inappropriate

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STOP staring at him. 

It was the umpteenth time telling myself. A group of interns were proudly presenting their idea about another AI app (yawn) that could save manhours by requiring more manhours to train it to do something we’d already perfected. But as a penance to my director Chuck after nearly fucking up a half million dollar contract, I’d hear out new business quarterly. What he failed to explain was its nature of a mere college senior project. The interns would be gone in 90 days, sans proprietary property.

Rico was one of them. Except he didn’t fit into the teeny tweens and golf bros around him. From where he was sitting, he was tall. Even hunched over, reading his notes, lips moving in silence as he practiced his piece, he towered over the people around him. I was itching to hear his voice.

I’d given my thoughts & voted on the current group in a blur. He glanced in my direction as he rose and I felt myself exhale a bit louder than I’d expected. I forced myself to look away as his team came up on stage but I could feel him staring at me unabashedly. I pressed my thighs together, hunger creeping down to my toes. I didn’t know they made men like this in real life. Gladiators. Greek Gods dipped in cocoa powder. Puppy dog eyes, juicy lips, and curly hair down to the middle of his back. He was a common topic for the girls in the office, single and otherwise.

He stepped forward, speaking calmly, his voice rolling across the room like a distant thunderstorm. It rumbled under my skin. Even his smile uncurled something inside of me, something that wanted to see those dimples every day for the rest of my life. 

I didn’t listen to what he said. it didn’t matter. We’d discussed it last night. His group wouldn’t win. They couldn’t. Not after what we did. 

You would think the idea of me, the design manager of a major firm, fucking a summer intern 5 years my junior would send me into moral turmoil, especially when others’ hard work had been at jeopardy. And yet here I was, practically vibrating thinking of the next time we were alone. In reality, it wasn’t solely my decision – I sat on a panel of 5 and we’d often disagree. 

I had forgotten about him when I saw him again, bumping into him on the way out the door. 

“Long night?” I asked innocently.

“Yeah, my group wanted to download. Chuck actually wants to know more, so we boned up on some of the questions he asked.”
“I’m sorry you all didn’t win.”
“It’s okay.”
“Any plans for the weekend?”
“I’m hoping I can spend it with my lady. Get over the pain,” he said grinning. “You?”

“Oh I plan on going out and having a wild time with my girls in Chicago.”

An eyebrow, deliciously threatening.

“Oh man, I hope you have fun.”
“I will. I am turning my phone OFF,” I said, strolling out of the elevator. For dramatic effect, I silenced my phone in full view. 

I had three missed calls when I pulled up at home. I grinned to myself, eager about the game I’d started. I wasn’t going out of town until next month, but it was fun to make him wonder. I had managed to shower and slip into my favorite muu muu when the doorbell rang through the house. 

Hands on my throat pushing me inside gently and shutting the door. He pinned me against the wall with a gasp from me. 

“You ignoring my calls?”
“And if I am?” I tilted my chin up to him, offering more of my throat. 

“Why do you like to toy with me, woman? Do you want me to put you over my knee?” 

I nodded, lip between my teeth. God yes.

“You think it’s that easy? Piss me off then you get to play?” 

I nodded again. he growled and kissed me. then stepped away. 

“I’m not even gonna touch you. And you’re not gonna touch me,” he said, stopping me in my tracks. 

“You don’t listen. Only good girls get to play with me,” he said, flicking my chin. He pushed down the strapless dress I was wearing, exposing my damp skin to the chill air. My nipples swelled at the sensation. He looked down my body, taking small steps away from me. I let him look as his eyes traveled back up to mine. 

“Don’t move.”
His hands dropped to his belt, opening it along with his button and zipper. I stepped forward and he moved back, touching the wall. 

“Back.” I went to my original position.

“Stay,” he growled. 

He stripped, exposing his beautiful body, his dick hard like marble in the center. He didn’t break eye contact as he spit onto the tip & began stroking himself. I started to join when he stopped me.

