Search Results for: "extortion"

The Current MM Author Sacrificed 💔

A peace offering for those who feel the words on this page hurt you. Good luck.

Yo,

I’m sure this will have themes of a rant. I’m sure it will be extremely unpopular. Whatever. I don’t have it in me to censor. It’s the second day of my bf having a fever of over 102 (the weekend? Like, seriously? All the clinics are closed and he has no insurance. @[email protected]) I’m pretty sure my temp is crawling up while I sit typing this. And really, I’ve come to the conclusion this is everything authors and readers do, so why be surprised to see it unfold online? Authors create pain and readers seek to be hurt, and my fuck, don’t they all think pain is important.

A Feeding Frenzy Of Outrage

A MM author was outed for being a woman. Yup, another one. The pitchforks have been gathered, the outrage shouted, and the fires lit. Money extortion and sob stories. He/she lost two publishing deals, and, you know, that’s what you get for writing MM fiction.

Is any of it true? Who the fuck knows. Someone said it on the Internet so it must be, right? I know that’s how the justice system works; we accuse and tell a persuasive story and then condemn someone for the rest of their life. It’s been great for the ‘Me Too’ movement where you say shit about people and watch them be fired while no one bothers to see if anything is true or not. Who has the time to fact check? The author said he/she was a male on the Internet the same way, so that must be true, too. Belief of someone’s identity is really all you need to know about a person. And the gender of a person is really fucking important when it comes to their ability to write. I talk about my tits all the time when I write about dick because it’s super fucking important to what I do.

Hmm, I might be feeling sarcastic today. There ya go. The bitch is in.

So, to be clear, this wouldn’t be news if it was outside the LGBTQ community. I have seen nonfiction writers present themselves with head shots straight from stock photo sites. I’ve seen atheists write for Christians. Shameless people write ‘clean’ fiction, women pretend to be mothers with kids—everyone pretend to be an ‘authority.’ And I’ve seen authors of every kind of book lie about their gender.

In romance, men pretend to be women. In most everything else outside of heath and fitness, nutrition/dieting, and beauty, women pretend to be men. Why? Well, for one because women still don’t believe they’re allowed to succeed as women. But mainly because readers can have these expectations based off of gender about if an author is safe to trust before they even crack open a book. They want to be reflected, or they want the promise of a certain experience, and they will have a knee-jerk reaction based off of the gender of a name.

Yeah, sexist as fuck. Welcome to reality. And guess what? Many readers and writers of LGBTQ are the worst at this.

They care. They care what’s between your legs, they care who you want to fuck, they care how you present yourself, and they care if you don’t reflect back every moral and social expectation and belief they have. They care and they want you to care, and if you don’t, you will be punished. A gay book isn’t fiction to them, it is the reflection of all the pain, self-esteem issues, discrimination, and trauma every gay, lesbian, bi, trans, ace what-have-you individual has experienced. If you come across critical reviews on an LGBTQ book, you can see a story unfold of how much the community believes these books belong to them.

Gay fiction is ‘serious.’ It’s ‘important.’ You being paid means you’re making money off of our experiences, so you better be one of us. We own your fiction.

This is part of the exhausting, drama reality of writing for the LGBTQ community, and legit, just don’t do it if you care what others think. And more importantly, don’t do it if you feel like you need to be good enough for these people, because they will tear you down. My harshest reviews are from people who came into a book with an expectation. They expected the book to be a certain way, and it wasn’t. I don’t write the same kind of books as everyone else, and guess who has the biggest expectations of what an LGBTQ book should look like? Those in the community. And guess who is extra inclined to demand your book be a certain way? Those who identify with fiction as life.

I’m Afraid This Needs To Be Said: Books Aren’t Real

In every other genre, writing books is a business. It’s to make money while having fun creating something. Writing is content creation; that’s it. There is nothing real in a book. It’s symbols on a page, and every pain felt is from the reader.

Not in the community, though. Here, it’s identity. You need to represent your readers—the ones who come to you, every book looking to feel, looking to relive the pain in their lives while you lead them out of it. They need your story, and you are obligated to make it a certain way and give them their happy ending. They were promised a soulmate and you better deliver. And if you turn out to be yourself instead of how you’re perceived? Get ready for the righteous outrage. You can only be how they see you in this community.

This is why I don’t write realistic gay stories, or seek any of the ‘validating’ awards in the community, or jump into ‘Own Voices’ like to live an experience is the only fucking reason you are allowed to write about something. I won’t write bisexuality just because I’m attracted to men, women, and everyone in between, and fuck people for expecting that of me. My sexuality, my skin color, my ancestry, my gender and the things I experience in life are not all I’m allowed to be, and I can write whatever the fuck I want.

Fuck people who think books are real. Fuck people who think they are owed because someone has the ability to write a story. Fuck this bullshit of reading a book and thinking it’s about you, when the author doesn’t even know you exist. Enjoy it—please, enjoy it—but don’t identify with fiction. How fucking insane. It’s not real, and that crushing need to own what you didn’t even make leads to so much stupidity.

Do you even get how fucking hard this shit is? All an author does is sell, sell, sell who they are while pretending they’re only selling a book. It’s like forever being in front of a mirror, squinting, making duck face, laughing and crying, and showing every experience of your very life in the ‘right’ perspective to be as attractive and entertaining to others as possible. But it’s not for facebook and your friends; it’s to make a living. It’s your job. Society is demanding Reality TV now, and although we all know Reality TV is fake, we hold authors to a totally different standard of genuine nakedness. And you know me, I’m fucking lazy at this shit because I don’t want to be someone I’m not. I don’t want to give a fuck—but I do want to pay my bills, so I show up each week and offer you a story about the world.

It’s fun for the most part, until someone feels the need to explain how I’m wrong with how I live, or work, or write, or feel. How what I create is supposed to be different, or ‘appropriate.’ Don’t think for a second I don’t understand why other authors create a persona, create a fake face, a fake name, create fake details to a fake life—I’m Gabrielle, btw, if you didn’t notice it under my author page. All my photos are real with the addition of some creative photoshopping (sorry to disappoint.) Being you in front of a bunch of critical people on the Internet can be soul crushing. I get to be Sadie Sins, even if Sadie’s life is pretty damn similar to Gabrielle’s. It’s still a persona, it’s still a buffer from the judgmental bullshit on the Internet. This is an entertainment business, and to make it to the top as an author, you aren’t just selling your books, you’re selling a story about yourself.

How much space does an author have to put into a bio? How much of their entire existence are they going to fit? Some put their writing and scholarly achievements in there—the ‘authority’ reasons for why their writing is valuable. Some put details of their personal history in there—the emotional reasons as to why they deserve to be noticed. Some put info about why they like to write—the creative inspiration, or the social drive that keeps them changing the world. Do you really think this is all a person is? It’s a perspective, a persuasive glance at an author to get a reader interested, and hopefully hang around to read more. We understand that for a business, but apparently writing isn’t a business but an identity for some observers.

For the readers and other authors who think being an author is an identity where some authors just get ‘lucky’ to become popular; you’re a big reason we have to sell a story. Because you want to read about a down-on-their-luck, plucky artist getting discovered because it fits the narrative of your own dream. How ugly to learn the exhausting truth of having to entertain and satisfy every random person who looks an author’s way while also living a life of complexity and obstacles. How troubling to realize that an author isn’t an asshole when they push back, but are so overwhelmed with people wanting them to be different that they need to set boundaries just to breathe.

But nah, ignore reality. Ignore the human who bends over backwards for countless people every day they will never even meet. Some people just want to support who they think deserves to win this game of survival. And if they don’t think they deserve it by their terms, they want to see an author hurt.

Show Business

You ever have someone tell you they want you to ‘be yourself’? But after a while, you realize they don’t want that at all; they just want you to be who THEY think you are? Suddenly you’re someone who leads people, or needs to be saved, or comforted. Welcome to show business, where you’re called a whore for selling yourself, while at the same time no one gives a fuck about the real you unless you entertain them. Unless you belong. Unless you can convince the hordes that you have a right to be here.

And why, in this modern world, are we still battling the idea we’re not allowed to be paid for writing? An author was dropped by her publishers because of the fans’ outrage over her identity, and what’s the battle cry? She deserved it for pretending to be a guy. She deserved it for telling a story, and then having someone else tell the story from a different perspective. Now when these fans look back, the memory is different. They weren’t helping, they were being scammed. They weren’t supporting, they were being victimized. They weren’t enjoying a book, they were misled.

My fuck, people are insane. Stop blaming words for the pain you feel. Stop making the past into some sort of current reality, because it’s not and never will be. Stop demanding people not be allowed to exist—because that’s what happens when you take away someone’s income source. Money = survival in this world.

How many fans do I have to get emails from asking for more, while refusing to see how much is given? When did it become a crime to want to pay your bills and not fear being thrown out on the street, while working every single day to build something? Do people not understand how completely unstable income is for a writer? How fickle the market is? How shit KU is while at the same time it feels like the only way? Do you get how hard it is to be a book about fictional characters, when you’re a human being who wants to be seen as a whole person? But you can’t be because some readers just want you to be a book, and you need to make a living, so you nod like a dumbass and smile while a little part of you dies inside? Yay, show business.

Food costs money, heat costs money—you can’t exist in my country in a shelter without someone expecting money for taxes. I write adult books for adults, but for every adult who talks to me, a child comes along wanting me to fulfill whatever it is they think I exist to give them. A child demands all authors should be just like them, because the way they’re an author is the ‘right’ way. The only way. The deserving way. They cut everyone down instead of hold a hand out, and fuck, I’m so tired of being around it.

Authors want to succeed so they can write more, so they can do this job and flourish. It’s nice to do what you love and not fucking suffer financially. Why is it a battle to be allowed to make money and art? Why, in this obnoxious popularity contest, must we battle each other when every book has its merits, and every author has a talent to be discovered and appreciated? Why all the damn drama over fiction?

People, we are story tellers. That’s it. We are human beings making money telling stories. We show you characters in pain that you reflect off of, and you think it’s real in your mind. You supply the feelings to these inert, meaningless words on a screen, and then you praise/blame the author for arranging those words the way they did.

And If those words hurt you? Really? Words don’t hurt; your ideas about words hurt. It’s the same madness of censorship when blaming mouth sounds for hurting people. The stupidity of trigger warnings when triggers exist in the mind, not the world. It’s the mind that reacts, not an attack from inert words.

