Prologue
The neighborhood was at peace, motion was hindered by the drowsy pull of the hour and the leaves among trees rattled peacefully as a cool and careless wind fluttered through the backyard of a certain resident. The wind crept in calmly through the ajar window, silently imposing its careless push upon the white draperies that fluctuated with the discordant rhythm of the wind. The chain of events witnessed by a dopey gaze emancipated from the dream world of an afternoon nap, but maybe emancipation isn't the right word to use, it's the wrong word, dread was the right word, back into the dread of reality. The dream world is where we want to be... in the deepest caverns of the tortuous network of our minds we don't want to show fealty to reality. Our dreams, resting in a precarious bubble are popped mercilessly by the needles of reality or flow into the eternal distance, safe from the specters that haunt us to those that dare and this is a story of that dare.
Her loose clothing had clung onto the sweatiness of her body, she tossed the blanket aside to cool off instantly. It was another one of those dreams about getting fucked, a biological desire rooted within the behavioral aspects of our ancestors and a thought recurring in the mind of Amy Rose all too often in these hot and dry days of summer. But something was not too dry down there, between her thighs her womanhood was burgeoning with moist and ripeness as any spring atmosphere would suggest. The nectar of spring had liquefied in her body, a vessel carrying the essence of youth immixed with fiery passion and ardor. This crackling flux made her lively, it was what made her emerald eyes glisten with an effulgent glow, it was what made her swoon when a sexy potential male mate exchanged glances at her or what made her skimpy panties to ooze with wetness when she sat half-naked on her comfy club chair perusing her favorite erotic novel and repeating certain lines with a hand in her panties, rubbing everything down there in a partially aware state.
The sudden wave of hopelessness that had materialzed in front of her from the moment of truth was like a slap in the face and a state where reality impacted the most. The moment when you awake from a dream you'd wished had continued, it was building to a climax, it was reaching a conclusion, but suddenly you are pulled back into where you ought to be, pinned down to your bed and gazing into the void with a complete sense of yearning.
Her mouth was dry, a caustic taste was left in her mouth as if someone had poured salt on her tongue. In a lousy fashion her arms extended to the nightstand to grab a glass of water left from last night that was effervescent with bubbles. She rested on her elbow as her tongue touched the rim of the glass, taking slight sips. Her body had not gained the sufficient time to gain its complete strength and was still feeble. The cramped up shoulder agitated by an uncomfortable sleeping position couldn't bear any more of her weight so she tried to put the glass back on the nightstand but caused a bungle out of things as the glass of water collided with the floor. The glass shattered and by her natural impulses she leaned back to prevent any shards of glass to fly all over her face and body. After the impact she drooped over her bed to witness the fractured pieces of glass and big shapeless puddle of water on the wooden flooring near her bedside.
"Fuck!"
She yelled in an irked out tone as she forced herself strongly back to her pillow. Then a second realization hit her.
"FUCK!"
With all the might she could muster she drooped from her bedside and ran her fingers on the wet surface underneath her bed, searching for something that if wet, would drive her insane.
"Why do I hide this like a 14 year old?"
She spat in an irritated and helpless manner, while from underneath the bed her hand seemed like an eel slithering among ponds of water looking for bait. The bait was something a 14 year old would stash in a place like underneath a bed, the thing was that she wasn't 14, she was 25 and what she was looking for was her diary. The fingers finally hooked on to the cherished journal and fished it back to the surface.
"phfft!"
She quickly rubbed the wet cover of her diary on the fabric of her purple bedspread to quickly dry it before it got too soggy.
"Just another fucking day in paradise! The pages! Some of the pages are wet!"
She jumped out of her bed and cautiously avoided the broken shards of glass before becoming a bloody victim of her handicapped sense of perception and unreliable arms and legs.
Grabbing the diary she quickly approached toward her drawer and yanked the hair dryer out and plugged it in to a nearby electric socket. Squatting and mashing both buttons to the max the hair dryer blew a rapid stream of hot air onto the pages as some of the dry pages fluttered back and forth and the wet pages stayed intact. With precision she opened the wet pages and held the dryer in place. It had been a few years she had laid her eyes on the pages pouring with memories and feelings but now she was getting slightly amused about her past.
She remembered some naughty things were inscribed in the saturated and dry pages of the journal. It seemed that she had authored her own non-fiction erotic novel under her bed the whole time. The thing was it hadn't been updated since 2 or 3 years ago because nothing big had happened since then. Each page flashed its own unique tales of raunchiness that had her on a dose of perpetual orgasms, drizzling cum, intermittent moans, intertwined limbs, stiff cocks and getting shagged in the weirdest of all places.
The pages were filled with glimpses of words that caused so much shifts in her countenance. She would laugh, cogitate, reminisce and awe over her written words.
"…pornography is belowpar, if a wooly mammoth represents sex then porn is just a single hair of this huge beast…"
"…you've been thinking of getting fucked all day haven't you? You little slut, haven't you? Shadow said as he felt the wetness between my thighs…"
She would flip a few pages and ogle at different words, some of them were literally popping out of the page reeking with vivid descriptions and dialogues.
"...fuck me like it's your last piece of pussy SONIC!..."
"...Mind if I stick my dick in the wrong hole? and so he did..."
"…his meat was pistoning in and out like a steamhammer, ravaging what was between my legs..."
"Master Shadow… the tongue you wield…the full strokes… it's mightier than the sword…"
How did the thought of saving her diary even jolt to her mind in such a random and unforeseen fashion? She put the journal aside and touched her face, it was flushed and florid. She picked the journal up and crashed on her bed again and began to study her erotic escapades… the politics of ecstasy…
Candlelight Fantasia here to do a new erotic series. I was planning to merge this unto the Amy Chronicles but decided not to since I realized this story has its own depth and character. Stick around for more and review! I don't own the image, sadly I suck at drawing. The image belongs to mikuhatsune123mew on deviantart, hope I don't get litigated!