Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This story contains depictions of rape/sexual violence, homophobic slurs, cheating, stepdad/stepson incest, and other situations that readers may find offensive and/or triggering. Do not read this story if you are under the age of 18. All characters in this story are over the age of 18.
Hudson loved college.
He loved being able to pick whatever classes interested him and the challenge that came with playing football at the college level. He loved drinking and partying and hanging out with the boys, and he loved knowing there was a line of chicks out the door who’d be stoked to take him for a ride.
The day he finished finals was bittersweet; he was hyped to get a break from all the schoolwork, but he was hella bummed that he was saying goodbye to the good times, too.
It was the end of an era, but in a couple months he’d be back at bootcamp, training to failure and throwing up in ninety degree heat with the rest of the team. Then he’d be remembering how nice it was to kick back during summer break. Such is life.
The drive back to his hometown was chill, and he tossed a twenty to the guy he’d hitched a ride with who lived the next town over. “Thanks, man. Text me when you’re heading back to campus and maybe we can link.” They fist bumped then the dude drove off.
Hudson faced his house with a smile on his face, only for it to drop slightly as he tilted his head and examined the facade. Was he crazy, or did it look kinda different?
Hudson entered the house through the kitchen, hollering “I’m home!” so he didn’t freak his mom out by popping around a corner unexpectedly. However, he stopped short when he was confronted with the jumpscare of finding a huge, hulking dude standing at the sink drinking a glass of water. “Who the fuck are you?”
“This is my house,” the man drawled, unperturbed. “Who the fuck are you?”
He said it kind of mildly, like he was asking who won the game last night, but his voice was deep and growly. Menacing.
And Hudson was, like, not a giant, but he wasn’t small, either. He was the second string RB on a D1 team. But this dude was like…big. Big big. BIG. Hudson’s balls crawled back inside of his body just looking at him.
Maybe about six foot five and two forty, muscle bear/daddy vibes, with short black hair, thick dark brows, and lots of body hair. He had dark eyes, though Hudson couldn’t see the color from a distance; what he could see was that dude looked like a mean motherfucker. Maybe it was the frownie eyebrows or the sharp nose or something, but he looked like he ate nails and shat iron bricks, especially in that T-shirt with the sleeves torn off.
“How much do you bench, dude?”
The guy smirked. “More than your skinny ass.”
It was not a secret that those were fighting words. Hudson was a respectable one ninety, and he didn’t appreciate belittling comments. It would be one thing coming from the homie, some harmless ribbing, but this dude was a stranger.
Still, Hudson remembered his roots. The code by which he lived. His Eat, Pray, Love.
Also, he didn’t feel great about his chances of surviving a round with this guy–who apparently decided to squat in his house.
Alpha Tip #1 – (Be a Vegetarian and) Squash the Beef
Alphas stand up for themselves and don’t tolerate disrespect, but sometimes, the most Alpha move of all is to Squash the Beef.
Why be enemies when y’all could be homies? #onelove
He took a calming breath.
“Riiiiight,” Hudson said after a pause. “Anyway, I’m gonna call the cops, because this is actually my house, so.” He left it there, and the two men stared each other down.
After a moment, the older guy’s face broke into a friendly smile. “You must be Hudson. I’m John, your mom’s husband.”
He extended his hand.
Hudson stared at it blankly.
“I’m sorry, her what?”
John watched the kid, seeing a buffering pinwheel appearing over his head. Clearly, his mom didn’t tell him she was seeing anybody, let alone married. John didn’t take it personally. Sylvie was a beautiful woman but an alcoholic, and even though she was high functioning, she was more of an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ type of woman. The only reason John knew of Hudson’s existence was because she kept photos of him around the house, the most recent being from his high school graduation, the two of them posing side by side.
The resemblance was strong, but Hudson’s hair had grown a few inches since then, curly and soft, down to his shoulders.
“Husband,” John repeated, though he suspected the question was rhetorical. He delighted in seeing the kid’s face turn apoplectic, though, as he furiously typed on his phone.
Hudson: Some dude is in our kitchen saying he’s your husband
Sylvie: Omg yeah that’s john. He’s a good guy.
Hudson: Where are you?
Sylvie: @ office
Hudson: What office?????
His mom didn’t respond.