You think I can tell a story? What about the person reading my book who comes back and reviews saying anyone who reads this “would be forced to join forces with all these people who believe that being gay is a sin”? There’s a fucking story being told and it has nothing to do with reality.

I love that one-star review, btw. It is forever my wakeup call to remind me. It doesn’t matter what I write, it doesn’t matter what I put out into the world, people will perceive it however they want. I push for releasing shame and someone read that story as abusive and rapy. This newsletter—do you think I’m typing furiously, freaking out, raging at the world right now? I’m not. XD But if you think it, it must be true, right?

This example of self destructive behavior in the LGBTQ community is everything about the relationship between author and reader I have come to understand. All these books focus on pain. The conflict of the characters. Authors try to write the most compelling pain to attract readers, but it’s still the reader who comes seeking, looking to hurt. They want to feel something, and the ones who can’t figure out reality from fiction, drag those feelings into the real world. Social media is an amazing example of people looking to feel pain all the fucking time, looking for a fight, looking to be right, looking to be validated or knocked down so they can have someone to push against.

So hey, I’m an author, and here you go. I think having your feelings hurt over perceptions of someone you never knew is ridiculous. That destroying someone’s career because they didn’t disclose their life story in a business setting is egotistical bullshit. That believing what you read about someone on the Internet and clinging to that image hurts everyone involved. If you think my words define you, then you must think your words define me. They don’t. They never will, but I will forever be whatever it is you see me as. Just like that author who was seen one way and is now seen another. All because someone thought pain was important.

‘But Sadie, you’re being judgmental in your need to tell people to not be judgmental!’ you might insist.

Yup, I still bitch, but I’m aware it’s me who’s upset. This entire newsletter is me bitching about how people can’t accept that reality is not how they perceive it to be. It’s me frustrated that my queer peers have once again helped to tear down one of their own writers, because instead of seeing someone trying to make it in a business, they see a gender identity, or a sexual identity, or the ‘wrong’ identity, and pass judgment based off of it. Or maybe they just saw a success, and that was reason enough to want to stay quiet when others come with torches.

I know it won’t stop. People love this. How do I know they love this? Because the majority of America still tunes in to hear whatever sick bullshit Trump has done each day. Some people want to hurt, they want to suffer, and authors have the beautiful ability to write the pain they’re looking for. People like pain, they find it entertaining, and they keep coming back for more. Giving them what they want in text form isn’t the moralistic crime of a lifetime. Having authors and readers insist it is, is a hypocrisy I can’t stop rolling my eyes at.

This does nothing helpful for a community, but instead creates more rigid expectations of how people think an author is supposed to be. It just opens the gates for the next witch hunt because no one will stop and point out, hey, this is normal practices in the business world. This is basic branding—tell the people what they want to hear—so get the fuck over it already.

No one outside of the LGBTQ community gives a fuck about the gender of another author. They don’t care about the sexuality of another author. It’s a fucking obsession in this community and it’s fucking people over. And if they decide pen names aren’t allowed, or own voices are the only gay fiction allowed? What then? I seriously wish I liked to write straight couples or something. Not even joking. Watching this go down is like seeing poison bubble right from the ground. You knew it was there beneath the surface, but seeing the toxic reality is just sickening. It’s the same bullshit but with a different name. Gay people must represent their sexuality like this. Writers must represent the gay community like this. What a fucking mess.

Whatever. Maybe these authors keep giving in to all those voices demanding they write and act in ways only the readers want, and then they need to punish those who say fuck it to those shitty expectations. And they are shitty expectation. It’s a bunch of rules of how you’re allowed to play, how you need to ‘fit in,’ and it’s the reason some people don full persona’s to begin with.

That author was everything the community wanted until he/she wasn’t. Just another creation of the expectations set for allowable success. A gay male in the community with heartfelt experiences to share in book form. Throw in some ethnic background for good measure. Get me turned on and falling in love but make sure it’s respectful and relatable. A champion for gay fiction everywhere until it’s discovered fiction is fiction, and people aren’t role models.

The Bigot

It took me a long time to get over Orson Scott Card. I loved his fiction, and when I discovered he had written something for his church coming out against gays, I was heartbroken. But I grew up, and forced myself to face the reality that it was because he struggled with his religious beliefs that made his fiction the way it was.

It was because he wasn’t fully formed that he could write these themes I saw in the Ender series that had me paying attention, had me wondering why he was leaning the other way on something so obvious to me. He was able to represent a view I didn’t have, and although I don’t share it, I can understand it better because of it. And, not to sound like a pretentious dick, I noticed when his religious and bigoted themes slipped in, it hurt his writing. It wasn’t allowed to flow because his mind had placed a block to go ‘this means this.’

If I never saw that, would I ever search my own writing for the same? Would I search my own thoughts? Should his books disappear because they don’t reflect my beliefs when in his difference of opinion, I was able to see more of myself to learn?

What is the value of entertainment, and how many must be sacrificed until we realize it doesn’t have to be so fucking serious. It doesn’t have to be a representation of a sexual revolution. It can just be fucking fiction… or fiction about fucking. <3

The Demand For Others To Be Something Else is Exhausting

I don’t want to be a part of all these witch hunts, and how sad to see this shit happening. All these judges and juries of who is allowed to write a fucking story and make a living off of it. I don’t want to value the emotional pain of someone not having their expectations met, over the real life consequence of having your entire career taken from you because a group of people felt you were undeserving.

I don’t expect actors to be the characters they play in movies. I don’t expect singers to stop on the street and serenade me just because they have a nice voice. I don’t expect readers to see the real me no matter how much I reveal. Should I stay bed bound and dying with mold toxicity because that was who I first was when I started self-publishing in 2015? Should I only write one type of story, because expectation’s are more important than my reality? I think you can guess how much I give a fuck. (But if you can’t, it’s not a lot. At all. >_>)

I can never know anyone outside of my perspective of them, so how can they know me outside of their perspective of me? You can’t. No one will ever know another human being fully, so why do we feel entitled to know exactly that? Of a stranger? Why would I expect an author to be who I want? Why would I expect anyone to be anyone? How fucking assholic and pretentious.

The kindest thing you can do is forget someone. It allows them to be who they are the next time you meet, instead of who you thought they were.

Every brain perceiving my newsletter sees me as a different person. I cannot be what is perceived; I can only be myself. It’s enough, no matter how many demand otherwise. Being is enough. You are enough and so am I. To all the authors out there, I truly hope no one comes looking to tear you down for joining in the glamor of show business of writing books.

Okay, On To Actual Writing Stuff

Ugh, fever of 101. I’m definitely catching whatever it is the bf has. =_= Motherfuck. Umm… after insulting readers and writers of gay fiction alike, let me sell you an audiobook. Sound good? XD First one is free.

I did some more studying on the audiobook creation, and realized even though the industry standard of 32kbps is a wonderfully small file, it sounds like shit. It compresses nice, but it sounds weird. And maybe it’s just the software used, I dunno, but I decided to offer both a compressed file and a larger file in the download for those who don’t mind the extra space taken up for a higher quality sound. I have the first 3 Demon Bonded audiobooks done, although subscribers can listen to the 4 currently made for free on the site. I need to finish putting together the bonus episode and add it to #4 before I can sell Magnificent Night and Demencious Saga, the bundle of them.

Oh, I figured out how to get all the audio on the site without killing my bandwidth! So every audiobook made will be available to be listened to by subscribers. I’m still trying to find a better player… But yeah, it’s been a ton of fun. It has my brain sparking on things like ‘can I do different voices for different characters,’ or ‘can I do sound effects’? The answer at the moment being no, it sounds like shit. XD But I’m looking at options because it’s super fun. Oh, and a blog post for anyone interested in making your own audiobook. It’s pretty easy if you have the time.

The Winning Formula

No One Knows His Secret

Joey is the star quarterback for the Kites Football Team. Everyone is counting on him to take them to the championship.

So, they can’t know he’s gay.

That’s why he’s kept quiet all these years, despite having the biggest crush on his best friend and agent.

Drew is the epitome of a man with his dark hair and ruggedly handsome good looks.

Drew would never switch teams – sexually speaking.

And yet, one night, after a drunken escapade, they end up naked in the same bed together.

Married.

 

Only Time Will Tell

Two men, one watch…

When Alex and Charlie met, they instantly clicked. Throughout the years, their bond grew from friends, to lovers. But when Charlies father passes away something inside him changes. Alex feared their relationship was over and knew his heart would never survive.

Things spiral out of control as Charlie’s erratic behavior leads Alex to think the worst. During an intense argument, they’re transported back in time. When Charlie come to, Alex isn’t by his side. Frantically, he searches for him. But when he finds him, he’s surprised Alex doesn’t remember who he is.

Charlie must make Alex fall in love with him again. But what happens if he doesn’t?

Will this be the end of their relationship, or will it be game over for them both?

 

 

Bullying Teacher Full

Bullying Teacher

This book contains all five episodes of Bullying Teacher previously published by Sadie Sins and bonus material never before read, totaling in over 60,000 words of content.

Beau Ashford has again found himself the victim of bullying. Surprising, considering he’s an established teacher now. His pretty face and weak demeanor have made him the target of every aggressive eye that’s turned his way, this time his own students.

Darien Castello—strong, confident and son of a billionaire senator—is willing to protect his pretty teach, but for a price. Either he gets paid $500 a week for his protection services, or he’s going to help make Beau regret starting his science position in the wealthy university. If Beau can’t afford it all, Darien is happy to take it out in trade. $450 worth of his teacher’s body.

What starts as a bizarre protection scam quickly spirals into something else as Darien awakens dark, confusing desires in his once innocent, straight teacher. Can Beau find a way to free himself from the strange obsession taking him, or will he be bullied into something that could lose him his job and life as he knows it?

18+ This completed serial contains explicit m/m sexual content, graphic language, violence, and an exploration of bdsm and a master/slave relationship through the eyes of a controlling top and needy bottom. Expect spanking, bondage, multiple partners and exhibitionism in a school setting.