“No no. None for you.”

I whined. I definitely took it too far.

“Baby.”
“This is your fault. Now I have to waste a whole nut.”

A tragedy. I aimed to drink every ounce of him on night one. He moaned so deliciously, stroking his hand with all the passion in his hips.

“Fuck baby. I wish this was you.”

“It can be,” I said, my foot itching to move. He cast a dark look at me, daring me.

“Don’t fucking do it. You stay there and watch.”

I was sure I was dripping down my thighs. How long did he plan to keep this up? was he really going to finish?

“God baby. I’m so hard. See?” he said, letting go, before giving it a hard smack. His balls clenched up against him in joy. I could decide if I would watch his face or his hands. He’s stunned me since we first bumped into each other, late to a party that ended way too early. Now here I was, a speechless sloppy mess over him. 

“You know what happens next baby?”
“No?”
“after I bust this one. I have to teach you how to listen.” He moaned deep, his free hand flying to his stomach. I moved my hands slowly up my thighs, across my stomach just below my breasts. I wanted to draw his eyes to his favorite place. I wanted him to beg me to come closer in time. instead, he huffed a few times and came into his hand. His cum was nearly clear, spreading a thick gloss across his palm. 

He walked to the kitchen and rinsed it clean to my chagrin. 

“Get over here.” I scurried over to him, ready for him to do anything to me, the center of me needy and empty. 

“Look at you,” he chuckled. 

“Now you’re making fun,” I said, standing on my toes to get in his face. I kissed him, damn the rules. He captured me in his arms and kissed me like he needed air to breathe. He pushed me up onto the counter and held me close. His fingers slipped between my legs and touched me, pushing a gasp from me.

“A mess you’ve made,” he said, pushing his fingers deep inside me. Thick and rigged against my tender flesh, I convulsed around him. Too quickly he was gone, moving away from me again.  I had posed my face to whine but I was stopped short by him sucking his first then second fingers clean. 

“What am I going to do with you?” he said, his arms closing me in against the counter. I pressed myself against him – soft against his hard – and whispered. 

“Whatever you want. I’m yours,” I said before I bit his bottom lip. 

Before I could register, he’d thrown me over his shoulder and walked off. I bit his shoulder as he dragged me to the living room, dropping to the couch and throwing me over his knee. I did a poor job containing my glee. I wasn’t supposed to enjoy this – it was supposed to be punishment. But the second his rough hand connected hard to the skin on my ass with a SMACK, that concern evaporated quickly into moist flesh. He rubbed my stinging cheek to gently soothe it before walloping me on the next cheek. I yelped and jerked forward in his lap. 

SMACK – SMACK.

“Don’t run,” he huffed, his voice low and husky with lust. His dick pressed up into my chest and I could feel his need growing. 

SMACK SMACK SMACK. He alternated between the rounds of flesh, his palm running all over. The sensations were overwhelming – the pain, the lust, the gentle caress of his hand. He spread my cheeks open, my lips giving away my excitement with a messy noise that made him jump beneath me. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day. I just knew those people saw how hard my dick was on stage.”

SMACK.

“Thinking about this perfect ass in that leather skirt.”
SMACK SMACK.

“Begging to be punished. Do they know you come undone like this for me? Know that you like to be treated like a little naughty slut?”

SMACK SMACK SMACK. 

I could only respond in moans and begs.

“Imagine if they knew what the boss lady liked,” he said, his delicious fingers finding their way inside me again. I was so close, just a couple more strokes and I’d be putty in his lap, but he was gone again, replaced with the ungentle raps from his open palm. 

He bent down and planted kisses across my ass. I’d be tender later, his way of marking his territory. I’d think of him every time I sat for too long for the next few days. He fingered me again, taking his sweet time as those juicy lips traced up my back. 

“Rico,” I whined, prompting his hand to stop moving. 

“Beg.”
“Please.” He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. 

