Bunny Ch. 14

If you haven't read part 13, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

I revel in my quiet rebellion. It had begun inadvertently; my morning tutor had recently moved to Ohio, and Mr. Hale had indulgently asked me what I wanted to study next. Ordinarily I would have continued with English literature, but what I told him was, "I would like to resume French, please, in order to read L'Histoire d'O in its original form."

A student from the local university, a French girl from the Loire Valley, was hired to teach me to read, speak, and write in French. Though my reading and writing skills progressed rather slowly, my speaking ability is, as Elodie claims, "almost adequate." I learned that she was rather homesick, and was eager to converse with anyone in her native tongue. On my way to the new coffee shop I practice on my own: "Salut, mon ami. Ça gaze? Tu me manques."

Hey, friend. How's it going? I miss you.

Lance Oliver Jordan 2

"I don't think I'm gay, sir" says my chickenshit secretary as he places coffee on my desk.

Watching Him Back Ch. 4.1

I honestly thought I was finished with this bit, but when I went to post it on Lit I realized that there were a lot of major flaws in the story. So I'm posting as I rewrite.

"You know," Crispin muses, "I think maybe Jay has a crush on LeAndre."

"Quit talking shit." Someone stuck gum on the underside of this desk.

"No, I'm serious," he insists, rummaging in a drawer. "I'm not saying he's gay, just maybe that he has a crush. Like, elementary school style."

I grab the trash can and the scraper from my bag of detention tools. "Come on. Being a homophobe doesn't automatically make him closeted."

"Duh, but look at their relationship. Let's call it a friend crush, or a bro crush. I think Jay really, really wants LeAndre to like him."

"Everybody really wants LeAndre to like them," I reply. "He's the kind of guy who's popular because he's smart and nice to people."

"And hot and good at everything," Crispin adds.

"Right." I stand to stretch my back. "Ugh, I hate this so much."

Crispin comes around the desk. "Sorry, pumpkin," he says cajolingly.

"Don't you 'sorry, pumpkin,' me," I fake growl. "This was your fault."

"Heeeey, queer burger." Jay's voice startles me as he pops around the corner.

Sandalwood Ch. 3

The last time I'd seen that expression I had put my hands on the sides of his ribcage and pressed him against the wall. I remembered how I'd kissed him until we were breathless. I remember he had sighed with resignation and how his arms crept around my back to pull me close. Moreover, I remembered how much I had liked it.

There's a Beast In My Basement

There is a beast in my basement. He stays in chains without complaint; I think he knows the damage he could do. Does he have a conscience. I’m not sure. He does as I bid, and I bid him often. Come here, Beast, and lick my bones lest I rot for lack of touch. His tongue slides on skin and skin sizzles for his tongue. I don’t close my eyes, I watch him as he obeys with simmering anger.

He doesn’t like me. That’s okay, I think when his head lies heavy in my lap. He must have loved someone else, once. I want to know, I don’t want to know on whom he turned his amber eyes with kindness. Don’t give me that kindness; it comes battered and broken and pain fills the cracks like ice to split it all open. His hands are rough on my body. He turns me over like a bear might flip a rock in search of grubs. I turn too far and his rough hands hold me down.

Stay there.

The beast never speaks. I’ll take his uh ugh uhn ugh instead, the hah at the base of each thrust. He could split me open. It’s a test: Does he leave me to my screams, or will our fucking sound schlick schlick schlick through the empty room? The pop of a cap and something cool smeared on me preludes the pull of fingers. I want to teach him these words so he can tell me. “Your asshole is twitching at me. You cock-hungry whore. I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll regret ever shaking it at me.” Yes, yes, fuck yes, I’d gasp in return, and come all over him. And he’d come inside me and throw me away, and all day long I would feel him slip out little by little.