60,000 wrds, Published May 27, 2016.
Heat level: XXX

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT BULLYING TEACHER

on April 4, 2017

P Leslie rated it it was amazing

Enjoyed Bullying Teacher; it was hot, sexy yet dirty as hell. Beau and Darian had amazing chemistry – it was raw and intense. The story has elements of BDSM, extortion, and a gang bang – so be prepared. Fantastic smutty read with a sweet ending.
on July 25, 2016
READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

Darien Castello could not take his eyes off of Mr. Ashford. The guy had the face of a model; a really naughty one that wanted so badly to be pushed down and messed up. Damn, he had never really gotten off on just a face, but with his soft blond locks, bright blue eyes, and pouting red lips, Darien was totally hooked on his new teacher. Unfortunately, so were his classmates.

Mr. Ashford looked like prey, plain and simple. He was average height, slender, and had a way to his shoulders and walk that just screamed ‘jump me.’ Currently Tony and Radford were doing just that. They had cornered the new science teacher by the lockers and looked ready to start punching and maybe even stuffing if they didn’t get some cash off the cutie.

Darien took his time, dragging on his cigarette as he approached. No one had noticed him yet, which was fine by him. He wanted to take the opportunity to look at Mr. Ashford up close. The guy was hot. Really fucking hot. Pale skin, golden hair, and damn those lips. The nasty things he would do to those lips. Radford better not punch the man’s face or he’d have to beat the fuck out of him for ruining perfection.

“What’s going on, guys?” Darien casually slung his arms over Tony and Radford’s shoulders. Both of his classmates immediately froze. Darien was top dog for a reason. He was the tallest kid in school, the strongest, and when the mood struck him, the meanest motherfucker there was. Everyone knew. The ones that didn’t, figured it fast. Mr. Ashford would be getting that privilege soon enough.

“Fuck, hey Darien,” Tony said hesitantly. He glanced sideways at the tall brunette who had crept up behind them. When his eyes fell on Darien’s bicep right next to his face—the flesh hard and tattooed—he swallowed. “We were just having a chat with the new teacher. Nothing to get involved in.”

Darien’s gaze traveled over the blushing teacher who was currently glaring holes at the three students as he tried to straighten his rumpled shirt. Darien took his cigarette from his mouth. “Ah, well that’s where you’re wrong. I happen to have Mr. Ashford for fourth period. And if you’re messing him up, well, that’s going to mess up my grade.” Darien fixed on Tony again. “You wouldn’t want me to fail, would you?”

Radford immediately took a step back and ducked from his heavy arm. “Right, so I’m getting the fuck out. Sorry ’bout that, Mr. Ashford.”

Darien smirked at the incredulous expression on the man’s face when Radford apologized. “Um, don’t think anything of it,” Beau mumbled as he straightening his tie.

“What about you, Tony?” Darien asked, his voice full of implication.

Starting, Tony winced. “Hey, I got the message loud and clear. You wanna be teacher’s pet? By all means.” He went to duck away, but Darien grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled Tony sideways while he hissed.

“Wallet.”

Glaring, Tony reached into his back pocket and slammed the leather into Darien’s hand. Flipping it open, Darien raised his brow at his ever watching teacher. “This all of it?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” Beau answered, expression full of surprise and gratitude.

Damn, he had amazing eyes. Sexy, wide, glowing blue eyes. Not bothering to look at Tony, Darien shoved the punk aside and listened to him huff away. He used the time to study his new teacher, one he hadn’t met until that moment. That was definitely going to change.

Darien let his gaze move from Beau’s handsome face, sturdy shoulders, and down his lithe body still trembling in aftershock. Sexy. Sexy, and sleek, and in desperate need of a very hard fucking.

There was no way he was letting things end here.

“You’re Darien Castello?” Voice quiet, Beau combed shaking fingers through his shoulder length locks. His gaze had strayed to where the other two had dissapeared, as if just waiting for them to turn around and come at him.

“That would be me, teach.” Tilting his head, Darien offered the man a drag on his cigarette. When Mr. Ashford shook his head, Darien finished it off, then dropped it to the hallway floor. He crushed it carelessly with his heel.

“You really shouldn’t…” Mr. Ashford’s eyes widened when Darien pushed him back and blocked him in with his taller, stronger form.

“You saw how easy that was for me, right teach? I just showed up, and those losers walked away.”

“Y-Yes, I was meaning to thank you.”

Darien smirked. The guy had the cutest fucking stutter too. “You might want to hold off on that.”

He opened up the wallet again, pulled out the cash and counted it while Mr. Ashford watched him with growing trepidation. “I’m going to take this… $300, and you’re going to bring me another $200 by Friday.”

“I am?” Mr. Ashford’s eyes narrowed even as his voice broke.

“It’s a good deal.” Cash now free of the wallet, Darien slowly snaked his hand around until he found his teacher’s back pocket. Ducking closer, he slowly pushed his hand into the man’s pants, watching intently as Mr. Ashford blushed and refused to meet his eyes.

Yeah, the guy was smoking hot and definitely interested. What it would take to get him to admit that interest, Darien was looking forward to figuring out.

He left the wallet but not before stealing a small squeeze of that tight, firm ass. “You pay me $500 a week, and I’ll make sure guys like that don’t mess up your pretty face.”

“You’re out of your mind—Ah.” His eyes closed as Darien’s arm suddenly pressed across his throat and he fell silent, head forced back against the locker.

“Mr. Ashford, it would be really easy for me to hurt you. And believe me, I wouldn’t feel bad about it in the slightest.” No, Darien would love every moment of covering this hot man with as many bruises as he could handle. Moving his head so that he was pressing his mouth to his ear, he added softly, “But if you’re a good boy and you do as I say, I’ll take care of you. No one will hurt you as long as I’m here to protect you.” Mr. Ashford gave the slightest of tremors and Darien fought back a smile. “It’s not a free service, teach. If you don’t want to pay me in cash, I might be willing to accept a trade.”

He slowly pulled a lock of Mr. Ashford’s hair aside, letting the silky strands run through his fingers. “I can think of a lot of things a sexy guy like you could do for me, teach.” His eyes locked with stunning blue, Darien pushed a thumb against those damn enticing red lips and smirked when Mr. Ashford gasped and turned his head away.

“Think about it. Next Friday once school gets out. Your room.” He pulled away, eyes lingering on the man’s lithe form. Mr. Ashford’s face was flushed with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and shame. It was sexy as hell, and Darien could think of a million ways to make him look like that all the time—starting with forcing him to his knees.

Fuck, it was his teacher’s fault for having such a damn sexy face. He might as well be begging for it.

Darien walked away whistling, hands folded behind his head. Breathing heavily, Mr. Ashford leaned weakly on the wall and watched him go.

***

This was not the first time Beau Ashford had been bullied. Hell, it seemed to be a constant in his life, starting as far back as preschool when the other kids figured out that his first name meant beautiful. That his face happened to match his name hadn’t helped matters. Beau had thought once he became a teacher and was seen as an authoritative figure, things would change.

They had not. At 35, Beau was still dealing with the idiots of the world that would judge him on something as superficial as his face and appearance.

He had left his last teaching assignment when a group of punks had gone so far as to burn his car. He hadn’t been inside it at the time, but it had been enough for him. Maybe he should have just given up on the whole teaching thing after that, but he was ridiculously stubborn to a fault and still young into his career. He was determined to help these young, troubled kids get a real future for themselves. Just, preferably, without getting his ass kicked at the same time.

That said, he had never had to deal with someone like Darien Castello.

He only knew Darien by name. The young man had yet to show up to a single class even though Beau had been teaching for over two weeks now at the prestigious private university. He wasn’t sure just how Darien was able to get away with not attending class, but he suspected it had a lot to do with who his father was. Reginald Castello was a senator. Beau had learned of the fact when he had sent in his attendance sheets and asked if he should be filing a formal reprimand with the office for Castello’s absence. He had been told to ignore it.

There was something terribly ironic about a rich brat demanding four-fifths of his income in the name of protection from punks just like him. Hell, at his last school Beau had only had to deal with a beating. He had learned enough to stop carrying cash with him there. For some reason, he’d assumed the richer students would be better behaved. Apparently, he’d been fooling himself.

A protection scam. He had to hand it to the little bastard—fine, huge mountain of a bastard—the guy was ambitious. At twenty-two, Beau sure hadn’t been thinking about blackmailing his teachers, and he sure could have used the money a lot more. As for Darien’s other threat… trading services… He was pretty sure the student had just been trying to freak him out.

Beau wasn’t into guys even though a few through the years had taken one look at his pretty face and slim form and assumed he was. Just because he didn’t date much–well, at all–didn’t mean he was into guys. He just wasn’t that sexual a person. He was too busy working and trying not to get his ass kicked.

He had tried to bulk up. He exercised every day, lifted weights—He wasn’t as weak as he looked. But even if he had muscle, it was compact, and he didn’t intimidate anyone. Not when they kept looking at his face. He just wasn’t a fighter. And normally he wouldn’t think that was a problem. But he really, really, really didn’t want to give up on his life’s dream because every damn punk thought he could be manipulated just by beating him.

Shit, but he hated his face. If he had been born a girl, it would have been an asset. As a guy, it was just a huge target for every aggressive asshole to treat him like shit. He had never had a bad thing to say about how anyone looked. Why the hell did he have to be judged by something so beyond his control?

It was Friday. Beau had been trying to ignore that fact for the entire day, but when the last bell rang it grew very difficult.

He didn’t have the money. Even if he did, he wasn’t going to let some cocky, rich punk steal his hard-earned yet pitiful salary. He had taken a beaten before, and he was likely going to take plenty in the future. Just another shit day having to deal with being born beautiful, brilliant, and also a guy.

Darien didn’t keep him waiting. Beau was just filing the rest of his paperwork away for the week when he walked in dressed in jeans and a tight, sleeveless t-shirt. He had a feeling it was to intimidate. Darien’s tanned, tattooed arms were ripped, shoulders broad, chest sculpted above rippling abs. It really wasn’t fair; Beau would have killed for a body like that. It didn’t matter how much he worked out; he just couldn’t get buff. He almost wanted to ask the guy what his secret was, but figured now was not the time.

“Hey, teach. How’s your week been?” Darien strolled up while pulling a cigarette from behind his ear, his dark hair cut short except his bangs that were spiky and streaked with red dye. With his sharp green eyes and thick dark lashes, Beau had to wonder why he was wasting his time tormenting his teacher when he could be off chasing cheerleaders or something. That’s what those jock types did, right? Got drunk in the parking lot and screwed the chicks that couldn’t stop talking for even five minutes. Beau couldn’t stand cheerleaders; the bitches made fun of him more than the jocks, like he was their competition or something.

