Beautiful Things Evil People Do
Copyright © 2021 by Kailee Reese Samuels
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of author credited, brief quotations in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely and purely coincidental.
All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
E-Book Edition: January 19, 2021
ISBN 978-1-947362-93-2
All Bible verses are quoted from King James Version (KJV).
The Holy Bible, King James Version.
Cambridge Edition: 1769; King James Bible Online 2017
http://www.kingjamesbibleonline.org/
Editing by The Red Pen Queen
W A R N I N G S
are like cups of tea.
This warning is here for a reason.
This book is a work of fiction containing explicit, graphic,
and violent material.
If you’re not 18+, put it the fuck down.
Please practice safe sex.
Safe, Sane, and Consensual (SSC)
and
Risk-Awareness Consensual Kink (RACK)
practices in BDSM.
Communication is key and I do not believe anything should be swept under the rug - sexuality, gender orientation, race, age, or religion. If I help stir the cauldron of conversation and provide an escape for a few hours, I have done my job.
Play hard and have fun.
Be good and love one another.
Enjoy the ride!
Without further ado, here we go…
BTEPD Playlist
Listen to the music that inspired Beautiful Things Evil People Do on Spotify
There are those who randomly feed my muse.
And never know.
BTEPD is for many souls,
in the dark,
naked and bare,
running from the demons
wanting a chance
to dance
in the light
just one time.
Just one time.
For Angela
Without you, this never would’ve happened.
“Nothing says I love you baby,
like beating a man to death.”
In your hands is Beautiful Things Evil People Do,
a dark romance.
More specifically, it is a dark + romance.
Do not make any assumptions after the first chapter.
Go in blind.
Please keep reading.
Trust me.
Thank you again for everything.
Chase the happy.
Love hard.
peace
k xx
Contents
1. Assuming the Position
2. Room Six
3. Lazy Days
4. The ABCD’s of Me
5. Be Still
6. Hit the Vein
7. Don’t Make Me
8. Mental Mutiny
9. The Battlefield
10. Terrified with the Lights On
11. Pay the Bounty
12. The Light of Day
13. The Dark of Night
14. Pushing the Needle
15. Shorty
16. The Quit
17. So Figure It Out
18. To the House
19. Feed Off the Fear
20. Rebirth
21. Acceptance
22. A Rival Worth Remembering
23. Sip. Savor. Devour.
24. Blow Out the Candles
25. Poke. Snap. Sting.
26. Locked Up
27. A Moment Asunder
28. There Is No Way
29. Things We Need
30. The Given
31. Oh. Shit.
32. Reinvigorate Romance
33. Evolution
34. Stay the Night x Life
35. The Threat
36. A Gilded Mirage
37. Hanging On By A Thread
38. Suicide Hotel
39. The Minutes After
40. Alabama Burns
41. Can We Go Back
42. Ride Like You Mean It
43. The Slip of Sand
44. So Much More
45. Goaßlschnalzen
Four Weeks Later
46. Runaway
Ms. Samuels Notes #30
Three Hearts. One Love.
Need More SAL?
keep in touch with kailee
1
Assuming the Position
Echo
“You’re fucking insane,” Selia mumbles, crunching on her carrot stick. “This will never work. You’re going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“No, I won’t.” Sipping on my sweet ginger tea, I thoughtfully stare at the blinking cursor. “I will have an excellent final research paper that will be the envy of everyone.”
“There are countless women you could ask,” she harshly scrutinizes. “You’re going well beyond what is expected. Write the damn paper on something that isn’t a calling card for every serial psychopath this side of the Rockies. Anything else. You aced your dissertation; you don’t need this bonus paper for the analysis class.”
“Not the same.” Tapping my nails on the desk, I consider her concern for all of two seconds before spinning in my chair to argue her accusations. “This is a fetish scene experience. I want it, like this…not planned. I don’t want to sit down over cocktails and negotiate, only to ruin the surprise element.”
“… Go to a club?” She waves her hands about and snorts. “Your surprise element may be a body bag and a toe tag.”
“Selia,” I whine, wishing she hadn’t walked in as I was mid-thought. “You don’t understand. I am a twenty-two-year-old virgin with a Bachelors, an almost completed Masters, and my one true experience was Daniel Turnip asking if he could hold my hand at the sixth grade Sadie Hawkins dance. I have never even been kissed.”