John met Sylvie when she was selling her place. She’d put an ad in the paper and he was looking to flip a house in an area where the property value was going up. While he was there, she'd explained her financial situation, and John had taken an interest. She was a sexy, forty year old woman who’d had a shit life but was making the best of it, which he found admirable. He also admired the fact that she’d dropped to her knees to blow him after he’d offered to pay for the house in cash.
Then she’d never moved out. They hadn’t discussed it or anything. She’d just stuck around.
Sylvie wasn’t great in the sack, but she was a willing hole; even when she was passed out, shitfaced drunk, he could deposit a load and go back to his business.
Age appropriate and basically a pocket pussy? An ideal candidate for marriage.
Sylvie had other benefits, too. She cooked and kept the house clean, and she even managed some of his other properties–a job that could get pretty involved–and she only called him out to ‘take out the trash,’ so to speak, every once in a while.
She was very self-sufficient. The gun helped. Even drunk, she was a damn good shot.
And her son was sexy.
“Sylvie didn’t mention you’d be back today,” John said.
Hudson looked vaguely ill. “I wanted to surprise her.”
“It’s lucky you didn’t,” John said. “I railed her on that counter this morning.” He nodded to where Hudson was leaning, and he jumped away from the counter as if it had burned him. “I’m just saying, you were a few hours away from an awkward encounter.”
Hudson gave him an incredulous look. “You don’t think that this is an awkward encounter?”
John grinned. “I like you, kid. I think we’re gonna get along real well. Now, come to the living room and have a beer with your new Daddy.”
Hudson’s expression turned scandalized. “Oh, fuck no. We’re not doing that.”
“You don’t like beer?” John asked. The anguish on the kid’s face was priceless. “I’m fucking with you, kid. Come on, let’s have a beer.”
John clapped Hudson on the shoulder hard enough that he stumbled forward a step.
Hudson was worried he was going to have an aneurism. This guy was so fucking weird and so fucking huge. Lowkey, Hudson was starting to feel like a hostage in his own home.
Hudson followed John trepidatiously to the living room. John sat on the couch and Hudson was about to sit in the recliner when John said, “No. Sit here.” He patted the spot next to him. It was a three seater.
He cracked open the beer and handed it to Hudson, who drank it down in a few gulps. He felt like he was going to need a buzz to get through this conversation.
John followed suit, then he said, “Bring over the rest of the pack.”
Hudson obeyed, debating running out the kitchen door while he was over there. Except he’d dropped his shit in the living room, and where the fuck would he even go? He had friends in the area, but…
He glanced back at John, who was eyeing him like a hawk.
Right.
Hudson wasn’t a little bitch. He could do this.
He cleared his throat and grabbed the beer, sitting back down next to John on the couch.
The Hudson Approach to Alphadom was to let his game, his physique, and his dedication do the talking. John did not seem like he was receiving the message that Hudson was a fellow Alpha. Actually, he was getting the feeling that John viewed him as some sort of prey.
Hudson really wasn’t tryna start shit with this bigass beefcake.
“So, like…do you live here?” Please, say no.
John took a long pull of his beer, building up the suspense before finally saying, “I do.”
Dammit.
Squash the beef, he reminded himself.
Maybe they just got off on the wrong foot.
“Nice. Uh…what do you do for work?”
“I’m retired,” John said. At Hudson’s surprised look, he added, “Semi retired. I started a business young and it took off, so I don’t need to supervise as closely. Now I’m just looking for the next thing.”
“Sick,” Hudson said, nodding slowly. Was he crazy, or did John keep staring at his hair?
“Tell me about yourself, son. What are your plans for the summer?”
Hudson shrugged. “Hang out with my mom and some high school friends. Maybe go on a road trip or something. I have bootcamp in July so I can’t fuck around too much. Coach will ream my ass if I get outta shape.”
John smirked. “I’m sure he will.”
Hudson went over what he said, trying to figure out why John was looking at him like that, all suggestive, then his cheeks flushed. Hudson wasn’t homophobic–he was for sure an ally–but he wasn’t loving the vibe here. Because call him crazy, but John was giving the vibe that he wanted to fuck Hudson. As in…in the ass. And that wasn’t his thing. He was the fucker. With women.
Well.
Fucking women was kind of exhausting, but that wasn’t the point right now.
“You wanna watch something?” Hudson asked, gesturing towards the TV.
