Dahlia And The Kindred Prisoner

Dear reader,

Thank you for choosingDahlia and the Kindred Prisoner.

Writing erotica is a passion of mine -- an escape and an act of appreciation for the beauty of sex. Dahlia embodies that passion, my love for the unconventional and daring, and I hope you'll find her as captivating as I tried my humble best to portray her for you.

If you enjoyed this story, please share it and let me know your thoughts in the comments.

--John D.

Dahlia And The Kindred Prisonerby John D.

Dahlia And The Kindred Prisoner

by John D.

Dahlia tracked the ceiling fan's lazy spin, her hazel eyes barely visible in the nightstand's dim light.

Breathe.

Fixating on one simple thing often helped when the anxiety hit. It was Dahlia's little trick for steadying herself.

Her chest played its dreadfully familiar rhythm, slowly rising and falling.

She'd needed that escape three times this week alone. Her body cringed. It was starting to wear on her.

Two and a half years, she thought.

Crossing the country alone, no friends, no family. Moving into this little apartment.

Working at MGH was nice. The fellow nurses had even welcomed her with cake and warm hugs, never judging, always kind. They had become good friends quickly.

But even here, in Boston, the same traumas bled through the walls: The fighting. The venom. The violence.

Memories of mom crept into Dahlia's breath. Her voice on the phone. Sobbing. Telling her she wouldn't have to worry about the daughter who had once been her son. That the door would always be open for her, away from it all. Away from Dad.

Dad.The spite in him, loud enough for Dahlia to hear it through the phone as if he was standing next to her.

"No idea how I ever conceived a pathetic bitchboy like you! You're the worst mistake of my god damned life! Go on and get that AIDS, faggot! I hope you die slow!"

He'd screamed those words with glee. Eager to sink one last dagger of his toxin into her--one last reminder of what he was: Loving once, but only for a pink slip, booze and Facebook feeds to reveal his true nature; a man abusing his family like it was a sport.

"I love you! I willneverstop loving you, child! Please be careful out there, okay?" mom had cried. Devastating tears in her voice so painfully audible. Then she suddenly hung up.

Keep breathing.

The pain wasn't coming from Dahlia's past that night.

It came from the apartment next door.

Abigail Turner.

A soft, troubled chuckle left Dahlia, mocking the irony of it all.

The woman was pretty much the female version of her father. Almost as if his poisonous ghost had followed her here.

Abigail's son had endured her vile antics much like Dahlia did with her father. And like her, he moved out as soon as he got the chance, leaving her husband Brandon alone to absorb all of her venom.

Poor Brandon.

The man was just too benevolent for his own good. Such a kind, quietly strong soul.

Dahlia remembered how she first moved in.

He carried boxes for her, mounted lamps, even fixed her dishwasher. Anything that needed repairs, or a man's strength, he helped without asking for anything in return. Always stayed polite and unobtrusive no matter how daring she dressed. The guy was quite simply an angel of kindness, dressed in flannel shirts and tranquility honed by hard labor.

It only made her wonder more why such good people stay with these demons. Why stay shackled in this prison of abuse and neglect?

She'd never understand. The thought left her--

BANG!

Shock. Rupture. Rumble.

Another slam on the floor.

Dahlia jolted upright in sudden panic, heart slamming into her ribcage.

"What the fuck was that?!" she whimpered.

Fear. Adrenaline.

It sharpened her awareness in an instant, head turning, eyes darting through the apartment, searching for threats.

Then she realized what it was.

Abigail had thrown something heavy.Very heavy.

It must have struck the wall on the other side of where Dahlia's bed was; hit it with such heft, it rattled the walls, made the small lamp on Dahlia's nightstand almost fall over.

The sound of it was brutal. Whatever that crazy bitch hurled Brandon's way could've hurt him badly, possibly even killed him, if not for the evil cunt's drunken aim.

Screams followed. They were sharp and slurred.

Soul-crushingly hurtful, they made Dahlia's chest tighten up into a ball of sorrow and sympathy for the man they were expertly aimed at.

And worse still, Brandon's voice barely registered beneath them. Just low murmurs of defeat and the terrifying tone of someone who had no choice but to become numb in the face of such vitriol. Murmurs she knew from herself. From her mother.

That night, listening to it all, Dahlia had enough. Made her choice.

She would help this man. And she knew exactly how.

