseen force, and I’m helpless to stop it as we exit the dark store. People stop and stare openly as we walk. My head ducks low on my shoulders, my bare skin tingling with awareness as my cheeks flush. Thankfully the feeling I usually get when teachers praise me in front of everyone fills me up with its warmth the more people stare. My stride quickly shifts into one full of confidence as I practically float above everything, enjoying the way my heart flutters with the attention.

I’m almost too high to hear Mr. Richardson’s chuckle. But I do and it sears me.

He’s definitely mocking me.

Before I can become self-conscious again, we enter the parking lot and he strides ahead of me, letting me trail behind him. This time, when he opens the door, I take my seat without needing to be told. Instead of closing the door, he stands there, looming over me. I glance up, swallowing thickly as I watch his gaze move up and down my exposed flesh.

He leans down abruptly and keeps going until I’m forced to tilt away lest he end up kissing me; which I doubt someone who hates me as much as he does would enjoy. Unlike someone like me who may or may not be desperate.

“Don’t leave my side, recoil from me like that, or take off your collar once we reach the club,” He orders in a calm, intense voice. “Understood?”

I nod, nibbling at my bottom lip. He waits. “Um y-yes, sir!” He nods, pats the top of my head, and closes the door. I blink in shock as a warm wave spreads from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. I don’t mention anything about it when he takes his seat, and instead fiddle with the leash, running it through my fingers.

The rest of the ride is silent except for the sound of air rushing past the car as he drives faster than the speed limit. We must’ve spent a lot of time at the mall, because by the time Mr. Richardson stops driving, the sky is a dark purple mixed with light hues of pink. I look around quickly, my gaze stopping on a dark, three story building across the street. Lights sporadically strike out at the sky from the roof, inviting people in to take a look at what they have to offer. Judging from the thick line of people standing outside, it looks like it was successful. A few people in the line are dressed as scantily as I am, but they appear far more comfortable than me.

My viewing is cut short as my teacher opens the door, reaching down and taking a hold of my leash. “We’re here. Only call me–.”

“Master, right?” I murmur distractedly as I bend to see around him from my seat, not quite sure if I just saw two guys kissing or if I’m seeing things. “I heard about this club. It’s the BDSM one, Carnal Delights!”

“Do you know much about BDSM?” He questions above me, sounding genuinely curious as I watch two kissing men hump against the side of the club.

“Hmm? Oh, I know some, but not much. My sister made me read a story once about it, and I started doing research on my own.” I pull my eyes away once I realize the men are in fact having sex, a mortified blush taking over my cheeks. “It’s an interesting fetish.”

He stares down at me, once again expressionless, and turns away suddenly. Forced to follow, I step wobbily out of the car. He reaches into the red bag the woman gave him and pull out a bottle of something before putting the bag back in the car. He doesn’t say a word about it as we stroll right up to the bouncer, a few men whistling as we pass. Without saying a word, he lets us in and Mr. Ri– Master leads me forward.

He leans towards me once we’re a few steps in, his chest curving over some of my back. “We’ll be going to the third floor shortly, I just have to speak to my associate first.”

I nod. Hesitating for a moment, I slowly tilt my head back a bit to meet his gaze and murmur back with all the confidence I can muster, “Yes, M-Master.” I catch sight of his pupils dilating before he steps around me, moving away swiftly. The knowledge that I can affect him with just a few simple words sends a surge of empowered warmth straight to my toes and I follow him happily, more than content with the new addition to my arsenal.

He finds a seat at a bar beside a slumped over drunk. Smiling to myself, I come up slightly behind him, remembering the website that said that most submissives sit at their Master’s feet, I eye the dark ground with suspicion and decide that I’ll forego formality to keep the potential diseases lurking there away. As soon as I come to the conclusion I feel a hand tap down on my shoulder, the warm palm leaving a lingering heat on my skin. Twisting around, my eyes land on a man not that much taller than myself and in black pants, a belt dangling from his fingers.

He smirks sensually down at me, stepping even closer until all I can feel is his heat bouncing off of me, chasing away the comfortable room temperature and replacing it with his much stronger warmth. “Care to play with the big boys, little one?”