“Sure, kid,” John said, nodding towards the remote, giving him permission to choose.
Hudson decided on an action flick and settled in, only to realize that John’s brawny arm was slung over the back of the couch, brushing against Hudson's shoulders. He sat up straighter, scooting away.
“Sit back down.”
The tone brokered no argument, and Hudson stopped moving and sunk back into the couch. If he was being so for real with himself, he was feeling a little weird. Like, he was pretty sure this dude was tryna fuck him.
But John was his mom’s boyfriend, and he was a total man’s man. Like super masc. Hudson was practically throwing wood from the amount of testosterone dude was giving off–no homo. And like, his mom was old, no offense, and he didn’t want to fuck things up for her by calling shit out for being weird, then it turning out that he was reading the room completely wrong.
“Come sit next to Daddy,” John urged.
Okay, see, there was no fucking way he was reading that wrong. “Nah, I’m good.”
John growled. Actually growled. And Hudson was about to nope the fuck out of there, but John clapped a hand on his shoulder and tugged him into his side, shoving him under his armpit so he could get a damp, hairy whiff of his BO, all man musk and deodorant.
He smelled like the gym, and the gym always got Hudson kinda revved up, which was the only reason he was chubbing a little bit.
“That’s a good boy.” The growl sounded less growly now, more like a purr, but still a little threatening. Like Hudson was one wrong move from getting eaten. John patted his head like he was a dog. “I like this hair, kid. You look exactly like your mom, but twenty years younger–” And six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. “I bet your snatch is even tighter.”
Hudson felt a little green around the gills. First of all, disgusting. Second of all, “I’m a man.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” John said after eyeing his face critically. “You got real feminine features. You’re girl pretty. But maybe I’ll make a man of you yet.” He smiled lecherously. “We got all summer.”
Oh, shit. Hudson went to stand, but John’s arm was immovable. Which was crazy, because Hudson was a quad god from all the squats he did. “Respectfully, I’m not interested,” Hudson said.
“Quiet, boy,” John barked. “I’m watching a movie.”
“What the fuck,” Hudson whimpered to himself.
John suddenly yanked him down over his lap and wrenched off his shorts. Hudson yelped and thrashed, trying to escape John’s iron grip. The old man was pawing him like he was a piece of meat. Then his hand cracked down on Hudson’s ass, and he tried to writhe away from the touch, which pressed the man’s erect, alarmingly large cock into his belly.
“You got a female’s ass,” John observed.
“Dude!” Hudson sputtered. “This is fucking rape, bro!”
“This is assault,” John corrected, then he jammed a finger into Hudson’s crack and past his sphincter, totally dry. “And this is sodomy.”
Hudson went a little wild for a second, and he managed to roll off of John’s lap, thudding to the floor and scrambling away. Just when he thought he was free, he was tackled flat to the carpet with an oof.
“You’re a bad little girl, aren't you?” John growled as they grappled.
“Dude!” Hudson’s voice was desperate, his shorts still under his ass and falling lower as he tried to inch away. His cock was a few hasty moves from popping out. “What the fuck? I’m a man, bro!”
Hudson said a vehement ‘fuck squashing the beef’ and went full jiu jitsu on his ass, but John managed to pin Hudson against the couch in a seated position. John was hovering above him on his knees, shins planted over Hudson’s, restricting any leverage he could gain. He tugged off his belt and wrapped it around his elbows at his back, forcing his chest up and out.
Hudson was furious and spitting like a cat, zero finesse to his fighting now. Completely at John’s mercy, he still tried to smash his forehead into the man’s nose. Hudson only managed to clip him, but John’s nose did start bleeding, which satisfied Hudson immensely–despite being in the splash zone.
John grinned, blood coating his teeth and the lower half of his face, all the way down his neck to his collar. He looked like a crazed villain in a slasher flick just then. A very different vibe than the stoic blue collar guy he’d seen upon first entering the house.
“You gonna behave?” John asked.
Hudson spat in his face, which made John’s grin widen–his only warning before he got punched. His body flew sideways, unable to brace himself with his arms bound behind him, and he thudded to the carpet. He was getting really sick of being forced onto the floor
Hudson’s mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood, and when John righted him, he spat in his face once more, beyond giving a fuck.
John grabbed a fistful of Hudson’s hair, wrenching his head back and forcing him to stare up into his eyes, nose to bloody nose.