“Hello, Mr. Castello. I do believe this is the first time you’ve been in my classroom. Unfortunately, you’re hours late.” Refusing to comment on the cigarette being lit when there were nearly a hundred no smoking signs in the building, he turned and began wiping down the whiteboard.

“Sorry, but science bores the fuck out of me.” Darien didn’t sound sorry. His eyes followed Mr. Ashford’s ass as the teacher obliviously reached and stretched to wipe the top of the tall board. “I was wondering if anyone’s bothered you since our last talk.”

“The one where you threatened to beat me up if I failed to pay you protection money?” Beau snapped bitterly and wiped the last of his writing away furiously. “No, surprisingly no one has bothered me since then. You must be quite terrifying.” He slammed the eraser down on his desk and turning back.

“You seem upset,” Darien observed blandly, his gaze calm and steady as he met his teacher’s blazing eyes.

“I’m not paying you anything.”

“Oh?” Exhaling slowly, Darien took another drag of his cigarette. “Were you under the impression that I wouldn’t beat the crap out of you? I thought I was very clear on that.”

Pursing his lips, Beau jutted his chin out stubbornly. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t just go extorting your teachers. It’s illegal, for one. Damn rude, too. You’re not even out of college, and you’re already on the way to being a career criminal. If I had my way, you’d be—”

“Right, so I didn’t really come here for a lecture, Mr. Ashford,” Darien interrupted smoothly. “You owe me 200 bucks, and I’d much prefer that to you nattering on like a whiny bitch.”

Snapping his mouth shut, Beau fumed. Darien stood taller, flexing his shoulders and looking even bigger. It was hard not to notice, and he swallowed hard as Darien took a step around his desk. “I don’t have that kind of money. I’m a teacher. We don’t get paid much for the privilege of teaching the next generation of extortionists. I have bills. Rent. I enjoy actually eating once in a while. Next time you try this game, I suggest you consider the income your victim can provide before asking for such a ludicrous amount.”

His eyebrows raising in surprise, Darien flashed a small smirk. “I’ll take that into advisement, teach.” He took another step and Beau turned his head away when Darien pushed into his personal space, their chests nearly brushing. “So what can you afford?”

Beau had actually thought of this. He didn’t know why; it wasn’t like he could give in to this sort of thing. If one student started this crap, the rest would surely follow. But not only was Darien Castello damn intimidating, but he also had a senator for a father. Beau knew there would be no help for him after learning that fun fact.

“Fifty. It barely leaves me enough for gas to get to school every morning,” he muttered. He glancing at Darien, only to quickly look away when he found him staring at his mouth.

“Fifty? That’s a very different number than what I’m asking for,” Darien pointed out with a sigh. “But I’d be willing to consider it.”

Beau wasn’t expecting that, and he met his student’s gaze hesitantly. “Really?” If it only took fifty bucks a week to keep this bastard from giving him shit, along with the rest of the damn punks in the school, he might take him up on his offer.

When Darien had first shown up the other day and saved him from those assholes, Beau had thought him a godsend. Nearly a black knight coming to his rescue. Strong and intimidating, the other students had feared Darien. And well, no one had ever stood up for him before. Beau had honestly been grateful until he had tried to extort him.

“I’m not unreasonable, Mr. Ashford. I know not everyone is rolling in dough. So what are you going to give me to make up for the other $450 you can’t afford?”

Ice chilled his veins, and Beau bit his lip. Right. Of course. God, kids were monsters these days. “I think you seem to misunderstand just how little I have,” he said coldly. “I have no assets. I don’t own my apartment or car. I live paycheck to paycheck.”

“No, I got that.” Darien crushed his lit cigarette into the palm of his hand and then flicked it into the waste bin. “I was thinking more of services. Teaching is a service, isn’t it? You use your expertise to help others learn a topic?”

“I… I guess you could say that,” Beau answered hesitantly. “Did you want me to tutor you?”

Darien chuckled darkly. Beau had only a moment to realize he’d definitely misread the situation when fingers wrapped around his chin and pulled him forward, lips suddenly an inch from his own. “Mr. Ashford, how much would $450 get me with a guy like you?”

“W-What?” Trying to fight the way his face was heating up, Beau took a step back, only to have his back press up against the whiteboard.

“Let’s say I took you out on a date.” Darien’s free hand came up to lean against the wall and block his teacher’s escape on one side. “Someplace nice. Someplace where I could throw down $500. I’d get something back for that, right? I mean, it’s just expected, really.”

Beau didn’t know what was more offensive; that Darien thought that dating automatically meant you were buying affection, or that he just assumed he was the type to exchange money for sex.

“Mr. Castello, you seem to be confused. I’m not interested in men, and most certainly not my student who is also trying to extort me. And to answer your question, you should not expect anything back. A date is not buying sex. It is not expected, at least, not where I’m from. The very notion is offensive and—”

“Heh, you’re really cute when you’re angry.” Darien’s eyes ran down Beau’s form, and the teacher trailed off warily. “Teach, when you throw down $500 on a guy, you expect him to put out. It’s just natural.”

Beau was starting to get very nervous under that hungry stare. Yes, he’d had a few men try to pick him up before, but none of them had put much effort into it. They’d all been shy, intimidated by his beauty. Darien wasn’t like that at all. No, he didn’t seem very interested in how Beau felt about him or the situation, just so long as he got what he wanted. It made something clench inside Beau, made him hot, dizzy, and flustered.

“Mr. Castello, what you’re suggesting is highly inappropriate, never mind illegal. Immoral,” Beau managed to get out as he edged away from his towering student.

Darien shrugged unconcernedly and slammed his other hand down so that Beau was trapped between his muscular arms. He dipped his head closer, nose pressed to the side of Beau’s, lips just brushing. “I really don’t care, teach. I want to fuck you. Hard, rough, until you’re screaming my name.”

Blinking, heat rising to his cheeks, Beau tried to turn his head away. Darien followed and kept the same uncomfortable closeness. “I’m not into men,” he said, hating how shaky his voice sounded. Darien was nearly on top of him, heat roiling off his tall form, his breath even hotter as it puffed on his cheek.

This was very new for Beau. He’d had plenty of men threaten to hurt him. None of them had seemed into doing it while also wanting to fuck him.

“I told you; I don’t care.” Eyes moving over Beau’s face for a searching moment, Darien flicked his tongue out and traced his teacher’s upper lip.

Beau froze, breath hitched, eyes wide from the hot, wet touch. Something shuddered through him he didn’t want to identify. It only grew stronger when that tongue moved down, lapped his mouth, and teased slowly against the seam of his lips. “S-Stop,” he whispered. A groan tore from him when Darien’s large hand cupped his jaw roughly and held him in place so he could press their lips together.

It was hard, hungry, and like no kiss Beau had ever experienced before. Darien wrapped his fingers into his long hair, pulled demandingly, forced his head back and lips open. Tongue shoving deep into his mouth, he used his larger body to pin Beau tight against the wall, and grind his hips against his trapped body.

“Oh, hell,” Beau gasped into the kiss. Another groan escaped when he felt what could only be Darien’s hard cock rub against his hip. It was big, so hot and demanding, and for the first time, Beau allowed himself to wonder just what it would feel like to touch another man’s dick.

He shouldn’t. He really wasn’t like that…

Grunting, Darien pulled Beau’s hair harder and forced the whimpering man to bend his neck back in his strong hold. He crushed their lips together again, plunged his tongue against Beau’s, exploring his mouth heatedly while suffocating the lithe man. He rubbed unceasingly over his tongue, stealing his breath, grinding against him so hard, so hot, Beau’s knees started to waver and he slid down the wall with a moan.

“That’s it, teach.” Darien wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him back up, then higher. He crushed Beau back against the board on tiptoes and sucked and nipped down his long, pale throat. “Fuck, you’re one tight piece of ass.” He pushed his knee between Beau’s slim thighs, groaning when he found a responding hardness pushing against his leg. “Yeah, that’s fucking it.”

Darien’s leg pushed him further up the wall. Beau could only gasp for air, his eyes half closed, moans escaping him with every grind of the strong thigh against his rock hard cock.

Fuck, what was happening to him? He shouldn’t… shouldn’t like this. Not with a man. Not with a stupid, arrogant punk that thought he could just bully him into anything.

Beau raised his arms, meaning to push Darien away, to show that even if his body was responding, it didn’t mean he wanted it. But once his fingers found his student’s hard biceps, he could only grasp onto them weakly and feel the powerful, hot flesh beneath his palms as his ass was grabbed and squeezed hard.

“God… Oh, god,” Beau moaned dizzily, and his head fell back against the wall. Darien gave a final nip to the side of his neck and moved back up to claim his mouth forcefully. Beau didn’t resist. His lips parted readily and body arched into the strong one moving against him, holding him close, pushing him down against the wall.

“W-Wait,” he whispered shakily but Darien swallowed his protest the moment it was free. His student’s large hand continued to work on his belt, quickly pulling the buckle open and tearing the button and fly to his slacks down. Blushing crimson, Beau moaned, his voice cracking when Darien boldly reached into his underwear and wrapped his fingers around his aching cock.

“Mr. Ashford, I think you might be interested after all,” Darien whispered against his lips, his grip tightening as he held Beau’s dick in the palm of his hand and felt it pulse with every gasping breath his teacher took.

Forcing his eyes open, Beau found Darien staring down at him, green eyes blazing fire and sex. He wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him to get the fuck off and never touch him again. Instead his hips jolted forward, his body pushing against his student’s hard muscles as another moan escaped him.

“That’s it. Fuck, you look damn slutty with your dick in my hand.” Darien gave Beau’s shaft a single stroke, then withdrew his hand reluctantly. “I’m going to give you a week, teach. A week to decide if you want to give me the proper fee for my protection. Or if you want to spread those fucking tight cheeks of yours and let me fuck you.”

His head spun as Beau tried to figure out where the hot hand had gone and soon after the hard, suffocating body. He slid down the wall without Darien to hold him upright and looked around blearily. Heavy pants fell from Beau’s parted lips, his head thrown back. He found Darien watching him from his large desk while lighting up another cigarette.