My eyes widen, partially in intrigue but mostly fear. My mouth opens to attempt to say words in the form of sentences, but Mis–Master beats me to it. His hard chest presses up against my back, his breath hot against my ear as he molds his front to me. “He’s mine.”

Two words. Relatively simple.

But the way they make my body feel so incredibly light is definitely not.

The man lifts his hands in surrender and immediately moves on, his attention already sifting over the forever moving crowd. Master’s hand comes down on my hip and I give a little squeak of surprise, spinning around at the slight contact. My ankles tangle up together and I tumble forward, hands landing on his pecs to stay off the ground. Breathing quickly, I lift hesitant eyes his way, unsure of what he’s thinking now more than ever.

He stares back with a blank face, his hands grabbing onto my waist and pulling them forward. Heart faltering, it barely registers that we’re pressed tightly together before he’s speaking, his voice thick, firm, “Don’t pull away. Lean on me.”

I do as told, allowing my arms to slip down and around his waist. I figure the move is safe, reasonably intimate but not overly so, but I don’t count on his tongue dipping into my partially open mouth. Startled, my muscles tense to jerk myself backwards when his fingers curve around my backside, moving in gentle, coaxing waves. I gasp into his mouth, little sparks shooting up my spine as he presses me tightly against him, melds our bodies together as much as physically possible. The straps brush across my nipples at the movement, tearing a lustful noise from my lips that he easily swallows. My cheeks heat in embarrassment, my stomach filling with knots at having made such a feminine sound in front of him.

He doesn’t make a comment about it and just dips his free hand into my hair, grabbing onto a handful of strands and tugging. My lips tingle madly as he tips my head back, stroking my tongue almost hungrily with his. But there’s no way that this is anything more than a prank; Mr. Richardson’s hated me for months.

Still, my hips sway forward against the unbearable tightness of my shorts. The fabric pinches at my stiffening shaft, forcing it up until I fear the tip might just break free of the waistband. Fear sparks inside me; if I move against him too much, there’s way too high of a chance that that’ll happen. I try to scream at myself, to force my body to stop moving when his fingertips pinch at my nipples, demanding my full attention.

My skin burns beneath his touch, welcoming the rough treatment readily. His hips glide against me, and I can’t fight the shivers that move through me at the touch of a prominent hard bulge grinding up against mine. My eyes roll back in sinful pleasure, my hands gliding up his sides and over his shoulders. He begins pulling away just as I weave my fingers into his thick hair.

I don’t want him to stop.

The words flash through my head, and I realize, as I tug his mouth back against mine, that it’s true. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing than kissing Mr. Richardson.

He releases a feral sounding growl as I kiss him like I mean it this time, clinging to his mouth as I desperately try to draw a reaction out of him. After what feels like a millennia, he finally does. He grabs onto my ass hard, almost dragging me up his front as that gloriously large package grinds up under mine, swollen and thick with his desires. I start dripping at the knowledge, my lips faltering against his as the first pearl pebbles up from deep within the heat within my core, slipping and sliding against the slick top of my head. Sensing my drifting focus, he sucks my tongue into his mouth, scraping it with his teeth before plunging his own back in my mouth. He kisses me forcefully until I’m dizzy, my entire being hot and ready for whatever he may have in mind.

“We have to stop.”

Except that.

He mouths at my neck, sliding his tongue round and round my skin, setting it on fire with every purposeful stroke. I find myself nodding, head swimming deliriously as he descends further and further down, his breath tickling my collarbone. My back bows, mouth dripping with encouraging little noises as he scrapes his deliciously sharp teeth against me, his scorching tongue leading them down and down and down. All the breath in my lungs leaves on a sudden gush when I feel him take the nearest strap between his teeth, playfully, teasingly giving it a soft tug.

“Ahem!” The drunk erupts right behind him, effectively bursting our little bubble.

We spring apart. My chest flushes, eyes falling to the floor as I feel Master’s gaze unrelentingly piercing through me as I slowly regain my breath and senses. Two things I was definitely lacking before being interrupted. My arms wrap about my waist, my nerves trembling with the lingering intensity of his touch. I squeeze myself, quickly biting down on my lip when I feel the sharp graze of the leather across the sharpened peaks hiding away beneath them.