“You got two options,” John said, slightly out of breath but tone easy. “You suck my cock, or I fuck your ass dry.”
Hudson’s asshole clenched on instinct, horrified at the concept. It had not enjoyed the dry prodding of the man’s fat finger. “Fuck no! Dude, not to be homophobic, but I’m not gay!”
“It’s not about being gay,” John said. “It’s about seeing a pretty pussy ripe for the taking. I can tell you need a man, sweetheart. You’re a little girl now. Let me turn you into a woman.”
Alpha Tip #2 – Progressive Overload
Don’t be complacent! Gradually increase the amount of stress on your body over time!
Don’t be afraid to switch things up, try something new, or cross train.
Hudson had a morbid curiosity about what the behemoth was packing, but he didn’t want to send the wrong message, so he refused to look. He’d caught a peek earlier, though, and that bulge was bulging, and it felt big when he’d rubbed against it.
“Asshole it is,” John said, moving to sit up.
“Wait!” Hudson cried, automatically trying to reach for him and being reminded his arms were still trapped behind his back. “Shit, wait, just let me fucking think!”
Alpha Tip #3 – Work Smarter Not Harder
Be as efficient as possible. Don’t be afraid to think outside the box! People always look at innovators sideways until their ideas catch on.
Okay, he was going to get raped either way. His options were throat rape or ass rape.
What was gayer?
Hudson’s spring semester had only ended that morning, and he was already willing to trade free time and warm weather for back to back classes, homework, football, and social obligations. No one had tried to ass rape Hudson at school. He knew it happened, sure, but like…not to him. That was chill as fuck.
One thing Hudson didn’t like about gender roles in heterosexual hookups was the expectation that men had to initiate everything. Hudson found hooking up to be a tedious process. The time, money, and mental drain that went into courtship—oftentimes just for a hookup—was ridiculous. By the time Hudson got to the actual fucking, sometimes, he was exhausted. But the chicks still expected him to do all the work! He wasn’t a machine.
It might be nice to just lay there.
John chuckled, unzipping his pants and letting his massive schlong fall out. It was tan, uncut, fat as fuck, and already dangling at around eight inches. And it wasn’t even fully hard!
Hudson grimaced. “Jesus, dude. My mom takes that pipe? You could use that thing to pump gas!”
John reached for Hudson’s shorts, and Hudson squirmed ineffectively. “Wait, wait!” John paused again, giving him a raised brow. Somehow, he still hadn’t completely lost patience, which was a little creepy given the fact that he was crazy enough to be a whole ass rapist, but whatever.
“Alright, okay, counteroffer: what if we did it up the ass, but with lube? And go slow! I’m an ass virgin, dude, you can’t just launch that motherfucker inside of me like the Apollo and not expect me to shit in a bag for the rest of my life.”
John considered it for a moment. Then he nodded.
Hudson sighed in relief.
“If you move, I’ll hunt you down and rape your ass with a baseball bat,” he said calmly.
“I think you mean sodomize,” Hudson replied dejectedly.
John laughed and patted Hudson on the face in a condescending–and painful–gesture. “I’ll be right back.”
John returned from the kitchen with a bottle of olive oil.
“Olive oil breaks condoms,” Hudson said numbly.
“I’m not using a condom.”
Anger returned. “I don’t want your dirty dick shooting in me!”
John just chuckled and said, “Get my dick hard.” And he stepped right up to Hudson’s face where he was still sitting on his ass, swinging that obnoxiously long, forearm sized rod.
Mother Mary. Hudson grimaced. That thing was gargantuan. It had to be at least nine inches and as wide as a can of whipped cream–and, on record, still not fully erect.
Hudson had the sudden urge to cross himself.
“Suck it good or I’m not using lube,” John warned.
Hudson glanced over at the crucifix on the wall. What would Jesus do? he wondered.
Jesus looked back at him placidly like the fucking Mona Lisa, and Hudson swore he heard a voice in his mind whisper: Turn the other cheek.
Hudson bit the bullet, so to speak, and leaned in, taking the head into his mouth with the same gusto one might take a shot of cough syrup–with their eyes closed and nose plugged.
Hudson sucked on as much of the dick as he could take. It wasn’t as difficult as he thought it would be. He didn’t understand why girls made such a big deal about giving blowjobs when most dicks were literally half the size of this weapon of mass destruction.
