Saturday, September 29, 2012

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.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

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. 

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Charles the Younger pt. 3

This is another story set in the Tanners and the Brute universe. For Charles' first appearance, read Tanners and the Bankers Boy on Read part one of Charles' story here and part two here.

"I did not expect to be called so soon." The baritone startled Charles in the shadow of the orchard.

"Your goatherd doesn't mind, I presume, swollen as she is with your spawn." Charles meant the words to bite, but his heart was not them. Moonlight dappled Tanners' broad shoulders as he moved softly to meet the banker's son. It must be the demon that allows him to go undetected by Father's watch, Charles thought wryly. Such a doltish creature should at least lumber.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Charles the Younger Pt. 2

This is another story set in the Tanners and the Brute universe. For Charles' first appearance, read Tanners and the Bankers Boy on Read part one of Charles' story here.
Charles broke the surface of the pond with a loud gasp, flinging water from his hair and eyes. Springtime had warmed the water just enough to be tolerable, but as he swam towards the muddy shore Charles was ever more conscious of his chattering teeth and icy toes.

"It's cold as a witch's sagging teats!" he grumbled, stumbling over to his pile of clothes. "My family jewels have shrunk to grains of sand."

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

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 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?"

Monday, September 10, 2012

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, September 8, 2012

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.”

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

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.


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.

Monday, September 3, 2012

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.”

Sunday, September 2, 2012

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.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

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.