“Please what?”
“I want to come for you so bad. Please,” I whined, pushing back onto his hand and grinding my body against his hard member. He was leaking – I could feel his tip slipping against my skin. He continued, at a slower pace, determined to drive me crazy.

“Do you? Do you deserve to come?”

I nodded fervently. My toes curled in anticipation as he hovered me right on the precipice. 

“No,” he said, nearly pulling a cry from my throat as he removed his fingers again. He pushed me back so my mouth lined up with his dick and pushed me down onto him. He tasted clean, still sticky from the first orgasm he forced me to watch.

“Eat this dick up first. I know your slutty little mouth has been aching for it.” 

I’d never had someone refer to me in such a way before Rico, but it filled me with such fire, I knew it was mental illness. But something about not being in charge and trusting someone wholeheartedly to do what they wished to me was also new. Rico took care of me in ways I never knew I needed, in- and outside of the bedroom – later, when we were sprawled together in bed still damp from our fun, he’d put words to what I was feeling. He called it love. 

“Camille,” he groaned, pushing deeper into my throat. If this was a punishment, I wanted trouble every day. I’d had him where I wanted him – writhing under me, his hands swirling through my curly hair as he tried to control my pace. When he failed, his fingers crooked back up towards my g-spot as we raced to see who would finish first. He cheated and pushed a third finger into me, sending me into a quivering spasm. I pushed down onto him, letting my moans vibrate against him in my throat. 

“Jesus Christ Camille, I’m cumming,” he said, thrusting deeper. I rose slowly, my tongue dragging across the bottom of his dick and allowing him to squirt on different parts of my mouth. I loved when he marked my flesh. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls, baby. I know I play too much,” I whispered into his dick like a microphone, dropping kisses across his shining skin. We both knew it was an apology I didn’t mean, and one I’d planned to make every time. 

That didn’t stop him from switching our places, giving him the space he needed to push my legs open and reveal my soaked middle to the light. I loved the way he deftly spun his hair into a bun with the tie he saved on his wrist. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his eyes taking me in fully. There was no place to hide from the glow that shone off his skin. Post-coital bliss looked good on him. 

He distracted me with his mouth, those plush lips sucking in on the tender part of my flesh, drawing a moan from me immediately. 

“And you taste so good,” he said, his tongue drawing against me lazily but at a consistent pace that had me immediately panting. 

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he said, wiggling fingers up inside me, coaxing a gentle rush of liquid onto his chin. He locked his arms around me as I clawed at the couch under me, desperate to stay on this plane of existence as I came aggressively, finally, all over him. He didn’t release me, eager to serve as my gravity. With his lips, tongue, and fingers partnered against me, I quickly surpassed his orgasm streak 3-to-2. 

He yanked me down mostly off the couch so I straddled him and quickly slipped inside me with a groan. He pulled my legs into the crooks of his arm, pinning me against the front side of the couch, a new and delicious position that trapped me between a rock and literal hard place. I was filled, hovering at the line between pain and pleasure. Jutting my hips didn’t create the minute space I planned. 

“Uh uh don’t push me away. Take it.” He rocked against my g-spot, forcing another orgasm from me with a grunt. 

“Rico,” I moaned, grasping onto his shoulders as my bottom hit the top of his thighs.

“I got you baby,” he said, rising up slightly to angle differently inside me. He loved that, evident by the string of cuss words that came from him. 

I forced my legs from his grip and pushed him down, giving him a split second to adjust his legs so I could buck my hips against him. I wouldn’t last long on top – Rico’s dick was too perfectly angled this way that set me off like fireworks regularly. I knew he enjoyed watching me unravel on top of him, liked to watch my body jiggle as I rose and fell over him. He sat up and pulled me close to him, kissing me deep as he pumped upwards to push me along.

“Oh!” I gasped, eyes rolling back in my head as I felt that familiar binding inside me. 