Once Darien’s eyes met his, Beau couldn’t look away. He wet his lips and struggled for air, half hating that his body wanted him to come back, to finish what he had started. He was aching. Beau had never ached like this before. It was maddening, confusing, and he needed release.

His breath caught when Darien slowly stepped back in his direction, the other’s gaze roaming over him like a predator sizing up a kill. He stopped inches away, Beau hyper aware of his student’s towering height, strength, the way Darien’s erection was bulging above his head.

Eyes locked with his, Darien pressed two of his fingers to Beau’s lips and pushed the long digits into his teacher’s mouth. Eyebrows furrowed, Beau groaned as his lips spread, his face hot with embarassment and arousal. He felt every push and pull as Darien began to fuck his mouth with his thick fingers in rough thrusts, dragging over his tongue, pressing deep down his throat, using his mouth however he pleased. Darien hooked his digits into his cheek, pulled hard enough for Beau to turn his head, then pulled him back to face him again.

“Pick the second option, teach. I have a strong feeling you’re going to like riding my cock.” Darien’s thumb squeezed his lower lip and tugged. He pulled his fingers from between Beau’s swollen lips and drew a line of saliva down his chin and long, pale throat. “Even if you don’t like it, you’re going to look so fucking hot with a dick up your ass that it’ll make up for it.”

Groaning when Darien’s hand wrapped possessively around his neck, Beau didn’t answer. He just stared up into his heated gaze as his head was forced back, lost in those burning green eyes.

“I have a previous engagement, teach. Otherwise, I’d stay and listen to how loud you scream when you come.” Darien’s gaze dropped to his glistening lips. “Yeah, you’re definitely a screamer. Maybe even a crier, which is just sexy as fuck. Make sure you’re thinking of me when you jerk off.” He released Beau’s neck with a dark smile, stepped back and headed for the door.

His eyes closed as Darien shut the door behind him and Beau let out a low, desperate moan.

Fuck… Holy fuck.

He was only twenty-two. His student. His extortionist, assholic student. He couldn’t.

God, he really, really couldn’t.

So why the fuck was he thinking about it?

A whimper escaping him, Beau hesitantly ran his hand up his hip, fingers pushed slowly under the band of his underwear.

Don’t… Anyone could walk in. He was in school. In a classroom in his damn school. Don’t think of him…

But he couldn’t stop. It was all he could think about; Darien’s strong hands, those damn muscles he had thought he wanted for himself but now he was pretty sure he just wanted to move against him, that fucking tongue of his, so demanding, so forceful and possessive.

He couldn’t. A senator’s son. His student. It would be a huge scandal—Fucking his gay student. God, he wanted to. So bad. He’d never wanted anything like this.

Licking his palm, Beau wrapped it around his dick. He bit his lip to stop his groans as he began to stroke firmly. No one had ever touched him that way before. He threw his head back, gasping, mouth tingling still from the feel of Darien’s rough kisses and rougher fingers. God, he could nearly feel it, the hard heat of his tongue, the cruel grip holding his hair, his strong body forcing him back, suffocating him and taking everything he wanted from him as if it were his right.

His gliding hand began to lose rhythm. Beau panted desperately, head rolling back and forth on the wall as he rocked his hips up. He came with a muffled shout, free hand clamped over his mouth as Darien’s eyes flashed in his mind.

Fuck.

Oh fuck, he was in trouble here.

Looking down slowly, Beau stared at the pearly white cum stringing over his fingers. He hesitantly raised his hand up and tentatively tasted his seed.

Would Darien’s cum taste the same?

Eyes closing at the realization of what he was about to do, Beau pushed two fingers into his mouth with a husky moan. He imitated what Darien had done to him only minutes ago, except this time with cum coating his fingers and dripping tangy into his mouth. It was the blowjob he had imagined when his student had forced his fingers boldly into his mouth and made him suck.

Fuck, he was in serious trouble.

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StepDaddy

StepDaddy

Ethan never expected to fall for his mother’s new love interest. He had never thought he’d ever look at a man that way at all. There’s just something about his caring but controlling stepfather that has everything upside down for the eighteen year old, his crush only getting worse the longer they share space.

Jeff has been doing everything he can to avoid his new stepson. Ethan is sweet, lonely, and absolutely beautiful. And worse, Jeff can’t help but want to protect the boy, especially when Ethan insists on dressing in provocative, hot ways. His stepson might just be trying to bait him, but for what he’s not sure.

When the two finally realize their attraction is mutual, Jeff knows he must leave to keep from crossing the line. Heartbroken, Ethan comes up with a plan. He’s just not sure it will be enough to convince his stepdaddy to stay.

18+ This novella contains explicit m/m sexual content, graphic language, and themes of bondage and discipline between adult men. Over 35,000 words long.

35,000+ wrds, Published August 27, 2016.
Heat level: X


WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT STEPDADDY

This was a hot, sexy, funny yet dirty read. Ethan can’t help checking out his hot stepdad and his stepdad Jeff has been lusting after his stepson for ages. Whose going to cave into their lust first?
Ethan made me laugh when he dressed to impress, with a provocative flare, to get Jeff’s attention.

The book is written well but I wouldn’t expect any less from Sadie Sins.

This was a fun and naughty read, and also a very provocative guilty pleasure. Jeff is the sexy, hot step, dad who is trying his hardest not to give into the raging lust that he has for his step son, Ethan. Ethan feels the same way and tries many little schemes to get Jeff’s attention. The only thing that bothered me about Jeff was his constant regret when he did give in to him at times, although I don’t want to spoil anything since it was an enjoyable read. Ethan’s mother is never there and they have somewhat of an open marriage, so there’s that. 🙂 The writing, of course, was excellent (as usual) and the characters were very tantalizing. I can’t wait to read about what happens in that home next. Super titillating.

Arghh, good, so good! This was kinda tame for Sadie, with the stepfather spending most of the book being a dang upstanding and respectable man *grumbles* I really wish this book had been longer, if for no other reason than to have lots more steamy Daddy kink scenes :p I loved both characters a lot! (cont…)

READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

“Damn, kid, don’t you ever go to school?”

Ethan blinked up from his phone screen as his stepfather came into the kitchen, his eyes lingering for a moment on the man’s tattooed arms. “Summer vaca,” Ethan mumbled, ducking his head back down and hiding behind his box of cereal as the man made his way to the stove top and began cooking up a late breakfast. “Don’t you have work?” He asked, not really expecting an answer. Jeff didn’t talk much. The guy had moved in six months ago after a whirlwind engagement and besides hanging out in the adjoining garage painting all day, Ethan rarely saw the man outside of the occasional times Jeff would try and catch up with him.

He was kind of glad the guy was so busy. Jeff unsettled the fuck out of him.

“I’ve actually been up since dawn. Just grabbing something to eat before I get back to the canvas. Got that gallery showing in a week and I need to get some last minute touchups done before framing.”

Ethan nodded to himself, having a bite of his now soggy cereal while sneaking a peek at the man. Jeff was still in his pajamas, wearing a pair of black flannel night pants and a black wifebeater that was flecked with spots of paint. He wasn’t wearing shoes—the man rarely did while around the house. Both of his arms were covered from shoulder to wrist in tattoo’s, his tanned skin colored in elaborate, geometric patterns in blue, gold, and black ink. It was apparently inspired by one of Jeff’s own paintings. A badass painting if he was to go by the man’s bulging biceps.

Ethan’s new stepfather was a lot of eye candy. With his piercing blue eyes and brown, shoulder-length wavy hair, the guy could have been a model. He had the body for it—tall, lean, and buff—as well as the not giving a fuck attitude. Jeff always looked like he was two days late to shave, a light fuzz prickling at his jaw and neck, and he rarely dressed up beyond jeans and a t-shirt. He was also one of those health nuts, having filled their refrigerator with tons of fresh, organic produce when he moved in, his blender heard before any of the alarm clocks went off.

“You looking for a job?”

Ethan ducked his head back down, shaking it silently when the man glanced over at him from the stove. He tried to lose himself in his video game but couldn’t stop from being distracted by Jeff’s presence across the room. The thing was, Ethan didn’t like guys. He was pretty fucking sure. But it was really hard to look away from Jeff whenever the man was around. There was just something about the guy that drew his eye and kept him looking. Like his colorful biceps. Or the way the man’s thin pants clung to his sculpted ass.

It was unsettling. Confusing. Ethan just couldn’t stop getting hot whenever around his stepfather and it had been going on for months now.

“You need a job, kid. An internship. Something. You going to waste your life hanging around the fucking house all the time?”

Ethan looked up when his cereal box was suddenly taken away, watching as Jeff placed a plate with an omelet in front of him, the man nudging his bowl of cereal aside on the kitchen island to make room. “You also need to start eating some actual food. There is no way there are enough calories in that sugary shit to even get you out of your chair. I don’t know how the hell you get through your soccer games on this shit.”

Jeff was damn near intimidating when up close, the man’s face predatorial and eyes stunning as they met his. He was also bisexual, something Ethan’s mom had mentioned in passing and now he couldn’t stop thinking about. Ethan nearly dropped his phone, quickly grabbing the fork that was pushed his way to hide his tremor.

“Your mother ever teach you how to cook?” Jeff asked, cocking his hip and leaning against the island while he waited for Ethan to try the food. The hem of the man’s shirt was stretched over his hips in a way that revealed a flash of tanned abs and a sparse trail of hair leading beneath his pants. It was very distracting.

Ethan really wished the guy would look somewhere else so he could fucking breathe and stop feeling like an idiot already. He shook his head silently, finally giving in to his stepfather and scooping some food onto his fork. “Shit—I mean, this is really good. Uh, sir. T-Thank you.”

Jeff raised a brow at the stuttering boy, silently mouthing the word ‘sir’ to himself. His gaze slid down to where the blond had just nearly dropped his fork. “Well?”

Ethan jolted, looking up, the utensil now caught between his lips. “Um…?”

“Did Leah ever show you how to cook?” Jeff repeated, a slight smile curling the edges of his lips when Ethan began to flush.

“My mom’s not… She doesn’t cook,” Ethan mumbled, reaching for his phone with his other hand in the hopes of ending this absolutely alarming conversation where his stepfather looked at him and kept asking him about stuff.

“You wanna learn how?” Jeff prompted, watching as the blond boy tried to hide behind the small cell phone screen and eat another bite of food at the same time. “Seeing as you’re going to be around all day, and I do try to make it a point to eat.”