Casting Bait

Casting Bait

"Don't forget the fucking eggs, asshole!"

Next morning, Abigail's harrowed voice pierced the wall again. But this time Dahlia was ready for it. Used it to steel her conviction.

Moments later she cracked her door just as Brandon stepped into the hall.

A tired frown softened to the kind smile that always made her feel better.

Dahlia watched his eyes betray him for a heartbeat, sliding down from her hazel gaze to the white crop top clinging to her chest and the tiny cotton shorts hugging her hips.

She leaned her shoulder into the frame, to give him a better angle as she crossed her arms: the lower curve of her ass on display. A sweet, unsolicited invitation to guess the rest. It made a tingle travel up her spine.

"Good morning, Mr. Turner!"

"Hey there. How's my favorite neighbor doing today?"

"I'm youronlyneighbor."

"Well," he shrugged. "Then I guess you win by default."

She laughed softly. "Going shopping?"

"Yeah. Need anything?"

"No... but my kitchen sink's acting up again. Think you could take a look?"

"The siphon? Didn't I seal that last time?" He sighed. Checked his watch. "Tell you what. Let me grab the groceries before Abi has my head. Gotta feed the mistress. I'll bring tools around... eleven?"

"Eleven it is. Thanks, Brandon."

She added a wink on the way back in. "And don't forget the eggs. Keep that head of yours."

His chuckle said he understood more than he wanted to admit.

Charade

Charade

By eleven, Dahlia's nerves buzzed like live wires.

She remembered the last time she had been this nervous like it was yesterday.

Constantly checking the clock on her phone. Sitting on that cold bench in the drizzling rain. Anxiously waiting for the Greyhound that would take her from one coast to the other.

Dahlia mustered her reflection in the mirror across the room: pale, slim legs catching a streak of sun through the window.

An oversized black tee hid her pristine curves. The softness of a young woman, perky tits to match, her male DNA only to be found whenever the tiny bulge between her legs allowed it to be seen.

Captivating. A sight to behold. Good diet and the hormones she decided to take, aiding her years long journey. Dahlia had molded herself to a stunning expression of her desire to make the outside resemble the beautiful person she was inside.

There were no shorts to be found on her now, just a black lace thong hiding away under the long black tee.

Following its many creases and folds with her eyes, Dahlia ruffled her pixie cut, wondering if the outfit was too obvious.

The ringing doorbell snapped her out of her doubt.

"Too late now," she whispered, padding barefoot to the door.

Subtly creaking hinges opened the door just enough to show her face. Dahlia tried her best to keep her voice steady. "Hey. Thanks for coming."

"Sure thing." The warm, dependable smile greeted her again, toolbox in hand, red and rust-stained from years of use.

It looked every bit as heavy as it was, the flex of Brandon Turner's forearm effortlessly carrying it as he stepped inside. It made Dahlia's chest tighten.

Admirable focus of a man coming to help. He crossed to the sink and crouched.

"Alright, let's get this stubborn little guy to stop messing around," he muttered, rolling up his sleeves.

She watched in silence, her conviction hardening into full-blown determination with every second.

How had she not seen Brandon like this before? Attractive. Tall. Muscular.

His dark, well-groomed stubble caught her eye. The way it accentuated his jawline. Masculine. Strong. Skin rugged and tanned from long days working under the sun.

Dahlia mentally slapped her forehead. Right in front of her, all this time, was the exact kind of man she often fantasized about on lonely nights with the not-so-small toys tucked in her nightstand.

And he liked her, too.

It wasn't just her imagination. She'd caught it more than once: The telltale glimmer in his eyes whenever he thought she wasn't looking, darting away in guilt, like he wanted to say something but swallowed it down with his wedding vows.

Brandon Turner wanted her. She'd seen it. Felt it. He just wouldn't let himself admit it. And for reasons she didn't know, Dahlia had ignored it.

Maybe it was the age gap. More likely than that it was the ring on his finger. A straight, married man. Polite, forthcoming. But that didn't change the suppressed desire she'd felt so deep in those hidden looks.

Older men weren't exactly strangers to her own fantasies either. Especially when she had her toys buzzing and her porn flicks glowing late into the night. Digital refuge for a young trans woman too leery, and caught up in her job to find herself getting involved with the type of man she really craved.

The truth of her experience here in Boston was rather bitter. Despite her beauty, despite her charm, all four men she'd touched so far had amounted to nothing more than closeted cowards, spilling fast and bolting in shame the second she laid hands on them.