“Be a good girl and give it to me. Give it all to Daddy,” he whispered into my chin as my head rolled back. Whatever power he had on me possessed me as I bounced harder against my man. I wanted him to fall apart for me. I wanted to see his face right at the moment of collapse. He gripped my ass hard and drove into me hard and fast, his breath ragged and off beat. 

“Do it baby. Make a mess inside me,” I said, biting his lip. He kissed me back, grunts slipping between his lips as his dick throbbed against me. The sensation made me cum again, soaking us both where our bodies met. 

We laid out on the floor, still in awe with one another. The warmth of his body on mine was one I never wanted to unknow. The warmth that spread in my heart would last past the summer, for a lifetime. 

Fiction

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We’re swimming in reality.

I’m (technically) a millenial, so I spend most of my time online. Twitter is literally my life’s blood. Snapchat and Instagram are entertaining when I have time to kill. I visit Facebook occassionally to check in with distant relatives. If this were the Matrix, I am 100% jacked in.

Because of this, I (we) am bombarded with news. News of the Republican repeals, distressing news about the local and national communities,”stirring” news meant only to arouse anger and conversation amongst timelines and, of course, disparaging tweets from He-Who-Somehow-Became-President. Since I have no self-control and absolutely refuse to put my phone down (even while typing this), I find myself swimming in anxiety, depression and exhaustion.

Writing provides an EXIT door.

Now that I’m in the later stages of my 20s, I’ve muscled my way into logging off a few times a month for breathers. Sometimes I literally can’t take any more news: no more death, no more videos of fights and riots, no more idiotic arguments over the (nonexistent) liberal/gay/black agendas.

I can build worlds from nothing and destroy them with ease. I can create tolerant, loving, honest people with the flick of the wrist. People who look like me can be represented honestly, without dated stereotypes or identifiers. I’ve probably already written about someone like you or someone like you.

Being a writer is one of the harder arts, IMO. I tried to go into journalism when I got to college, but when I realized there was ZERO creative freedom, I dropped it immediately. I’m just not that type of writer, and to force me into a gray box is to force me into an early grave (I’m being dramatic but you see what I mean!). To be talented enough to paint mental pictures for others is a gift I don’t plan to squander. Even if no one ever reads another word I write, I would still push along. No matter how difficult it gets or how many blocks I will suffer through, the end results is always something even I’m shocked to read. I believe that, if you truly love your hobbies/career, you’ll take the good with the bad. Sometimes, I’m completely uninterested in writing and I’ll have an amazing idea at 4am that wakes me from my sleep. It’s ingrained deep in me, so much so that I cannot ignore it or abandon it.

If you’ve never been attracted to reading (or writing) fiction, look at it this way: when the world weighs on you, words can be the wings that carry you away.

 

Part One- “Normal”

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Summary: Alex, a rudimentary hunter, gets herself into trouble and Sam gives her a piece of his… mind.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Alex 

**Warnings: Smut, smut and more smut. Oh and language. **

A/N: My first fanfic. I kinda got tired of the Y/N trend (it kinda breaks up the story, IMO). But I hope this revs some engines and grabs some followers! Comments/reposts/likes are welcome! Continue reading

Ghosts

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She reminded him of love he once had.
Brown, like too much cream in his coffee, hair that she refused to tame,   even down to the gap between her two front teeth.

There was a bend in his back;  too many years hunched over his Harley caught up with him. His white hair was thinning in the center. He was young & wild, trapped in his withering body. She sat alone & he asked to join her, eager to be close to his love once more.

He still work the black gemstone in his left ear. She had dared him to get it, clicked at him mockingly as he stared at the threading needle she held. He held his breath as she numbed his ear with an ice cube & impaled him. He had never removed it, even after he sold his Harley to pay for his wedding years later.

It was a different time then, when they were in love. They weren’t allowed to be together: racial tensions were at an all-time high as legislation geared up for integration. They concealed their affections, wary of stares & whispers. Her father forbade her, his family scolded him & they continued on still.

When she left him for a spiritual plane, he was in agony. Even now, all these years later, a perfect stranger brought him to the brink of tears. He’d existed, lived, loved & created since then, yet he still pined for her.