“Ah. Ow!” Every time, and he never stops. In and in and in and in and out a bit and in in in fuck fuck oh god yes yes ugh holy fuck. His hands bruise my shoulders, to hold me so that his cock doesn’t send me flying across the room. Someday those rough fingertips will slide inward and up, to tighten on my throat while he finally roars his release in my blackest depths. He’ll find the key in my jeans pocket and walk out, leaving me to be discovered by someone else.

Maybe today, maybe today, but he pulls out and schlick schlick shlick his hand is moving fast. He grabs my hair and stands over me, glowering, and then I have to close my eyes. He’s so hot; burning as he splatters all over my face.

I see his true self only when he sleeps. The biggest beast I’ve beheld, breathing evenly through blackest nose. The tails—how many? Seven, at the least. He mutters in a language I can’t understand, but I wish I could tell if it’s a name he repeats.

Bunny Ch. 13

If you haven't read part 12, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

A week passes, then two, and every day I curse the boy in the mirror whose spine is missing.

In stories and what I remember of films, character development jumps after a major crisis. A resolution is made and a revolution occurs. Were this not my life, I would have walked out on Mr. Hale within a week of the incident, or Brandon would have stormed the house and whisked me away for a happily-ever-after. It should have been my breaking point, when I said to myself, "Anything is better than this," and shook the dust from my shoes as I left. However, the shocking and unfortunate encounter on that fateful Sunday was a minor mishap, one that barely wrinkled the fabric of my relationship with Mr. Hale and was quickly ironed out.

Another Sunday goes by, another weekly anniversary of the worst day I've had since my parents died. The vacation incident only ranks below because I had run from the man I thought I loved, not allowed him to be driven away. This incident, even though I tell myself that time will dull the hurts between Brandon and me, is refreshed every time Sunday comes round. My thoughts turn morbid. I contemplate life and death, and my inner critic sneers that if I died now, no one would mourn my passing.

For Christmas Mr. Hale throws a fête, a ribald affair that I escape by claiming sickness and sticking my finger down my throat to provide evidence. I cannot do the same for the New Year's Eve party, but the guests are business associates who know nothing about his sexual preferences.

My courage, or perhaps my idiocy, set its iron talons to me the following week. I feign illness again, though careful not to repeat previously used symptoms. As soon as I am sure that Mr. Hale has departed, I get dressed.

Bunny Ch. 12

If you haven't read part 11, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

I do not awake until I am summoned for supper.

Mr. Hale sits at the head of the dining table no matter who is present or what we are eating. When I first arrived I sat on his right. I would nervously pick at my food while stealing glances at the handsome, intimidating man who savored his meal and ignored me.

During my mid-teens my tutors would sit on his right, I on Mr. Hale's left in an armless dining chair whose legs were an inch or so shorter than the others. I would attempt to make myself unobtrusive as Mr. Hale inquired after my studies and made suggestions. I did not speak. If the tutor revealed an insolent remark or a low grade, Mr. Hale would say, "I'll take care of it." He would not look at me again until it was time to punish me. In those days I was clothed, and the only contact he made was through a wooden paddle, and the withdrawal of any warmth was far more painful. However, if the tutor praised an intelligent comment or exceptional test score, Mr. Hale would turn to me. I would replay those moments in my mind; his blue eyes would meet mine, crinkle slightly at the corners, and Mr. Hale would gift me with a close-lipped smile and a soft pat on the cheek.

Through the past four years I have been kneeling to his right unless his business associates visit; any tutors are more likely to be Mr. Hale's "special friends." In the beginning it was a thrill every time his fingers presented a morsel of food. His hands were smooth and well-kept, and knowing that I alone had the privilege of feeding from them was a tranquilizer to any brain activity. The closeness of Mr. Hale's body intoxicated me. I could feel the heat radiating through his clothes and would breathe deeply, inhaling his warm masculinity. The first and only time I dared initiate bodily contact was after a long night. I was so exhausted that I let my head fall against his corded thigh. Mr. Hale's fingers in my hair startled me from sleepy comfort, and I tensed, my breath caught in my throat. Instead of punishing me for being lax in my abeyance he stroked my scalp briefly, sending pleased shivers tripping down my spine. Then he pushed my head so that I was sitting upright.