My legs tremble, a burst of flame shooting down into my stomach and along my dick. Anxiously, I look up for some form of relief and almost wither away under the scorching gaze coming down on me from above. Chest tightening, body getting impossibly warmer, I can’t bear to look away, my fingers curling into my sides as he stares down at me, his eyes full of precisely what I’m trying to rid myself of.

No matter how much I want to look away, it’s all there: the craving, the hunger, that I desperately need to hide from. If I keep looking I know exactly what’s going to happen: I’m going to lose every ounce of control that I thought I had.

He takes a step forward, one hand appearing under my chin.

My lips come apart at the contact, eyes fluttering downward until all I can see are his lips. His jaw clenches. The drunk sways to his feet and bumps into Mr. Richardson, mouth moving soundlessly to my ears as he whispers in his. Then he saunters away, lost in the people around us.

The fingers at my chin tug forward, his head dipping quickly as I come forward willingly — almost too willingly. The first brush of his skin on mine makes my head spin too much to be safe and I have to grab at his arms to stay above the waves building in me. He molds his lips to mine, moves them against me as the tides swell, threatening to drown me.

He pulls away just a bit and I lean forward, head tipping back to follow him. A soft chuckle moves through his chest. “Some of my students are on the third floor, supposedly unharmed. Let’s go.”

Before I can claim another kiss, he grabs onto my leash and slides around me. I follow him blindly, a small part of me seething with the need to get it together. I’m so busy telling myself to shut up and have some fun for once, that I don’t bother to read the gold letters adorning the elevator doors that he brings me to.

But I should have.

We reach the third floor quicker than I can come up with another way to get him to touch me. The sound of distant clapping reaches my ears as we step out into a narrow black hallway. I glance at Mr. Richardson questioningly but he continues forward without a word. Just as I shrug and decide to just go along with it, a small man is carried out by another. The sight of him compels my feet to stop working. There’s nothing too terribly interesting about his features, or the four men who trail behind him. But the cum coating every inch of his dark skin is certainly something to think about.

Standing still in shock, I look to my substitute teacher for an answer, but he’s ahead of me, paying it no attention until the leash goes taut between us. He looks back at me over his shoulder and I’m immediately moving, something in his gaze pulling me forward.

The floor tips upward and soon we’re stepping up onto something cushy, a ring of black around us. A weird prickly feeling erupts between my shoulders, my eyes lingering on the few slashes of light bursting through the darkness. I attempt to move back towards where we came from, but Master’s already behind me, blocking my exit.

An announcer with a hypnotizingly sensual voice whispers all around us, “Our next act is a special treat, folks. An innocent virgin gets his ass wrecked and fucked by our top Dom for your viewing pleasure.”

“What?” I murmur, eyes drifting towards Mr. Richardson in confusion. Are we behind some sort of stage?

He smirks down at me as the darkness around us rustles. Realization dawns on me as it peels back into heavy, ruffled curtains. I stare around in stunned shock, arms coming around my stomach as I look out at a sea of booths, little shadows that are supposed to be people watching me from within.

We’re on the stage.

Oh dear God, I’m the innocent virgin!

My insides roll as I look down at the plush bed-like stage beneath me, expecting to see terrifying metal death traps or some of the white juices left over from the man before — possibly even a combination of both. Instead, I see him placing a container of lube down to the side, putting it down deliberately slowly so that I can watch every move he makes.

I get only a few seconds to fixate on it before a rough, cotton blindfold is wrapped about my eyes.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Master practically purrs behind me. His words are a sultry whisper through the room, apparently being played within the booths.

I gasp at the feeling of my straps coming undone, the leather slapping down against my shins before I can even begin to come to terms with the fact that this was his plan the whole time. He reaches around me, giving everyone a nice view of his fingers popping open the button to my shorts. I shiver and lean back on him, not sure what to do but aware that if I don’t do something he’ll–

The shorts crumple around my ankles.