The girl left, off to the rest of her life, pushing the old man into a memory she wouldn’t recall for years. He’d spent a lifetime for one more moment with her & given the choice, he’d do it all over.

The End

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Andrew preferred to work solo until his partner was found. He hoped daily that his departure was voluntary, that he didn’t go rogue and got caught in a fatal situation. The day was unusually slow and he was about to call it  when he got the call. “Desiree” flashed across his screen and his heart quickened. He hadn’t spoken to her since the night he went over, even though he desperately wanted to apologize. He took a deep breath before accepting the call. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound cheery. “Andrew…”
“Yeah, Dee, I gotta apologize for the other night. I was way outta line…”
“Andrew…Someone’s here,” she whispered.
“What? Who?”
“I don’t know. He kicked in the door. I’m hiding upstairs.”
“Can you make it to the back door?”
“No. He’s coming up the stairs.” Andrew stood up from his desk. “Dee, listen, you need to open the window and…”

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Chapter Eleven

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Alice heard the car pull into the driveway. Andrew was home. She quickly picked up her laptop and pushed her glasses back on her face. He’d been gone less than an hour, yet, she was still worried. Things between them were beginning to fizzle again and she was terrified it would get worse. Anytime he left the house, she questioned if he was going to see Her again. He was never out later than normal or smelled of perfume. Alice had never found any evidence of an affair and she double checked nightly. Cheater’s Remorse was getting the best of her and she planned to put a stop to it. 

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Chapter X

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coffeestainedprint's avatar

Six weeks later

Roman stood in the empty parking lot, Lurch on his left and 5 of his newest goons behind him. He was one handshake away from cutting Erik off at the knees.

Two black sedans pulled into the lot opposite the posse. Their occupants exited and formed a barrier around the man last to exit. Hiro Shimamoto was the primary supplier for all the drugs Erik moved into the States. Roman had to pull many strings and call up a bunch of favors to get his number, followed by several phone calls to get a face-to-face. Shimamoto didn’t venture far from his compound, unless a lucrative offer was in place or an example needed to be made. Roman still wasn’t sure which brought him here. Shimamoto was a small man with a large arsenal. Old age was beginning to set in his joints, evident in the black cane…

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Chapter Nine

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Alice skipped over her criminal past and the scar tissue on her uterus. She told Andrew everything else, just as she promised: the miscarriage, the depression, the pain, how she wound up in Jackie’s arms. Every feeling and thought she’d had over the past 11 months, she laid bear for her husband. An hour had gone by when she finally stopped talking. Andrew struggled to maintain his composure but he could not hold back the tears. He was genuinely heart broken, the first time since Monique LaSalle, whom dumped him 3rd French in high school.

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Chapter Eight

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I need you.
The text was vague, especially after all that had happened. Andrew was still concerned. The heart-to-heart with Desiree gave him all the insight he needed. He wanted to make it work with his wife. He began his own message when another blue bubble appeared.

At the station.
His U-turn was sharp and wide as he flipped on his siren and barrelled down the street in the direction of his job. He felt his heart skip a beat when he pulled in 8 minutes later. He asked a few officers about his wife as he sped through the building, leading him to the homicide squad room. Alice sat next to Detective Foreman’s desk, shaken with tears falling down her face. “Babe, hey, what happened?” he said, kneeling in front of her. She wrapped her arms around him and sobbed uncontrollably.

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VII

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The place was quiet, outside of his shallowing breathing, perfect for what they needed to accomplish. The giant stood nearby, preparing himself for the next round of punishment.
Martin was fading in and out of consciousnes. He had been their hostage for about 8 or 9 hours and he was ready for them to kill him. The man that worked him over never said a word to him; just constant torture. He used his ribcage as a punching bag, broke bones, and even sliced into his skin with a surgical scalpel. Begging and pleading fell upon deaf ears: he wasn’t the person in charge.

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