Bunny Ch. 11

If you haven't read part 10, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

 On Monday Mr. Hale gives me three dollars for the coffee shop and tells me to put the change in Brandon's tip jar. I'm angry, and ashamed of myself, but haven't the courage to throw the money in his face and walk away. The book in my plastic sack is heavy; I think it might be Dickens, finally, as payment for the scene I provided yesterday. I'm guiltily looking forward to my reading. I think, I am a whore.

Sandalwood 2

Gary shuffled his feet and his shoulders suddenly slumped. “I didn’t think you were interested in me, or guys or whatever."

“In guys.” Tell me, but don’t tell me. I needed to know. Pandora’s box was opening, spilling out all my darkest secrets, but I didn’t have the strength to throw back the lid and peer inside. Help me out, here. “So you mean I don’t just crash at your place. I have sex with you?”

Bunny Ch. 10

If you haven't read part 9, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

It’s one of those rare days when I’m enjoying, or at least allowing myself to enjoy Mr. Hale’s attentions. He constantly hits that sweet spot inside me, which he only does when he really wants something from me. I know that there must be some trick up his sleeve, but I can’t bring myself to be concerned.

The Roommate Ch. 4

It’s been a week, so when Preston calls, asking to come get his barbecue grill for when he finds a new apartment, I decided to let him. I had blown off my steam, talked to Lance and Peggy, whined to my parents (my mother tried to convince me that things could be fixed, she had always liked Preston), and have come to the conclusion that despite current feelings, I’ll get over him eventually. I just have to face the fact that he and I are never going to happen.

Bunny Ch. 9

If you haven't read part 8, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

It was actually Brandon who invited the Ultimate Frisbee team over to celebrate after our victory during the championships. We’re all acting goofy and Anya, the girl with the perfect breasts, suggests we play a party game that nobody has played since middle school.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Brandon volunteers. I don’t know what that means, but a lot of people laugh and make kissing noises.

“Spin the Bottle,” someone else suggests. I’ve never heard of that one, either.

“Truth or Dare,” says Camden. That one I know.

“Never Have I Ever,” says Anya. That one I don’t know.

“Hear, hear!” Brandon laughs, raising his beer.

It is decided that we play a rousing game of Never Have I Ever, so we put the pizza on the coffee table and sit in a circle around the room. After the group drinks an opening shot of something sweet and burning the glasses are refilled. Camden is sitting next to me, so I lean over and asked him what the heck is going on.

Sandalwood

I realize that this scenario is completely nonsensical, but the idea popped into my head one day and didn't leave. Enjoy.

"I'm gonna throw up," I moaned, rubbing my temples.

David set a cup of coffee in front of me. "Yet another night of debauchery?"
I
I nodded and pull the mug close. Sweet life-giving brew. "I had to take a fucking bus downtown to get my car. Again. And my shirt smells like sandalwood."

"Ah, so the mystery masseuse is back," David joked. "Got oil on your dick?"

"No, dumbass. And I told you that I don't remember anything." These blackout nights didn't happen every weekend; more like a monthly occurrence. It wouldn't be weird given how much and often I drank, but I always woke up at home, showered and in my pajamas, and I always smelled of incense. I didn't burn incense and I never wore pajamas any other day of the year. Weirder and better still, I woke up feeling like my balls had been completely drained. It was as though I'd had amazing sex in my sleep.

"Maybe if you quit getting stoned every time you drink you'd start recalling shit. Like a massage hooker." David tapped my desk. "I need that concert review today, junior."

"You're a fucking idiot. And I only had the one joint. I think." Staring at the screen was going to make this hangover worse. Thinking about the previous night could make me hurl.