My skin practically quivers as he guides me forward, the fabric slipping away completely as my body answers his softly nudging hands. They slip up my back, coasting up and up to my shoulder blades before dipping and coming under my arms. He pushes them up and over my head, and I give into him without a struggle, sinking into the exhilarating heat of his chest pressed so completely against me. Without needing to be told, I know to keep my hands where they are and just let myself enjoy the caress of his own as they skim back down.

He expertly teases me and the audience as he keeps his pace slow and leisurely, tracing patterns across the skin just above my briefs, and laying soft kisses on my shoulder. His fingers dip under the waistband, drifting around. I shudder, head tipping back at the sinful delight of having him touch me while all these people are watching.  All at once his hands leave me.

I gasp sharply, taking a step forward, but then I feel his familiar warmth drifting towards me, assuring me that I’m not alone. Sighing in relief, I’m just about to relax when his hand comes up between my legs. His fingers roll up in waves, fanning the flames sparking to life inside me without a care.

“You’re already this hard without me really even touching you.” He pauses, obviously having more to say. It’s not long before his seductive voice drifts to me once more, coming from every direction as my senses focus on the wicked little movements of his hand. “My little Cameron has a secret; one I’ve been planning on exploiting for months.” He stops behind me, right behind me. His lower half coming even closer to mine, letting me feel the beginnings of his bare stomach and the tip of something temptingly stiff and covered in regretfully solid fabric. “He loves to be the center of attention — craves it, in fact. So much so that when I’m done stretching him wide in front of all of you, he’ll beg me over and over to do it to him <em>again and again</em>.” He spaces the last three words out, twisting them into the darkest promise to have blessed my ears.

There’s soft sounds of moaning coming from the distance.

The thought of others getting off on this warms up every centimeter of my being, and I flex my fingers above me, wanting nothing more than to drop them and cover my mouth so no one can hear the soft little pants that are slowly bubbling forth. I’ve never taken myself for an exhibitionist but the fact that I desperately want to be watched by as many people as possible while Master plays with me is definitely thought provoking.

I cry out suddenly, back bowing as Master’s palm coasts down my right cheek, the sensation sparking across my every nerve, lighting me up with fireworks of pleasure. Thick fingers stroke between my cheeks. I bite into my lips, waist shifting backwards. He tugs my arms behind his head, giving me something to anchor myself with — him. “Tell me,” He breathes against my shoulder, lips lingering as he continues, “where do you want me to touch next, Cameron?”

I feel like crying in relief at finally being given a decision, my head tilting back to claim the blessed mouth that gave it to me. He denies me, instead nipping me for trying. I stammer, quickly grabbing at the chance before he decides to take it away, “M-my dick, touch m-me there!”

He hums under his breath, his hands gliding around my hips and pawing at my length. I buck forward, fingers digging into his hair as his fingers slip and slide along my pulsating length. One of his hands rubs at my leaky tip, the other stroking me, playing with me through the thin fabric of my underwear. I moan softly, my head rolling backwards as I swell under his touch.

It’s not enough.

I need his touch — his skin on mine.

He chuckles. “Now ask me nicely to take them off.”

“Please!” I gush, forgetting our audience in favor of my pleasure.

“You’re forgetting something,” He murmurs against my neck, bottom lip brushing the collar adorning it. His fingers pluck at my underwear, fanning my sweltering heat with cool bursts of air.

I search my brain, trying to grab onto what he wants, but I can only groan out in frustration as his fingers drop the fabric, let it snap down against my moist head. I undulate against him, working my body backwards and tilting my head to the side as his teeth sink into my neck. “Master!” I gasp without thought, fingers aching with how hard I fist his hair.

“Good boy.” His voice is noticeably deeper, thicker with raw desire. I shiver, revelling in the sound, and only jolting back to reality when I feel my underwear flop to the ground.

He rewards me with a kiss, one hand winding through my hair and pinning my head against his. I moan into his mouth, satisfaction racing through me. He finally praised me <em>and</em> I got a kiss; this word is much more useful than I thought! His free hand fists my base, and I’m immediately squirming against him, clinging to him deliriously as it slides up slowly, torturously ascending to the spot I want it most.