Ethan shrugged, grunting something noncommittal.

Jeff was not deterred, the man’s fingers curling around the boy’s wrist to guide his hand away from his face. When Ethan looked up, only blushing brighter now, he added, “And while I’m showing you how to cook, you can fill out some job applications.”

The man’s words sinking in, Ethan scowled, pulling his hand away to rest it on the table instead. His wrist felt like it was tingling where Jeff had touched it, an annoying distraction as he tried to state his case for not needing any job now that he had gotten his last year of high school out of the way.

“I don’t want a job. I’m starting college in a couple of months and I just want to chill for a bit before all that.”

“What, are you ancient? Decrepit? Eat your omelet.” Jeff turned away, going back to the stove and cracking more eggs into a bowl and whisking them with a fork. “You’re going to want money, right? You’re going to want to hang out with your friends. Gas cost money, kid. Concerts, food, the mall—Believe me, you’re going to want a job.”

“Really, I’m not,” Ethan muttered, glaring at his plate. He had only just started to feel the freedom of being out of school. All he wanted to do was hang out with his friends and maybe his house. “My mom will pay for all that shit.”

Jeff snorted, the trash bin rattling as he threw the eggshells into the wastebasket. “Like fuck, she will. Leah does enough without needing to pay for your lazy ass.”

“I’m not lazy,” Ethan said with a growl.

“Oh, did you pay for that $600 phone your face is always glued to? What about the nearly $100 a month it costs so that you can text your friends your every riveting thought as you have them? The motorcycle you’re driving or the insurance that allows you to do so?” Jeff turned, pointing the spatula at him when Ethan stood, the boy getting ready to escape. “What about rent? All that cardboard food you keep eating? Just where do you think the money for all that comes from? Not your schooling.”

Pursing his lips, Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not lazy. I’m just a kid.”

Jeff scoffed. “Not anymore, you aren’t. I don’t get why Leah didn’t have you working through summers. It’s time to grow the fuck up and start contributing. I’m not painting every day to keep your ass in designer jeans, kid.”

Glaring, a million scathing retorts swirling in his head, Ethan opened his mouth but nothing came out. Jeff’s eyes were blazing, the man unblinking and deceptively calm as he just stared him down. “No one asked you to buy me anything,” Ethan finally muttered, unable to meet the man’s glare any longer. He liked it, though. A part of him liked that Jeff cared enough to lend him money for things. His mother was never around but Jeff was, even if the guy didn’t talk to him as much as he’d like. Ethan had never had a dad before and Jeff was the closest thing to perfect in a lot of ways when it came to things like that.

“Hm.” His eyes narrowed, Jeff turned back to the stove, flipping his omelet before it started browning. “Don’t go running off until you eat. I don’t think you’ve had more than pizza and Cheetos this entire week.”

Sighing in exasperation, Ethan sat, glaring at the man’s back. Only to have his eyes inadvertently slide down, his gaze caught on Jeff’s ass when the man leaned over to grab the salt and pepper shakers. It was a decidedly interesting ass; firm, symmetrical and muscular. He hadn’t really known that he liked muscular asses but he definitely liked Jeff’s.

“You interested in anything in particular?”

Ethan jumped, his eyes snapping up. But the brunette was only looking at the pan, poking it with his spatula. “What?”

“For work. You have anything in mind you’d like to do?”

Ugh. “Play video games,” Ethan said flippantly.

“Cute. I’m sure people just hand you money for that shit.”

“Coming from the artist,” he muttered, stabbing at his omelet. That it was about the best thing he had tasted in as long as he could remember didn’t help his mood at all. “People pay you to hang out around the house painting pictures.”

“Not exactly.” Plating his food, Jeff turned the stove top off and poured himself a glass of fresh juice before sitting across from Ethan at the kitchen island.

“People buy a product from me. Now some pay for a service if they want to hire me to paint as a demonstration, or to design a mural, tattoo, whatever. But for the most part, I create something and people buy a print or the original. That’s how I can get away with hanging around the house all day; I’m selling even when I’m asleep. That doesn’t mean I don’t have to work it for clients at galleries and meetings that get my art on walls where people can see. Renting out one of my paintings to a business requires me to do more than just paint, but it’s worth the money that comes in. Half my income this month was just on rented paintings. They’re not even new pieces but they can pay the bills if you know what you’re doing.”

Ethan really didn’t want to care just how Jeff made his money. Unfortunately, he was finding it interesting and he sighed again, daring to look up at the man. Jeff’s head was ducked, a long lock of wavy hair brushing over one of his eyes, his mouth open as he took a bite of his breakfast. The man had ridiculously lush lips, full and red. Combined with his sharp features and strong jaw, he really was just the epitome of male beauty. Ethan idly wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips. They probably weren’t as soft as they looked. With Jeff’s bristle, it might even be prickly, a little rough.

Glancing up, Jeff caught Ethan staring at him, the boy immediately looking away. “You pick a major yet?”

Ethan shook his head weakly, hating how flustered he felt. “Mom said she was going to help.”

“Yeah, well waiting for Leah to pull herself from her work is like watching paint dry.” Jeff smiled grimly. “I can help you if you want. I’m surprisingly good at that kind of shit.”

Glancing his way a moment, Ethan shrugged. “Okay. Um, maybe tonight? Once I get back from hanging with my friends. I was thinking of something business oriented.”

He couldn’t help but wonder how quickly it had taken for Jeff to figure out just how unavailable his mother really was. It would probably still take the man a good year to realize she wasn’t going to change. And seeing as he married her, he might even stick it out longer trying to make it work. He was young still; he might think it was worth putting the effort in.

Ethan hoped he would. Not because he wanted to see Jeff break his heart but because he really liked having the man as a stepfather. Jeff was cool. Scary, but cool. Ethan had never had anyone actually care about him and even though Jeff breezed in and out most of the day between painting, the man was always saying and doing stuff that made it clear he gave a fuck. He was a calming presence. Sturdy and reliable. Ethan wasn’t used to having something like that and he’d be really pissed if his mother ruined it for him.

His mother had tried this time, he knew that much. Jeff was very different from what Leah usually dated. He was self-driven and had interests outside of just their relationship—Really important seeing as Ethan’s mother lived for her work and her last three relationships had failed because she couldn’t put enough time or energy into them. She was always at the office and when she was home, her head was at the office, planning new ideas, designing new rooms and buildings.

Leah Walde was an architect, a highly sought after one, and she had started her own firm ten years ago. Jeff had actually been commissioned to create a portrait of one of her more famous buildings and that was how they had met. That Jeff could balance his creativity with business savvy had been a good fit for Leah, even if Jeff didn’t have much interest in doing much beyond supporting himself so that he could continue his painting. It was still a step up from the last guy who had thought he was going to be some sort of jobless house husband.

“Any thoughts on what you want to learn how to cook for tonight?” Jeff asked, having a sip of his juice.

Ethan couldn’t help but stare; a droplet of moisture dripping from his stepfather’s mouth to trickle down his chin. God, what was wrong with him? He blinked, finding Jeff staring at him with a raised brow, the man waiting patiently for an answer. Ethan really didn’t have one. “Um, whatever you feel like eating, I guess.”

Grinning wickedly, Jeff put his glass down, leaning close and crooking his finger. “Careful there. I don’t think you could stomach half the things I eat, kid.”

His breath curling hot around his ear, Ethan’s breath hitched. He glanced Jeff’s way, feeling stupid as fuck when he caught the man still smiling. His eyes were sparkling at him, flashing with some hidden laughter that was making him feel hot inside. For a frozen eternity, he was certain the man was flirting with him and he had no idea how to respond.

Thankfully, Jeff seemed oblivious to his panic, the man reaching over and patting Ethan’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, kid, I won’t make you eat anything too healthy and green. Seeing the diet you’re coming from, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm your system with anything of substance.”

“Oh.” Gnawing on his bottom lip, Ethan slowly sank back in his seat, hoping his cheeks would stop burning soon. He had a sip of his soda, his gaze inadvertently drawn to his stepfather again. “Um… So, like, when did you know you were bi?” Ethan asked daringly, his heart feeling trapped in his throat once he got the question out.

Moving in a way that seemed just a little too casual, Jeff placed his fork down. “Young. Younger than you are.” He met Ethan’s curious gaze, his head tilting slightly. “Why? Does my sexuality make you uncomfortable?”

“Jesus, only when you say it like that,” Ethan muttered, covering his face with his hand for a moment. He peeked out, combing his fingers through his short blond locks. “Just… Did you know at the same time? Or was it, like, you liked one and then realized you liked the other later?”

Considering the question a moment, Jeff finally answered after having another drink of his juice. “Both. I had at least half a dozen crushes back then and it was pretty easy for me to see that gender was not a barrier for my attraction.”

“So bi people, they all know, like, at the same time, then? Like, if you’re going to be bi, you’re definitely going to know when you start getting crushes. It doesn’t, like, change?” Ethan asked nervously, his fingers twisting at his placemat.

“I’m not sure that would be the way I’d word it,” Jeff said carefully, studying his stepson’s face while Ethan bit his lip and looked at the table. “I think attraction is based on more than just a body, and sometimes when all the right elements come together, you might just find yourself looking at someone you weren’t expecting to be looking at.”

His brows furrowing at the answer, Ethan forced himself to look the man in the eye. “I’m not talking about love or shit. I’m not saying people can’t, like, fall in love and overcome gender or what have you. I just want to know if, you know, you can suddenly be attracted to…” He trailed off, waving his hand nervously.

“Are you worried you’re going to wake up wanting to suck cock?” Jeff asked blandly.

“Now you’re just being an asshole.” Scowling and beyond embarrassed, Ethan stood, more than ready to get away from this man that flustered the fuck out of him on so many different levels. “I don’t think there is anything wrong with gay people. That’s not what I was—”

“Sit your ass down, brat,” Jeff ordered quietly. “Did I say there was anything actually wrong with sucking cock?”

Ethan paused and glared at the man, his brain unfortunately now stuck on the question of if his stepfather had ever sucked cock and what that might look like. A beat later and he sat back down, his leg bouncing nervously. “I just want to know if you can, well… Like a…” He couldn’t say it and was only feeling more upset by the fact because it was Jeff he was trying to explain it to.

“Can you suddenly like someone of the same gender and still like the opposite sex as well?” Jeff supplied when Ethan seemed unable to continue on.