"G'morning Gary," David addressed an approaching figure. "Nicky here is attempting to reconstruct the events of last night to prove that he does get laid on the occasion."

Gary, ever the awkward soul, blushed to nearly the color of his hair.

"Don't believe him, Gary. I got pussy aplenty last night. I can feel it in my bones," I declared between sips of coffee. Gary looked tired. "Did you go out?"

He paused. "You don't remember seeing me?"

"Nope, sorry."

"Oh, um..." Gary scratched his head. "I guess you were pretty wasted."

"Don't remember a thing past the beginning of the after party."

"Oh, uh, of course. Right."

David and I watched as Gary turned tail and scurried off to his IT annex. So weird.

"You know," David commented, "I think you make him nervous."

"No, your ugly face makes him nervous," I grumbled.

David kicked my chair before settling at his desk. "I'm serious, bro. He doesn't act like that around me. He's all chatty until you walk in the room, and then he clams up like a dry twat."

I don’t think I care."You have such a way with words, Señor Editor."

"Maybe you were an ass to him," David suggested.

I groaned and scrubbed my hands over my face. "Dave, when would I even have the opportunity? I'm never around the guy. Gary's just kind of squirrel-y."

"Apparently you saw him last night."

Directing a glare at my supervisor, I pointed my coffee mug at him. "Lay off me, douchebag. I don't need to be his friend."

"When you say shit like that,” David said calmly, “you sound like a fucking asshole."

"Fine, mother, I’ll talk to him! Fuck!" Why did it even matter? I had a hangover, blank spots in my memory, and an article to write. David was a good supervisor and better friend, but he was nosy as hell.

David shook his head. "Geeze, touchy."

Saturday Morning Ch. 2

For chapter one click here.

Just my luck that I recall all of the previous night. Everything from making an ass of myself at Claude’s Burgers, to drunkenly clinging to Adam as he drove me home, to telling him how attractive I thought he was, to how eagerly he ripped off my clothes once I invited him to stay. Stop thinking about him, I order my brain. We had a lot of sex. We ended up in the bed, but that certainly wasn’t where we started.

Bunny Ch. 8

If you haven't read part 7, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

Sundays are usually the days when I only get out of Mr. Hale’s bed to bring him food or fetch a toy. I am especially well-behaved now that I leave him to play Ultimate, and though he has said nothing thus far, I know it irks him to lose even an hour of titillation.

It Began In Darkness Pt. 3

Is this fantasy or some sort of erotic action horror? No idea, because there's still no plot. Read part 2 here.

Mikhail whirled back around to face his boss. “What?”

Cillian whistled, though to Mikhail’s ears it sounded mocking.

Bunny Ch. 7

If you haven't read part 6, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

The whole week before the final game of the Ultimate Frisbee season my stomach is in knots. Mr. Hale keeps showing up a little before it’s time for me to leave practice, though he hasn’t yet stepped out of the car, and I’ve taken to sitting in a booth at the coffee shop so that he is be unable to see Brandon lounging across from me. Mr. Hale, for all his faults, is an extremely intelligent man. It would not surprise me at all to discover that he has been aware of my attraction to Brandon the whole time.

Bunny Ch. 6

If you haven't read part 5, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

One of cold weather’s benefits is that I am no longer required to sit in the park while I read. Mr. Hale tried to make the argument that the Ultimate team plays in frigid temperatures, I reminded him, giggling, that we are running and keeping our bodies warm, and that I am physically incapable of simultaneously jogging and reading.

The first time that I am supposed to be reading in the coffee shop, I spend most of my time staring at Brandon as he cheerfully hands out steaming cups of caffeine-laced sugar to the disgruntled masses. I catch his eye occasionally and he grins at me as though we are sharing a private joke. I don’t absorb very much of my reading; I’m far too consumed by trying to control my blush reflex.