More moans flow through the crowd, sounds of flesh hitting flesh accompanying them. My skin prickles in anticipation. That’s what I want: Master taking me. He senses it. I know he does by the way his pace becomes faster, hurried as he grinds his fat, bulging thickness on me.

I can hardly breathe through all of the yearning he’s filling me up with. I can’t remember a time where I wanted something as strongly as I do right now, the all-consuming need taking me over with ease.

“Do you hear that?” He asks in a hushed tone, teeth nipping at me as if he doesn’t already have my full attention. “Someone out there is so turned on by your body’s honest reactions that they can’t hold it in. They want to fuck you, hard from the sound of it.” His words are a sultry murmur in my ear, but they manage to steal center stage, drifting through my senses and toying with the excitement churning in my gut. “But I’m your Master now,” He declares strongly, saying it loud enough that the speakers are able to echo it back, “The pleasure of taking you in front of these people is mine and mine alone. Say it.”

My breath rushes from my lungs, grinding back on him as soon as his generous head appears at my entrance. “Yours,” I exclaim loudly, frustration forcing the word from me as he keeps it just out of my reach, “yours alone, Master!”

Instead of giving me what I want like last time, he steps completely away from me. “To your knees.” They give in.

My hands reach out to catch myself blindly and grasp onto a pair of strong legs, ones that can only belong to one person. My head lifts without thought, my mouth parting as questions dance through my mind.

“Open your mouth wider.”

I comply, submitting my mouth to him.

The round tip I’d been craving earlier comes down on my tongue, his bittersweet pre-come tantalizing my tastebuds. I immediately open my mouth even more, inviting him to come in deeper.  His sleek flesh glides along my tongue. I trace a thick vein along his underside, listening as he breathes out harshly above me at the contact. His tip hits the beginning of my throat and I gag as he keeps pushing, fear bubbling through the haze.

“Swallow me, Cameron; I want to feel that pretty little throat milk my cock.” His breathing is ragged as he speaks to me. I fist his pants, swallowing as best I can in an effort to please him. “That’s it, baby, one more time,” He coos encouragingly above me. My body flushes with warmth at the pet name, my throat working one last time to take in the rest of his shaft. He groans, settling in and letting me feel every inch of his throbbing meat now fully sheathed in my throat.

He pulls out and I clench hard at his pants, feeling the urge to gag come on and force myself to swallow again. He moans. I hum with the knowledge of making him feel good, and he curses under his breath, fingers grabbing onto my hair. “Do you want me to come?” He groans, pushing in punishingly hard. I press my chest as close as I dare to his legs, squirming on my knees at the heavy scent of his musk filling my nostrils, making my head tip on an axis.

I barely recognize myself as I keep humming around him, swallowing even as he pulls out. He grabs on hard to my hair and shoves back in, scraping my throat back and forth with every powerful surge of his hips. My dick salutes him from between my legs, dripping with excitement. I drop one of my hands into my lap, needing some form of relief. As soon as my fingers begin sliding up, he pulls out.

I swallow thickly, my neck pulsing angrily from being so roughly used. Licking my lips, I tilt my head back, parting them in hopes of getting him to give me his cock again.

Instead, his fingers slip from my hair. “Lay your chest down.” My head moves to the side at hearing his voice coming from my right, heart pounding hard as I eagerly do as he wants. “Good, now grab your cheeks and spread them for me.” Hoping beyond words that he’ll finish what he started, I obey his command, my shoulders pressing into the mattress-like stage as I readily bare myself to Master. He sighs somewhere behind me, his voice dripping with longing, “Beautiful.”

My mouth opens on a soundless moan as his searingly hot tongue rings my hole, his lightly stubbled cheeks pressed against my smooth backside. I pull mine further apart and try to loosen up as much as possible, trying to tempt him in for a deeper tasting. It works. His tongue wiggles into me, drawing deep moans from my lungs as he licks at my walls. A finger slides in beneath it, pulling down as he sucks at the top. I writhe, shoulders aching as I push myself back, practically begging for more.