“I may be more concerned you held the hand of a guy named Danny Turnip.”
I laugh. “Fuck you. He grew up to play collegiate ball.”
“Echo Turnip would’ve been priceless.”
“One of my many mistakes,” I reply, swiveling back and forth in the chair. “Help me.”
She shakes her head. “There is no way you can handle this,” she garbles, using her half-eaten carrot stick as a pointer. “You’re asking for too much. One slip from the tongue, and you will run like the wind.”
“Bullshit!”
“I just don’t get why you want your inaugural spread to be via a ravishment scene.”
“Because I am sick and tired of using any number of toys stuffed in plastic bins under the bed. I want a real guy, a warm, hard cock, and a heartbeat.”
“You could date and fall in love like a normal person,” she bluntly suggests.
“I do not want to fall in love,” I scold, growing irritated. “I want to get screwed. Banged. Pounded into next year by one unforgettable man.”
“And then what?” she questions as her eyebrows lift with great exaggeration. “You know what happens next? One hit from the D, and boom! You’re only going to want more. Dick is like a drug.”
“One hit will be plenty,�
�� I assure without any basis for my reasoning. “One time. One scene. One moment where I am lost.”
“And you may never be found again,” she points out. “I revert to my original diagnosis—fucking insane.”
The ad read simply enough:
RAPIST WANTED
Collegiate student, 20-something female seeks any race/age/profession of male for a sexual encounter. Platinum blonde. Hazel eyes. Works at The Village. Physical passed. No drugs/diseases. Psychological screenings passed. Records available upon request. Protection by you is required. Obviously, due to the nature of the request, no references are available.
“You should take off records available upon request. How are they going to contact you? You have no references, but you’re offering records? You start involving documentation, and the precious elements of surprise and fear diminish.”
I hit the delete key.
“… Should I include no anal?”
She stops and stares with a blank expression. “Girl, you want to be raped. If you think rape victims don’t get assaulted in all three holes, you’re further wrapped in the cuckoo nest than I thought.”
I watch as she flops on the sofa. Selia has been my best friend for years, and we’ve shared an apartment since our freshman year. She’s finishing her Masters in kinesiology with a focus on rehabilitation; I’m getting a Masters in psychology.
“You think it’s a bad idea…”
“I think,” she says, getting up and reading the ad over my shoulder. “That you’re getting in over your head. If you aren’t careful, this will destroy you. It’s a kamikaze mission.”
“Kamikaze or not, I want this.”
“You’re looking for this guy to do this, but somewhere in your mind, you’re hoping to find a long-term relationship with him. The problem with that is once you fall in love, you’ll lose your fascination with his savage tendencies. It’s all over after hello…”
“I don’t want a hello. Or a name. Or an address. Or a text message. I want eight-inches of hard manhood to rupture my sheath without care.”
“Dear God, I need to call someone for an intervention,” she remarks. “You’re asking for the impossible. You won’t be finding some wealthy as fuck playboy to whisk you away in his private helicopter to a remote island where you will be pampered and praised. You’re stuck on some societal romantic bullshit. You’re asking to attract degenerates and low-lifes. And believe me, they’ll show up in droves to take a number. You won’t just get one eight-incher, but sixty-four feet of them. One after another. You’ll be like a drive-thru.”
“Jesus.” I slump in the chair, shifting my lips back and forth. Selia doesn’t have the same issues I do. She is a gorgeous blend of Portuguese and Chinese. Her dating habits tend toward the perfectly sculpted African American male. More precisely, she only dates Black men. She prefers football players, but in the past, she has been known to date everything from a runner to a gymnast—not only was Spencer black, but he ended up being gay and became one of our best friends. He lives next door with his flavor of the month.
My social life isn’t even worth mentioning.
After my four-year high school crush deteriorated, I ran off to Northern California for college in hopes of finding Mr. Right, but my Southern charm and happy, bright attitude rendered a slew of do-gooders.
Flowers and kisses at the door led to my wanting more of a wise guy and less of a nice guy. I went through every sordid movie and dark romance book with my collection of vibrators in hand.
I didn’t want to be a submissive, sexual slave, or bottom because those all required some form of communication and consent. I wanted a thoroughbred of a real monster.
I didn’t want the choice.
With an inability to locate such a male, I subsequently gave up dating by the end of my freshman year.