Pursing his lips, Ethan nodded sharply. “But more, can you just, like, suddenly like someone of the same gender. When you never did before. Not ever.”

“Not ever?” Jeff repeated, his eyebrows rising in disbelief.

“Not ever,” Ethan repeated sternly, daring him to call him a liar.

“Well, I’ve only ever had my own experiences to compare to, but if this has happened to someone, I’m pretty sure it’s not the end of the world.” He flashed the boy a comforting smile, placing his elbow on the table so he could lean his chin on his hand. “It’s not like this person would have to act on anything just because he felt something new. People get crushes all the time and don’t act on them.”

Ethan nodded, fairly certain Jeff had no idea just who he was crushing on by the casual air the man was giving off. “But it’s, like, normal?”

“As normal as the huge range of human sexuality can get.”

“But is it bi?” Ethan added, his expression again growing tense.

“It’s whatever that person wants it to be. A fluke. A one-time attraction… Or maybe it’s bi, and they’re just finding out.” Jeff’s smile had only grown, his eyes sparkling, and Ethan was feeling decidedly uncomfortable with just how nice the man looked with his perfectly white teeth.

“Stop smiling at me like that. I never said it was me,” he grumbled, grabbing his plate and jumping up to rinse it in the sink.

“Did I say I thought it was you?” Jeff asked, his smile now beaming. “Shit, are you going to start calling me dad now?”

“Fuck off,” Ethan snapped, grinning despite himself. “You’re lucky I call you sir.”

“Yeah, could you not do that? It’s weird—Children of the Corn weird. That would be a movie you’ve never heard of, by the way.” Jeff stood as well, stepping up behind Ethan at the sink with his empty plate in hand. “Just call me Jeff. ‘Hey you,’ if you’re feeling lazy.”

Ethan was having trouble focusing, Jeff standing far too close for him to notice anything else. God, it might be ‘normal’ but it was still really annoying to feel so fucking hot over someone. “Here, just…” He turned, taking the plate and fork from the man, nearly dropping both when their fingers brushed accidentally. Spinning back, he quickly washed them and put them in the dryer rack, his heart racing too fast in his chest. God, he hated this. Fucking hated it.

Jeff had stepped around the island and was drinking the last of his juice when Ethan finally got up the nerve to turn around. The faucet off, he crossed the kitchen to grab his phone.

“I start cooking around 6:30,” Jeff said, Ethan pausing mid-stride.

“Right. Um, I’m going to meet my friends tonight. Like, eightish.”

“Alright. It’s a plan.”

Nodding, Ethan edged to the door, slipping through with a quick backward glance. Jeff was staring back at him and for a frozen moment their eyes met, Ethan’s heart racing in response.

God, he really needed to get over this thing.

***

Son of a bitch. Bi? Was the kid bi now? Why did Ethan have to tell him he thought he might be bi? What was he trying to do to him?

Groaning inwardly, Jeff pressed both his hands on the kitchen island, leaning heavily over the countertop as he willed his erection down. One fumbling touch from the kid’s hand on his and he had gotten hard. Not good. Really not good.

Talking to Ethan had been a terrible, terrible idea. Sure, he had known he was being too antisocial and that he was worried the kid would start thinking he hated him. Leah hadn’t been around in forever, and he was pretty sure the kid had no adult supervision in his life but fuck… Fuck.

The things he would do to Ethan Walde if he hadn’t married the boy’s mother.

He was too young for him, didn’t know shit about life—And only ten minutes ago, decidedly straight. Many very good reasons Jeff had focused on whenever he found himself in the same room as the young man. But Ethan was also fucking delicious. He had soft, golden hair and wide, clear, green eyes, flawless skin and his average height was already filled out with muscle from his competitive soccer playing. That summer vacation had started and Ethan seemed content to haunt the kitchen and living room most hours of the day, half the time without a shirt on, had become a special type of hell for Jeff.

Cooking lessons? The kid needed to learn how to cook—to eat—but shit, why the fuck had he suggested cooking lessons? Knives and fire and the two of them in the somewhat cramped kitchen? Alone.

Dumb. Really fucking dumb.

He needed to get laid. That was all. He had gone into this thing with Leah with a predefined understanding that he needed sex more than she did and that she was more than happy to let him go out and get it as long as he was safe about it and he was home for the weekends to do family stuff. Of course, it had turned out that he had no problem being home on the weekends while Leah couldn’t seem to find her own house. Jeff hadn’t gotten around to checking out his options in the area. He had moved to a new town for Leah and although he was enjoying his large art studio, he hadn’t done much outside of the house besides grocery shop and jog in the morning. Something that was going to have to change if his sexy-ass stepson was hanging around all summer. And now bi.

The kid needed a job. Like yesterday.

Jeff could only hope that whatever reason Ethan had been looking at him strangely the last few weeks had to do with that conversation and would finally stop. The staring had been the icing on the shit cake of this insane situation. Ethan was probably just curious about the bi thing. More than a few guys were curious about the bi thing. It used to be the quickest way for Jeff to get a straight guy into bed—Just tell him he was bi and let him ask a million questions until he explained how much easier it was just to show than tell.

Not something he could do with Ethan. Not something he should even be fucking thinking about doing with the kid. Stepson. Young, naive, and very much off-limits for anything.

Hot, though. Really fucking hot. He had great nipples, the perfect size, pink spots just begging to be kissed, licked and then nipped sore. And his neck—he wanted to coat the boy’s long throat with his cum until it dripped down his toned torso like a pearly, dirty river. And if Ethan wanted to call him daddy while he was doing it, well, that would be more than fine with him.

“Jesus, get it the fuck together,” Jeff grunted to himself, his body lighting up with heat and his cock again hardening until it was pressed up against the side of the island.

It was time to start checking out his fucking options in the area. There was a bar within walking distance; some pool joint where he’d seen a mix of ages and sexes go in. He just needed to fuck something—preferably a hot twink that could pass for half his age so he could get this out of his system. Until then, he was going to have to settle for his hand and get the fuck back to work. He had a set of three paintings that Leah had commissioned from him for one of her older clients. It was guaranteed money and a potentially lasting connection if he got it all done in time and kissed ass well enough. That on top of his gallery opening in a week had him completely swamped. He couldn’t be wasting his time fantasizing about fucking his sexy-ass stepson.

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Bullying Teacher 5

Bullying Teacher

Picking up where book 4 left off, in the last installment of Bullying Teacher, Darien must find a way to break through Beau’s silence and insecurity to finally get the man to see their connection. He’s been working on his teacher for weeks but Beau just can’t seem to understand just how much he truly cares.

Darien hunts down the man that hurt his teacher but he still faces a dilemma. Frustrated with Beau’s continued refusal to reach out to him in times of need, Darien decides a proper punishment is in order, enlisting three of his very muscular, large friends to help assist in the night’s lesson.

18+ This serial contains explicit m/m sexual content, graphic language, violence, and themes of bondage, discipline, and some humiliation. Each episode is over 10,000 words long and should be read in order to be enjoyed fully.

10,000+ wrds, Published April 15, 2016.
Heat level: XXX

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT BULLYING TEACHER

on April 25, 2016
on December 25, 2016

Theresa rated it it was amazing

Shelves: keepers
4.5 stars Really good humiliation smut. Awesome DP scene. Syrupy sweet ending.
READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

Pulling a cigarette free, Darien lit it up in the hall the moment he stepped outside Beau’s classroom. His teach was trying to get some food down and he just needed to get the fuck out and breathe for a second. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something, and scream, and hunt down and destroy the fucker that had hurt his Beau. Instead, he was going to smoke for a minute then go back in and pretend he wasn’t a fucking mess inside so that the blond could feel safe.

Why the fuck hadn’t Beau called him?

He looked over to where Roland was typing on his phone, the man doing his magic with the guys back at their office to find every bit of information available on Collin Hayward. Darien hadn’t bothered to tell Beau that the business he had started when he was back in high school involved the finding of sensitive information and then the blackmailing of people that gave a fuck about if that information was shared. He had started the company with a few ex-military friends, some he had gone to school with, some who he knew from other connections. Once, he had thought he’d be using them just to find out if his father was looking to fuck with his life again. Now he had a feeling he might have to see if Roland knew how to hide a body depending on how bad the night went.

“Do you want me to call in a doctor?”

Darien shook his head sharply. “Not unless he asks for one.”

“Boss, he was practically catatonic when we got here. For all we know, his brain took a bruising from that hit to his face.”

Blowing a steady stream of smoke, Darien didn’t bother to answer. His teach could take a punch. He had seen him take worse at the hands of Blake and his bitch friends and hadn’t missed a fucking beat. No, his teach had gotten down on his knees, sucked him off like a pro, and then rode his fingers until he came. Pain was not a deterrent for the blond but an aphrodisiac. If Beau wanted a doctor, he’d ask. It was one of the many rules they had set up to make sure the blond wasn’t getting himself in too deep. Except, even with everything Darien had done, Beau had still managed to get hurt the second he was out of his sight.

Beau wouldn’t let him hire a bodyguard. It had been a huge sore spot for Darien, one that he was pretty sure was about to blow up after this. He just wanted to have a familiar guy with his teach, someone he could trust to make sure nothing went down when he couldn’t be there. But Beau thought he was being silly. The man didn’t want people thinking he was someone special or some stupid shit like that. But Beau was special. His teach was his fucking life and today had been a new kind of hell for Darien when the man hadn’t shown up for dinner.

He shouldn’t have let him leave without a bodyguard. He should have locked the man up in the fucking house and made him quit his shitty job. There was just something about Beau, something in his eyes that called to certain individuals to feed his need for pain. It made them want to hurt him, use him, and when his pretty teach was in the right headspace, Beau loved ever second of it and begged for more. But that was only when he was in that headspace and with someone that actually gave a fuck enough to figure out what he liked.

Tears. Fucking tears in those beautiful blue eyes, and not in a sexy way. No, in a fucking helpless way that wrenched Darien’s heart too painful to fathom. Beau could take a fucking punch but this thing, whatever had happened, it had hurt him in a way pain didn’t. He was doing his damndest to not imagine just how exactly that could have been.

“I gotta make some calls,” he finally said, crushing his cigarette beneath his heel and scraping it into the tile. “I want that fucker found, and I want him brought here tonight.”