A second finger pushes in, effectively widening me out into a triangular shape. My dick throbs, craving attention. I try to tell Master by wiggling my hips and arching my back, but instead of tending to it, he replaces his tongue with a finger from his other hand. My body quivers as he relentlessly pulls at my boundaries and yet I find pleasure in it, pain no where near to the feelings he evokes in me.

Suddenly, he pushes two fingers into me, the other hand falling away. I cry out and squirm as he effortlessly impales me on four of his fingers, letting me feel the burn of hardly being prepped as he moves them deeper inside me. My back arches as he gives me his palm, lets me tighten and flex around its wide center before the only thing keeping him from continuing is his thumb. My shaft twitches restlessly with the need to come as soon as he settles in, but he still ignores it in favor of playing with my ass.

“Your body’s so greedy,” Master murmurs, his breath burning at my backside with how close he is. “It’s begging me for a good fisting.” His thumb brushes along my cheek as he begins pulling his hand back. “Maybe I should.” His fingernail comes up against my stretched entrance, lightly rubbing along it. I moan softly as he presses it against me, lining it up alongside the other fingers already inside. It pops in. “Mmm, push back on me, baby. Take what I’m giving you like a good boy.”

I bury my head in the stage as I do as he says, craving his praise more than ever. His fingers wiggle inside me to urge me to move faster. I cry out, nerves sparking at feeling him pet me so deeply, moving his thick fingers wide and side to side effortlessly playing on my sensitized walls. I reach his knuckles, marvelling at the way his hand widens out as I get halfway up his palm. Beads of sweat pop up on my forehead as I try to focus on reaching his wrist instead of how taut he’s stretching me out. Without warning he widens his hand, forcing it in up to the wrist.

“Master!” I gasp, my hands falling away to claw at the stage. Groans of appreciation flow in waves from the crowd almost drowning out Master’s.

“Such a good boy. I’ll forgive you for lowering your hands since you took my hand in nice and easy.” I moan as he pushes it in deeper as if trying to reach up into my stomach. My hole quivers, expanding to accept everything he puts into it. He hums behind me, pausing in his progress. “You’re accepting this so easily, it makes me wonder if you’ve done this before.” He pulls out quickly to the wrist, his voice coming out hard, “Did you let someone else use this hole of yours? Let them fuck you anyway they wanted?” I wince; he sounds angry at me again. He growls dangerously at the pause between his question and my answer. “Tell me, Cameron.”

“N-no, Masster! I-I just sometimes use a . . . “ I trail off, face on fire from almost revealing my best kept secrets to a bunch of strangers.

He seethes, nowhere near satisfied with my response. “Use a what?”

“A huge dildo!” The words echo throughout the room without needing to be played back by the booths. I groan in utter mortification, burying my head against the mattress and mumbling, “I got it two months ago. I saw your erection in class a-and . . . well, I wondered . . . and the website was so cheap so I . . . I mean, I just wanted to know what it’d be like if–.”

I’m interrupted by his hands grabbing at my hips and using them to yank me onto my back. “I swear to God if you’re lying to me–.”

“I’m not!” I say quickly, hardly caring whether he might punish me for cutting him off as he pins my arms above my head.

His lips fall down on mine, his tongue intimately massaging mine as if to reward it for telling him the truth. “I’ll give you the real thing, Cameron, right here, right now,” He whispers against my lips, his hips nudging their way between my thighs as he speaks. I quickly draw my knees up until they point at the ceiling, ready and more than willing as he brings his dribbling tip up against my opening.

“Yes please, Master!”

I don’t have to tell him twice.

~ Next Class ~

Mr. Richardson walks up behind me while I staple my packet, his hands on my hips. A familiar shiver works its way down my spine as he drops his mouth to my shoulder. His next words effectively kill any pleasure I may have gotten from his touch.

“I wasn’t lying; a lot of students were in the audience, including almost everyone from this class.”

My heart skips a plethora of beats as I turn around, Mr. Richardson already walking away. My gaze lands on the class, my cheeks filling with color as more than a few avoid my eyes. Stacey, the girl with the mini skirt, catches me looking and smirks, mouthing to me, “Yes please, Master.”

Oh.

My.

God!

“Sir, m-may I go to the office? I need to change schools!”

“Absolutely not. Sit back down, Cameron.”