Unfortunately, John took that as a sign that he should thrust deeper, and Hudson had nowhere to go to get away from it.
Hudson pulled his legs up to his chest and rolled sideways to dislodge it enough to breathe. The cut he had in his mouth from getting punched was bleeding again. He retched and spat on the carpet.
John grabbed him by the hair, about to shove back into his mouth.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Hudson yelled, panicked. “Free my arms and I’ll use my hands too.”
“Nah, I’ll teach you how to deep throat.”
Hudson gave him a disbelieving look. “What, you don’t want a ball tickle?”
John seemed to consider it, then agreed. “Alright, faggot.”
Hudson had to admit that John’s cock was nice–it was squishy but firm–and when he stooped over Hudson to loosen the belt on his arms, the dick pressed against his face, one of the big balls settling on his eye like a little mask. He was sure he looked ridiculous, but no one could see him, so…
Hudson worked in his newly freed hands, one cupping the large sack and the other stroking the shaft. It was only after a few seconds that a distinctive taste registered to him.
With horror, Hudson looked up at John, who’d been letting Hudson freestyle the cocksucking for a bit. “...why does your cock taste like pussy?”
John grinned down at him. “I told you I fucked your mom earlier.”
Hudson began to dry heave again until eventually some of the beer made a reappearance. Since John hadn’t had the decency to give him breathing room, he threw up on his cock. John didn’t seem bothered; in fact, he barked out a laugh like Hudson’s suffering was comedic. The sick fuck had knowingly made Hudson taste his own mother’s secondhand pussy juices.
Hudson had no idea how he’d be able to look at his mother after today.
John couldn’t help but be entertained by the kid’s antics. He was a little princess, that was for sure. “Quit crying, boy.”
Hudson looked up at him, cheeks blotchy and eyes streaming tears. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
John shrugged. That was a good question.
He poured olive oil on his cock and jacked it a few times. “Turn over.”
Hudson wasn’t feeling particularly compliant anymore. He refused to do as he was told, and he kicked out when John reached for him. “No!”
John wrestled him onto his stomach. He picked up the belt he’d discarded earlier and used it to spank the kid’s ass a dozen or so times until he was stunned into stillness. Then he yanked down the boy’s shorts, revealing a jockstrap.
“Damn, baby,” John muttered. “Look at those cute little panties.”
Hudson glared over his shoulder at the nasty old fart.
John slapped both hands on the little jock’s bouncy ass, spreading his cheeks and looking at the little pucker hiding between them. He had a feeling his stepson’s cooter was gonna be tighter than hell.
John spat on Hudson’s hole, and it winked at him as the slobbery spit slid down his crack. He spat a few more times, getting it nice and wet.
“Lube!” Hudson shrieked when he felt John’s fat cockhead poking at his entrance.
“It’s on my cock, crybaby,” John replied, nudging his hole over and over until it finally breached.
Hudson inhaled sharply, eyes watering at the intrusion. Holy motherfucking shit that burned. “Dude!” Hudson whined pathetically.
“Oh, that’s Daddy to you, sweet pea,” John rumbled, pushing in another couple of inches. He took out the olive oil and poured it down the kid’s back and ass, making his muscles pop and shine in the light. “Damn,” John mumbled to himself. “That’s a nice jock pussy.”
“Don’t ruin my jockstrap!” Hudson protested, sounding more like a chick than he had all afternoon.
“I’ll buy you a new one, baby girl,” John promised, running his fingers through the mess of olive oil, spreading it around. He teased and petted Hudson’s hairy hole where it stretched around his cock. “You’re going to start waxing this, sweetheart.”
Hudson made an unhappy sound, a mix of a whine and grumble that was not unlike an annoyed dog. John popped him on the ass. “Hush.”
Hudson sank deeper into the couch, accepting defeat, trying to relax as he was split in two. His asshole was on fire, and it felt like his guts were being rearranged. If John pushed in another inch or two, he’d be able to piss out of Hudson’s mouth like he was a fountain.
“Good boy,” John praised emphatically as he pushed in the last inch, hips pressing into Hudson’s ass.
John had stuffed his fair share of hunks over the years, but his stepson might be the prettiest. If he got him working at one of his properties, he’d bring in thousands a week. It wasn’t a bad business idea, but John wasn’t sure if he was willing to share his baby girl just yet.