I decide that the next day I am simply going to read and not face the counter. Brandon, however, innocently ruins my plans when he asks, “Hey, I haven’t taken my break yet, and I don’t want to interrupt your reading time, but is it okay if I sit with you for, like, ten minutes later?”

The Roommate Ch. 3

Read chapter 2 here.

Julius rolled his eyes irritably and got off the couch, but dumbstruck Preston morphed back into angry Preston.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he yelled, his face flushing. “Two days?”

“Two days,” I said calmly, and grabbed my keys as I walked out the door.

The Roommate Ch. 2

Read chapter 1 here.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Preston yelled at Julius, holding tight to my upper arm. The muscles in his neck were all standing out, his normally open countenance now twisted in anger. I was pretty sure my arm was losing circulation.

Bunny Ch. 5

If you haven't read part 4, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

Mr. Hale only once asks me about playing Frisbee, and it is after he “fucked the fight” out of me. This means that he had thrown me onto the bed without warning and used every tactic possible to make me beg for his attentions. After sessions like these I invariably fall into a dark mood, hating myself for letting him get the better of me one more time. Mr. Hale is still imbedded in me, his hands still gripping my shoulders as I lie stretched out beneath him, both of us gasping for breath. My lower half is practically numb, but my nipples feel as though they will fall off any moment.

“Well,” he says smugly, “I can tell that your endurance level has risen. Remind me to thank the little friends on your team.”

I laugh weakly, mirthlessly, into a pillow, afterglow and exhaustion making me giddy. “I’ll let them know, Sir.” The odor of our mingled juices stains the room.

Mr. Hale withdraws his soft penis from my body and thrusts three fingers into the mess he made, laughing when I cry out. “Can those beer-bellied frat boys make you do this, Bunny?” he asks maliciously as he moves his fingers rapidly over my sensitive prostate. I squirm on the bed, stretched thin. “Can they do what I do?”

A dribble of semen fights its way out of my softened penis as I twist on Mr. Hale’s fingers. I can’t handle anymore. “No, Sir,” I tell him, “no they couldn’t. Oh, please stop.” My tortured nipples are rasping against the bedsheets.

Mr. Hale pulls his fingers from my anus and slaps my buttocks soundly. “No one can take care of you like I can, Bunny.”

I can only whimper as I lie like a broken doll, an offering to pederasts and their lusty deities. The gods of lost souls have forgotten me.

It Began In Darkness Pt. 2

I still don't know where this plot is headed, so feel at liberty to make suggestions. Read part 1 here.

His body shook itself awake, still awash with the horrors of recent events. 

“Hng!”

Charles the Younger pt. 3

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Charles the Younger Pt. 2

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Iron Rice Fox Ch. 1 b

To read the first part click here.

Yuki sighed as he dumped the waste in the outhouse after dinner. So he would die, then. He washed his hands in the cold stream until he could no longer feel them.

A small figure stood by the path to the main house. Yuki started, then relaxed. It wasn’t a girl. Koh was staring fiercely at the older boy.

“They can’t send you,” he said angrily. “You can’t go.”

Charles the Younger Pt. 1

This is another story set in the Tanners and the Brute universe. For Charles' first appearance, read Tanners and the Bankers Boy on Literotica.com. Charles is quite the little shit.

The seventh day market was possibly the most obnoxious event in the town. Charles the Younger had been stuck in the crowd for the better part of an hour, guiding his horse anywhere there was an opening and shooing pickpockets away from his purse. Had not his wife requested new ribbons he never would have ventured into the fray.

"I detest the market," he groaned loudly, not for the first time.

"Well known," his friend Wolfgang replied wryly. The young man urged his mount around a spice hawker to catch up with the banker's son. "You've been bellyaching the entire morning. Why do you bother coming?"