“Here?” Roland looked up, pulling a second phone out while he continued typing one-handed on the first. “The school?”

Darien nodded, ignoring the questioning look his head of security was sending him. He needed to make sure that whatever had happened hadn’t fucked up his pretty teach forever. Beau had a special kind of wiring, one that demanded the right knowledge and a skilled touch. He knew the longer the problem stretched on and festered, the harder it would be to get Beau feeling like himself again. He wanted things taken care of asap. The fact that part of it involved beating the shit out of the deadman that had touched his Beau was just a total perk.

“We got him,” Roland called out before the boy could leave, pushing off the wall. “He just used his credit card in a restaurant less than twenty minutes away.”

“Danny?”

“Already on the way with Jordan. How do you want this guy brought in, boss?”

Darien considered, eying the picture Roland held up on the screen of his phone. “Keep him pretty. I want to fuck him up myself. Let me know when they get him here, but not in front of the teach.”

Roland nodded, texting as Darien spoke. “The guys dug up some more shit on him. Hayward was in a heavy scene about five years back. Used to frequent an underground club. Few regulations, lots of drugs. They were known for some pretty fucked up doms. A young man ended up dead and the place was shut down. Looks like Hayward’s aunt threw some money at some people and no one is saying shit.” He glanced up when Darien growled, fixing the boy with a look. “Hey, this is good news. With info like this, you have this guy by the balls.”

Darien just grunted, fighting back his anger and the pit of seething emotion beneath it. “You remember that kid I asked you to keep an eye on a few weeks back? Sutor’s brother, Rich? Did he ever get back to us on that thing we discussed?”

Roland nodded, already flipping through his other phone. “He seemed agreeable enough to it. Clean record. Able to listen.”

“I want him down here.” Hopefully, it would fix it.

In that moment, he felt like he was fighting fire with fire while holding onto the foolish hope the place wouldn’t burn down. But that was what Darien did. Every day he pushed forward, demanded the best from himself and everyone around him, and he prayed he wouldn’t trip and be stopped flat. Being with Beau had changed that. He had been allowed to take a beautiful soul and feed it, nurture it and give his teach everything the man could ever desire and he had felt at peace from it. Until someone had tried to take his teach away from him. Now Darien was back to trying to keep ahead of the consequences at breakneck speed while hoping he wouldn’t crash.

He had to suck it up. Push through and keep his eye on the prize along with every other cliche fucking saying that would help him get through this. Not for him but for Beau. His teach needed him strong. Darien didn’t feel strong; he felt absolutely out of control. The one man he gave a fuck about had been assaulted and he hadn’t been able to do a thing. He hadn’t even known until hours later. It didn’t matter what he did to this Hayward dick in retribution, it wouldn’t change the fact that he had failed Beau, that he could fail him again at any time. He could wrap the blond in fucking bubble wrap and order him to stay at his feet but Beau was going to pursue the things that brought him joy even when pain swiftly followed.

Sighing, he lit up another cigarette. He didn’t take pain as well as Beau did. He didn’t like to feel pain; he liked to push past it and let it spur him into action. Watching his pretty teach take pain was an experience unmatched by any other. The man was beautiful—strong in such a way he was never going to be, and so fucking beautiful. The man embraced the good and the bad, the pleasure and pain, and he transformed it into something beyond with his own body. Beau was fucking magic and didn’t even know it.

It didn’t matter how hard Darien pushed himself. Life wasn’t scripted and there was always something waiting in the dark to try and prey on the weak and unlucky. He could only protect his teach to the best of his ability and hope that Beau would be able to take the burden of pain when he failed. He’d be able to carry his teach through after, but he couldn’t change the fucking world that would break the man in the first place.

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Bullying Teacher 4

Bullying Teacher

Weeks later, now living with his wealthy student, Beau has lost himself in his relationship with Darien. Full of doubts and insecurity, not to mention a blossoming realization of his true feelings for his muscular master, things go bad in the matter of a day when a new professor arrives.

Collin Hayward has never met Beau, but he knows men just like him, or so he seems to think. Cornered and used, Beau doesn’t know if telling Darien is worth the loss of the one good thing in his life.

18+ This serial contains explicit m/m sexual content, graphic language, violence, and themes of bondage, discipline, and some humiliation. Each episode is over 10,000 words long and should be read in order to be enjoyed fully.

10,000+ wrds, Published April 15, 2016.
Heat level: XXX

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT BULLYING TEACHER

on March 3, 2017
on December 25, 2016
on April 25, 2016
READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

Eyes sliding slowly around the room, Beau tried and failed to relax in the huge bathroom of marble, stainless steel and glass he was in. It was very open, very spacious and he felt both small and exposed whenever he stepped inside the luxurious but sterile room. That was helped by the fact that all the blinds on the floor to ceiling windows had been left open, the early morning light bouncing off each shining white, silver and black surface. Outside the window, an expansive green lawn could be seen, the grounds looking more like they belonged to a golf course than surrounding a person’s home. Or should he say mansion? His student called it home but Beau was fairly certain the only way to classify the building was as a mansion.

He slowly stripped his new silky pajamas off, his eyes drawn to the mirrored wall where he could see himself reflected clearly. From the angle, it looked like he was outside standing on the lush grass instead of the cool marble tile. Slender, toned and lithe, Beau’s blue eyes couldn’t tear away from the red marks wrapping around his thighs and hips in faded slashes. He was always so surprised to see the marks on his creamy flesh in the light of dawn, how they had come to be there feeling like a foggy, heated dream of the evening before. He traced over a thin red welt that ran right across his left nipple, his body jolting as he remembered how he had earned it. Darien had said he was just too pretty, that he had been begging for it so bad the last time he had shown up to class with his pretty teach. The ruler was the only way to deal with such a bad teacher.

It had been a little over two weeks since he had moved in with his student and Beau still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or seconds away from ruining his life.

Stepping around the jacuzzi tub that took up the entire length of the windowed wall, Beau set the electronic shower. The thing could turn into a sauna with a push of a button but he wasn’t the type to indulge in such extravagances. The multiheaded jets that hit him in all the right spots was far more than he was used to. The water hot and steamy, he slipped into the spray, his golden blond hair quickly drenched as he was lost in the sounds and sensations of the shower.

It didn’t matter how much the glass steamed up, Beau still felt exposed, still felt like he was being observed through the large open windows of the bathroom. He wasn’t a vain man even if he was beautiful. He had used to hate how girly he looked, how women would refuse to date him because they thought he was prettier than them. Now he prized his beauty only as much as it gained him the attention of the one person he didn’t want to look away from him. He could be beautiful for Darien. If it kept the young man holding him tight and tying him up, Beau would be as pretty as possible.

There was a camera on the other side of the glass shower wall. He wasn’t sure exactly where, but Darien had insisted when he had first showed him the bathroom, pointing vaguely in the direction. It had been a terrible problem, one Beau had found worse in the mornings when he woke hard and Darien was still asleep. He turned his back to the windowed wall where the camera was supposed to be, one of his hands lightly bracing on the shower wall while his other moved down to his crack, his fingers probing into his hot, tight flesh still sore from the evening before. Darien wouldn’t be up yet, the boy rarely rising before ten am, but Beau had classes to teach and a job to get to. He’d have to wait until after the school day was over to feel the brunette’s claiming touch and get proper relief for the ache already building inside him. It didn’t stop him from driving his fingers deep inside his entrance, bending forward while gasping and putting himself on display for Darien just in case the boy did wake and look at the footage he kept of the bathroom.

That Darien had expressly forbidden him from coming without him present to see only made him harder.

Beau bit his lip, gasping softly under the sound of water hitting his flesh and the tile. It was only the second time he was trying this, still shy since having moved into the large mansion with his student. There weren’t a lot of places where he was alone, Darien usually right next to him. The idea of the boy watching him masturbate in the shower when he wasn’t supposed to was intense for him. He wasn’t even sure if there was really a camera. He wasn’t sure if Darien even looked at it if there was and if anything could be seen past the steam. But touching himself in such an open, spacious room felt hot like anyone could just walk by and see.

He really wanted Darien to see him. Really wanted the boy to know he was thinking of him with every plunge of his fingers into his passage.

His calves straining, he spread his legs wider on the slightly coarse stone floor that kept him from slipping. He clenched around his fingers, groaning lowly only to cover his mouth. Noises still made him feel like he was crossing a line and he could only allow himself so much before he got too shy. If Darien had been there, it would have different, but alone, Beau’s courage was very limited. Not that it was courage that had him riding his own fingers and whimpering desperately under his breath with each stroke that failed to hit his prostate. No, it was a mix of need and shame and giddy anticipation of the many things Darien had already done to him and would hopefully continue to do.

There was a noise under the sounds of the shower spray, Beau stilling his movements and pressing his face against the warming tile. His lashes dripping droplets of water, he slowly thrust his fingers in and out of his tight entrance when no new sounds were heard. He wanted to pretend he was being watched, his body flushed and tingling at the very thought. Darien had a slew of nameless servants that breezed through rooms silent as could be. On more than one occasion, he had been in the middle of a session with his student only to catch a glimpse of a person watching as they stepped by the door.

Beau groaned lowly, his muscles straining as he imagined those faceless people watching him now. He came with a cry, his passage clenched painfully tight around his fingers as he shoved them as deep as they could reach. Moaning, he ran his tongue over the immaculate tile wall, wishing he had a dildo or just his very large student to take him properly.

Hell, even alone he was getting messed up. He had to wonder if it was Darien doing it to him or just the craziness inside that had been allowed to be let lose.

The shower door clicked open, Beau gasping and staring straight ahead at the shower tile as cool air rushed into the enclosed space. For a frozen eternity, he questioned who it could be because he had yet to see Darien up this early. A servant? Maybe a relative of Darien’s that was wondering who the fucked up man was masturbating in the boy’s shower?

“Bad, teach. Very fucking bad.”

Melting at the words and the boy they belonged to, Beau raised his head, peeking over his shoulder. Darien was standing in the shower doorway, his muscular chest bare and tanned, black tattoos running over his thick biceps possessively. His hair was mussed from sleep, the boy dressed hastily in a pair of low hanging jeans, the bottoms already wet from the water spraying and bouncing off the floor.

Green eyes glared at him, Beau whimpering when he met that burning stare. He was in trouble and he couldn’t wait to find out what his punishment would be.

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