But Brandon was different. His hunger was real. It came from a place of genuine appreciation. He just needed someone ruthless enough to tear down that wall for him.

Enough thinking. Time to execute.

Brandon hadn't yet noticed the bare skin under her shirt.

Dahlia patiently moved closer, picking her moments carefully. When he finally looked up, his eyes drifted again, just for a second, then snapped back to hers with an adorable glimmer of embarrassment in them.

It's working, she thought, catching all the forbidden places he'd just looked.It wasn't just imagination.

"Sorry," she said softly. "Was about to put pants on when you rang, but I didn't want to keep you waiting. Hope you don't mind."

He cleared his throat. "Oh. Don't... worry about that," then ducked back into the cupboard quickly enough to betray the hint of nervousness.

Brandon's reaction made Dahlia flash a mean little grin to his back. He started rummaging out pots and things she'd left there on purpose, to give herself opportunities she needed to take a few silent steps closer. Close enough that when he'd look at her again, he'd see exactly what she wanted him to.

Checking. Feeling. Fussing with the pipes for a few minutes, then he frowned. "Uh... Dahlia? You sure this thing's leaking? Looks bone dry to me."

She leaned in. Her voice was low with playful conspiracy.

"Of course it is." she revealed, "You fixed it last time, remember? Things you fix don't break again."

It hit him like lightning. His eyes flicked to her thighs, to the flash of thong beneath the shirt. Silence loaded with struggle.

"Can I ask you something, Brandon?" she murmured, dropping to her knees beside him.

He hesitated for a second. "Yeah... sure."

Dahlia leaned over, gently reached for the hand he still had in the cupboard, wrapped hers around it and covered it with the other. Compassion softened her face in the comforting touch.

The move startled him. Discomfort from not knowing where all this was headed.

"You probably know I heard what happened last night," she said. "I wanted to talk to you about it. So I hope you're not angry about this little charade."

Sorrow hit his expression. His hand tightened in hers. He sighed deeply, shook his head, stammering, "Oh... that... I... I'm so sorry, Dahlia. Abigail, she... you know... well you shouldn't have to hear all that. It's inappropriate. I'll make sure it never happen--"

"Brandon," she cut in softly. "I know.It's okay. There's just something I need to understand."

His brow furrowed. "Understand?"

A shuffle of knees brought her a little bit closer.

"Yeah. How come a man as kind, helpful, and good-looking as you," Dahlia whispered, "stays with someone who treats you likethis?"

An eyebrow of her meaningful expression glanced at the wall behind her bed; hinted at the testament of viciousness she'd certainly find on the other side, left behind from last night's projectile.

Struggle for words in him made Dahlia move closer again. She breathed him in. Flannel, wood, pine, rosemary and potent masculinity. The scent almost made her shiver with attraction. She tried to not let the enticing aromas cloud her judgement just yet, needing to steer this conversation where it had to go.

"You don't have to answer," she added quickly, squeezing his hand. "I didn't mean to intrude. It's just... I just needed you to know... you don't deserve what she does to you. I'm sorry."

Win-Win

Win-Win

Brandon met the striking eyes of a soul who genuinely cared for his wellbeing. It was a gesture a man like him rarely, if ever, experienced.

Something fragile and intimate passed between them.

"No, Dahlia. Don't apologize." he sighed. "Thank you... it means a lot. I just wish the walls were better built so you wouldn't have to hear so much of this shit."

Even with her almost in his lap, he tried to protect her. Always the problem-solver. It made Dahlia ache more. But she couldn't allow herself to give in to the sorrow.

"Always fixing things," she teased, softly letting go of his hand. "But rebuilding this place isn't much of an option, is it?"

A smirk. His tension eased in the welcome shift back to his comfort zone. Building. Fixing. "Is that a challenge, young miss?" he smiled, "Wouldn't take more than a few days. You'd be surprised what a sledgehammer, some supports, a couple layers--"

She laughed and stopped him a second time. "I don't doubt it. But I have a better idea. No demolition crew needed."

"Really? And what would that be?"

Quick and unexpected, Dahlia's answer didn't come with words, but with action. She slid between his knees in the blink of an eye, the shirt falling just enough to show the curve of her breasts inches from his face. Both of her delicate hands fell on his shoulders, causing him to freeze. The next instant, lips brushed his ear.