Bunny Ch. 4

If you haven't read part 3, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

On Thursday I’m sore. Mr. Hale occasionally decides to share, telling me that I’m a paragon, that I give men a pinnacle at which to aspire when they train subs of their own. It’s also a punishment for wanting to spent time with anyone but him. I know I’m walking stiffly and am embarrassed every time someone looks at me twice. Brandon told me yesterday to meet him at the park, and I arrive early, nervous.

I’m too old for this, I think. To old, at least, to be playing Ultimate Frisbee for the first time.

Brandon sees me before I notice him. “Hey, Tucker!” he calls from the field. “Glad you could make it!”

Saturday Morning Ch. 1

Saturday mornings are the days when I stretch, scratch myself, and wait for the sun to be high in the sky before I move from my bed. I knew when I got into teaching that not being a morning person could be the death of me, but I learned to cope and cherish my mornings off. Friday nights I might go to a bar with a couple of the other teachers, maybe dinner with a friend, but it’s Saturday mornings that I like most. Time to myself, to think about nothing, to revel in my weekend freedom; it’s a cleansing of all the worries about my job and my students.

This Saturday I stretch and yawn, and manage to stick my fingers right up someon’s nose. The person yelps and tumbles to the floor, taking all my covers in the process. I am naked, my mouth tastes terrible, I have a headache, and there is someone else tangled up in my comforter. I stare, speechless, as a tousled head pokes itself out of the covers and gives me a grin.

“Dude, there are so many other ways to wake a guy up.”

It Began In Darkness pt. 1

A truly incomplete story from my now-defunct blog. This doesn't have a complete plot yet, so suggestions welcome.

It began with the touch of a nose, then cheek, then lips, sliding against his roped calves and traveling slowly up his legs. He started, waking in still panic, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, muscles clenching with the urge to run.

“Shh.”

It came from the mouth that trailed over the muscles of his upper leg, a simple exhalation, simultaneously reassuring and terrifying.

“I—“ he began in a whisper.

The pinpricks of teeth sunk into taught thigh. “Shh."

Lance Oliver Jordan

My current secretary is afraid of me.

I call him a secretary because I know it chafes and he’s too much of a chickenshit to correct his boss. His name is Lance Oliver Jordan—three first names. I call him “hey,” or “kid,” and take note when he complains to everyone that I don’t even know his name.

Lance Oliver Jordan graduated a year ago with a degree in Creative Writing. Lance Oliver Jordan is too pretty to be taken seriously, but takes himself too seriously to get over it. He calls me “sir” even though he can’t be more than five years my junior.

Lance Oliver Jordan wants me to fuck him, and he doesn’t even know it yet. Some might call me a cocky bastard for thinking so, but I can tell. Like the other day, when I ate in my office because I was busy. Jordan came in to give me a fax. I took it, but he didn’t leave.

“What is it?” I asked, noting how he wiped his hands on his trousers. The kid had sweaty palms from handing me a fax.

“Ah, erm,” he stuttered, “you, ah, well.”

“Spit it out.”

Bunny Ch. 3

Read part 1 here or part 2 here.

The next day Mr. Hale drops me off early to give me extra time to read, since I did so poorly the previous day. The reality is that he has a meeting that begins right as his lunch break ends, and he needs time for his breathing and skin color to return to normal. After years of practice I’ve found numerous ways to bring Mr. Hale to orgasm within ten minutes. Most of those methods involve pretending that I’m the one who needs to see him ejaculate for my own gratification, and possibly some nude dancing. If I look at it abstractly, it is fairly amusing. If I’m in it, it is degrading.

Mom, Dad, are you proud of your boy?

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice I’m at the counter until I hear Brandon tell me “One fifty-seven, my friend.”

I look down, surprised to see a cup already pushed into my hand, and blush. “Sorry, here,” I stammer, handing him the money. Now I’m ninety percent sure that I have a crush on him; the remaining ten percent say that it is my lack of socialization that makes me nervous when he’s present.