When Selia agreed to share my apartment, she was convinced I’d turned queer. One night after a round of tequila shots, I confided the truth. I didn’t want a woman. Nor did I want a nice guy to take home to Alabama—this was before my parents moved to Florida.
I wanted a beast—a calculating and manipulative man to lay claim without warning.
Her suggestion of visiting seedy bars only proved a line-up of suitors that I found less than appealing. I didn’t want a man who had let himself go only to force his hatred of women upon me.
I wanted a stand-up anti-hero, full of complex dynamics, artful persuasion, and subtle control. I wanted a genuinely well-balanced guy with a kink, so we put up an ad on one of those dating sites with the title—Hot Girl Seeks BDSM.
She conducted interviews, and eventually, I agreed to a date with one—Master Kirk—he called himself. He was a decent looking lawyer, but when he showed up with a thick leather collar dangling on his finger, I knew he wasn’t the one.
As it turns out, I didn’t want to call anyone Sir, or God forbid, my boyfriend because I didn’t care about their name.
I cared that they knew how to work their tool and their ‘tude better than the collection in the nightstand and under the bed. Possessing intimidating confidence was just as important as knowing how to thrust the ding-a-ling.
The complicated problem wracks my mind as I swivel back to stare at the ad on the underground website. Even the idea of seeking out a rapist was outlandish with an inherent instability. Writing the ad caused the wiggle of my hips in the chair.
“… What if you get a child predator?”
“They don’t profile the same,” I dispute, tucking my fingers under my chin as my elbow rests on the arm of the chair. “It’s not like I am advertising for that, but I should add in the word adult.”
“You already say twenty-something…” she adds as I twirl towards her and roll my eyes. “You’re right though, twenty-something doesn’t mean adult.”
I read it out loud. “God, maybe I am insane.”
“If you don’t think you can do this, you shouldn’t post it. People know The Village, and I guarantee some of these nerds on campus are on the dark web looking at these ads.”
Her assessment was accurate. Everyone in our small collegiate town did know about The Village, the hub of upscale retail, dining, and entertainment. I worked at the wine store, and while not obvious, if someone paid close enough attention, they would know.
“By nature, and my definition, the ideal suitor is inherently a stalker.”
“No, shit.” Her slender fingers brush over mine. “Let me repeat this one more time since you seem to have lost the ability to comprehend basic English. If you do not think you can go through with this, don’t do it, Echo. Research paper or no.”
I bite my lip on cue. “You know me too well.”
“I know this rapist/stalker/criminal mindset is what you’re searching for, and I understand the motivation for it as well, but you’re asking to be violently assaulted. You’re young, beautiful, and intelligent, but you’re soliciting for some egregious corrupt male to stick his dirty dick in you. And I won’t deny the notion is impressive, albeit crazy, but you’re playing roulette with your life. You’re basing the underlying safety of a sexual assault on your ability to read a person in less than one breath. You’re good, Ekky, but I don’t know if you’re that good.”
I ponder her words but focus on the phallic element. “Geez, I hope he can use that dirty dick.”
Tossing her head, she laughs. “You mean, what if you acquire the perfect rapist who can’t fuck?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, hitting the spacebar to stop the screensaver. “What if he doesn’t know his tool from a table?”
“It’s a possibility,” she snickers with a shrug. “You didn’t say, Wanted: Rapist Able to Give a Good Ride on His Bountiful, Engorged Cock. Must perform above standard.”
I giggle. “If I humor the guy, and we get to that point, then it happens.”
“I don’t think you fully understand the magnitude of what you’re asking for—you will not have a choice—regardless of what you say. You’re spreading yours
elf for a hotbed of villains. These guys may end up drop dead gorgeous and drool-worthy, but their psychological assessment will infinitely remain categorized as a scumbag.”
“And you warned me I might fall…”
“If the right bad boy comes along, you might,” Selia argues, sitting on the edge of the chair near me and locking her fingers together. “And you cannot deny that as a possibility. If you find the ideal, gratifying violation, you’ll want round two.”
“Because he’ll know how to move better than a vibe?” I giggle.
“No, because I know you.” Her expression hardens with sharp angles. “You’ve spent over three years during the day dissecting assault cases, and at night, you lay on your bed and pet the kitty to images most people would rather never see.”
I blink dumbfounded. “You’re saying I’m off.”
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