"How about we make a deal, you and I," she whispered playfully. "I can explain, if you're up for it."

His breath turned heavy, eyes roaming her petite frame, drawing in the scent of her freshly showered skin. Restraint frayed as Dahlia began her carefully planned attack on his senses, lobbing highly explosive rockets of seduction his way. Aiming them well to make sure they'd hit their target.

"How about," she murmured, soft, suddenly full of temptation, "I start repaying some of the countless favors you've done for me, by being the good girl you can have whenever you need to be reminded of what you actually deserve?"

Hard swallowing. Disbelief all over him. Brandon froze in place.

"That way," she purred, "I'll actually welcome her screaming at you. Because it'll mean I get to be your escape. Do what she surely never does. Make sure the man she doesn't deserve is satisfied. Make your efforts worthwhile."

Rocked to his core by the playful stroke of her finger along his neck, sinking her proposal into him, Brandon's breathing picked up; the walls of his restraint crumbling under the impact of more missiles she sent for his doubtful mind with pinpoint accuracy.

"Dahlia, I... I'm married. You're barely older than my son." he breathed. His voice betrayed him with arousal, "I shouldn't even... what if my wife--"

She didn't let him finish. In one motion Dahlia reached down and sent her long shirt flying away, leaving bare, radiant skin to shatter his composure in the morning light.

His eyes widened at the sight of her immaculate body.

Dahlia moved closer. No more rockets; point blank artillery now. She straddled him. Time crawled to a stop. Arching her back into him, she flung her arms around his neck, almost pressing her lips back to his ear.

"Your wife's an ungrateful bitch," she breathed into his mounting lust. "So it's only fair. A good deal. Win-win. Wouldn't you agree?"

Restraint cracked. Big hands, rough and calloused from hard work, clashed into her softness with strength that sent tingles racing through her. A sharp gasp left her as she shivered into his touch. One hand grabbed the round of her ass. The other one came for her breast. They lingered and explored, drawing soft moans to her lips.

A look passed between them for an intense second. The glimmer in his eyes told Dahlia all she needed to know.

Her mouth crashed into his, and he had no choice but to meet it. Raw, desperate, years of denial and suppressed feelings unraveled in an instant.

She fired herself into him. A devastating explosion, grinding down on the hard length quickly swelling between them. The friction made her tremble; made his grip tighten and pull her against him. The walls were down. From their remains her reward emerged: A man who truly wanted her, holding her like a vice, hands exploring every inch, leaving trails of sweet fire wherever they traveled.

Lust flooded her, made her push until the back of his shirt hit the floor. Her hands fumbled its buttons, tearing them open. The belt followed, clattering loose. Fingers slid in beneath, wrapped around the thick shape pressing into fabric. She looked up, eyes wide as she felt him. "Gosh... that woman has no idea what she's missing."

Groans came as her hand teased and stroked, each touch stripping remainders of Brandon's guilty reluctance.

Kisses fell down his chest. She slid lower, yanked his jeans. Lips traced the ridges of his stomach while her hands pulled fabric away until he sprang free.

The sight made her gasp. For a moment she lingered, taking in the magnificence of his huge cock. Long, thick, veiny, uncut, well-groomed just like his face. Breathing in the scent of his energy sent horny delight across her face.

Instinct took over. Dahlia leaned down, tongue traveling from the base to the tip of his cock in slow, deliberate worship, savoring his taste before her wet, full lips parted wider and sealed around the thick crown. She moaned wildly as she took him in.

Oh my freaking god, her inner voice yelled,you just made your life a hell of a lot more fun.

Brandon's head fell back with a groan. One hand tangled in her ruffled hair, the other clumsily braced on the sink for balance. Sound of his overwhelmed arousal filled the small apartment, proof that her mouth, wrapped tight around him while her tongue played, was giving him what he'd been starved of for far too long.

She kept going, convincing him, wet and hungry.

That's a Yes

That's a Yes

Holding his pleasure tight in her hands, taking it with the fire of her crazed longing, Dahlia spent a blissful minute sucking and licking Brandon to full hardness. Her tongue worked his shaft, greedily playing with sensations she knew better than any ordinary woman ever could, until his hips bucked wildly into her undeniable demands. She pulled off with a wet pop and the kinkiest smile a man, convinced he must be dreaming, has ever seen. Her hand kept him, slick with spit, stroking hard as she straddled his lap.