Iron Rice Fox Ch. 1 a

It is nearly spring. The rice fields are bare, the haze of smoke graying the air and the smell of burning chaff permeating even the dampest dark corners. The old women are gathered around the shabu pots, gossiping and shushing the children who run through the house. The children are all female, their hair braided and knotted and stuffed under soft wool caps, budding breasts bound. The unlucky ones beg their brothers to drop rolls of bloody rags into the outhouse. They cannot go outside. The Iron Rice Fox is on the hunt.

This one is a trickster, a sly wild thing whose motives are his own. Only one thing about the Fox is certain—when winter's rice is gone and leaves peek their green heads from dark branches, he will come and collect a bride.



Yumiko tugged at a snarl in her hair. “I don’t understand why he must come every year. He should have enough women to entertain himself by now.”

“Your city on the other side of the mountain has not seen their Fox in a generation’s time,” her cousin laughed. “Maybe he’s selling them off to lazier Foxes.”

“Well, there’s One Eye, who came back with that freak child of hers.”

Rie sniggered into her sleeve. “Maybe that’s why she likes Yuki so much. Birds of a feather and such.” The girl picked up a comb to re-plait her cousin’s hair. “Oi,” she addressed the boy crouched by the stove, “We’re cold.”

The Roommate Ch. 1

This is something that floated around at the back of my head for a while. Nothing special; it is what it is.


I was so fucking mad. Fuck Preston, fuck his hot boyfriend, fuck needing a roommate to cover my rent. Fuck it all.

I’d been in love with Preston for, well, just about forever, and the asshole knew it. In college he was the cool, crazy, good-looking freshman who ran around in the rain at three in the morning, the guy who pulled pranks that never got out of hand, the life of every party. Nobody really cared whose pants he got into because he was so damn likable. I was a shy, newly un-closeted gay kid who worried constantly about being ostracized. Preston took me under his wing, brought me into his wide social circle, and didn’t push me away when I followed him around like a puppy dog. He even kissed me a couple of times, but he was drunk and it was always at a frat party, so everyone else assumed it was a joke. I never told Preston outright, but I knew he knew how I felt; it wes pretty obvious. He moved in with me knowing how I felt about him, even if I hadn’t said it out right, and then treated me like shit because he knew I’d take it. He was a fucking tease. No more. Enough. I was finished.

Bunny Ch. 2

Click here to read part 1 of Bunny.

“Bunny!” Mr. Hale calls, and I step into the room, my face already flushed with embarrassment. Murmurs of appreciation flow past my ears as I serve drinks, that awful tail bobbing with every step I take. One man pulls on it and I gasp, causing everyone to laugh. My ears burn, and I can barely force myself to speak in a whisper. Hands glide down my bare skin, and pinch if I shy away.

Bunny Ch. 1

All rights reserved.

I step up to the counter, fishing in my pocket for the money I had been given.

“The usual?” asks the barista, grinning impishly. It’s the same man who’s here almost every day at this time, a college student, and he treats me like an old friend. He likes to tease me, I think.

I duck my head, trying not to blush. “Yes, please,” I respond quietly.

This is the first time he’s asked that, and I’m flustered to realize he’s noticed my drink order. I’m not the only one who’s in the coffee shop on a regular basis, and I don’t order anything special, just a cup of Orange Pekoe tea.

“One fifty-seven,” he says cheerfully. My whole body goes hot when I realize I must have left my dollar bill in the car when Mr. Hale dropped me off. I only have fifty-seven cents.

“Oh, darn,” I mumble, hoping it’s in my back pockets. It’s not; Mr. Hale told me to never put anything in my back pockets because it’s an easy target in crowds. I’m rarely in crowds, but nonetheless…

”Never mind, I’m sorry,” I stammer, stepping out of line. The cashier looks surprised. “I don’t have—must have left it at home, my mistake, sorry.”

My face is bright red and it takes every ounce of self-control to resist running out of the coffee shop.