He tried a few shallow thrusts. The kid shook and twitched like he was having a seizure.
John wasn’t a total bastard, so he held still for a moment, allowing Hudson to recover. He was starting to like the kid, dammit, especially now that he knew he was a little spitfire.
“You okay?” John asked, real concern etching his voice.
“Big,” Hudson wheezed, blindly reaching back—whether to anchor himself or shove John off, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he wasn’t successful. “Like a semi truck parked in my ass.”
John waited a few more minutes then twitched his hips experimentally. No reaction. He leaned over Hudson’s shoulder to check his expression.
Hudson looked…not all there. There was a puddle of drool forming where his cheek pressed to the cushion, eyes glazed. Almost catatonic.
He thrusted his hips again, just a few inches drawn out and back in. Hudson only twitched, otherwise catatonic. He was concerned that he’d already broken the boy.
Fuck it. John got a good rhythm going. If the boy was going to be like his mom when she was three sheets to the wind, he’d deposit his load and go back to business. Besides, he’d been right: his pussy was even tighter than his mom’s. John grabbed his hips tightly and lifted so he could get a better angle.
Suddenly, like a dying man injected with epinephrine, Hudson came to with a ragged gasp. “Fuck me right there!” he screamed.
John’s face broke into a mad grin. What an exciting turn of events! Perhaps not all hope was lost.
“Ask your Daddy nicely.”
Hudson slammed his fists into the couch frustratedly. “Fuck me, Daddy!” he growled.
What a bossy little bottom, John thought with pleasure. “That wasn’t very nice.”
Hudson let out a frustrated growl, looking over his shoulder to glare at John. “Please, Daddy, fuck your son’s tight little hole. Rape me, Daddy. Fuck me so hard I can’t walk for days. Fuck, I’ll shit out of a bag if you just get your monster cock inside your baby girl, Daddy!”
John slammed the whole length in while Hudson was mid sentence, and Hudson’s demands cut off with a shriek of pain. He clawed at the couch and kicked back, changing his tune, trying to escape the cock he was impaled on. His ass squeezed him like a vice.
John continued to rapid fuck the little shit, balls slapping his taint with a wet sound from all the oil and spit.
His baby girl became a man possessed and started throwing his ass back to meet John’s thrusts.
“Harder! Faster! Deeper!” Hudson cried, not recognizing his own voice. He thought that sex with a dude would be nice because he wouldn’t have to do as much work, but he found he didn’t want to be a passive participant, and John was finally giving him some leeway, letting him match him thrust for thrust. “Yes, Daddy!” Hudson took his cock in hand and jacked his meat in time with John’s thrusts. “You’re going to make me cum on your big fat cock, Daddy!”
John went feral, hands gripping Hudson’s hips hard enough to bruise. More drool began to pool where his head once again pressed into the cushions, and his whole body began to shake with shudders, hole spasming around John’s cock as he came with a guttural scream.
Hudson marveled at the older man's stamina as he continued to relentlessly fuck him through his orgasm. A few minutes later, John came with a roar that practically shook the walls.
Hudson moaned and spurted another jet of semen as John unloaded in his stretched asshole. He could feel the pulsing of his meat and the wet splashes of cum coating his walls. If he was a chick, he definitely would have gotten knocked up—the man was a stud.
“Holy shit,” John rasped, and Hudson preened.
Later, he’d wonder what the fuck was wrong with him for feeling proud of himself for getting his rapist to nut in his ass, but now, he felt like he had an ass forged by the gods—especially since it was still intact after that monster battered him open.
We’re doing that again, Hudson thought.
Then he passed out.
Author's Note: This was one of those 'write whatever strange thoughts that come to mind' projects, and I'm pretty pleased with the outcome.
If you're reading this, thank you! I love creating things and actually getting to share them somewhere, because most–actually, all–of my stories on here either a) violate KDP guidelines or b) aren't marketable (stories with infidelity, noncon, etc. and stories without a guaranteed HEA.) I love writing but when I know it is just going to sit in my google docs for the rest of time, I'm like 'why bother?'
I know this sounds like an award speech, I just am very happy to be sharing this and want to tell y'all who got this far how happy it makes me that I got to show you something I made.
