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UNHOLY CRAVINGS: Dirty Shorts
Última atualização : 2026-09-06
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These stories are not for the soft-hearted. Inside this collection you’ll find one hundred short, filthy, and completely unapologetic tales of forbidden desire. Stepbrothers who can’t stay away. Priests who forget their vows. Best friends’ parents who cross every line. Bosses, neighbors, strangers in dark rooms — every story is built on the kind of craving that feels wrong and still refuses to stop. No long setups. No gentle romance. Just raw heat, dirty talk, and the kind of moments that leave you breathless and a little ashamed of how much you liked it. If you prefer slow burns and sweet endings, close the book now. But if you’re here for the filth… Flip the page. You’ve been warned.
Ver maisCapítulo 1
Stepbrother's Secret: Part 1
The house still smelled like roasted chicken and garlic. Dishes clinked in the kitchen. My mom’s laugh floated down the hallway mixed with my stepdad’s low voice. Everyone was still downstairs, full and loud and completely unaware.
I should have gone straight to my room. Instead I stopped outside Adrian’s door. It was cracked open just enough. The hallway light cut a thin line across the carpet. I don’t know why I looked. Habit, maybe. Or something worse. He was on the bed. Back against the headboard. Sweatpants shoved down to his thighs. One hand wrapped tight around his cock. Slow, deliberate strokes. His head tipped back, eyes closed, jaw tight. The sound of skin on skin was quiet but unmistakable. My mouth went dry. I should have walked away. I told myself that three times. My feet didn’t move. Adrian was twenty-four. Broad shoulders, dark hair that always looked like someone had just run fingers through it. Three years older than me. Not blood. That was the part my brain kept repeating like it could make this less wrong. He stroked harder. A low sound left his throat. His hips lifted off the mattress once, then settled. The head of his cock was flushed dark, shiny at the tip. Every upward pull made the veins stand out. Heat pooled low in my stomach. Traitorous. Immediate. I pressed my thighs together. The soft cotton of my sleep shorts suddenly felt too thin. I could feel how wet I already was and it made me hate myself a little. He didn’t know I was there. I could still leave. Close the door. Pretend I never saw anything. Go back downstairs and smile at our parents like the good stepdaughter I was supposed to be. My hand stayed on the doorframe. Adrian’s breathing changed. Faster. His free hand fisted the sheet. The muscles in his forearm flexed with every stroke. He was close. I could tell by the way his stomach tightened, by the short, rough sounds he was making now. I shifted my weight and the floorboard under my foot gave a soft creak. His eyes opened. They locked on mine. For one second neither of us moved. His hand froze mid-stroke. My heart slammed so hard I felt it in my throat. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. Something sharper. He didn’t cover himself. He didn’t tell me to leave. He just kept looking at me while his fingers stayed wrapped around his cock, like he was waiting to see what I would do. The voices downstairs rose and fell. Someone dropped a glass in the sink. Laughter followed. Normal sounds. Safe sounds. They felt a million miles away. Adrian’s gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower, to where my nipples had gone tight against my thin tank top. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His hand started moving again. Slower this time. Showing me. I couldn’t look away. The air between us felt thick. Charged. My pulse beat heavy between my legs. I was soaking through my shorts and he hadn’t even touched me. He gave himself one long, deliberate stroke from base to tip, thumb swiping over the head, and a quiet, broken sound left him. His eyes never left mine. I should have been disgusted. Embarrassed. Furious at myself for still standing there. All I felt was hunger. Adrian’s voice came out low and rough, barely above a whisper so the people downstairs wouldn’t hear. “You just gonna watch, or are you coming in?” My fingers tightened on the doorframe until my knuckles ached. I didn’t answer. But I also didn’t leave.Último capítulo
UNHOLY CRAVINGS: Dirty Shorts The Cruise
The ship had left port six days earlier with a single, clearly stated rule: clothing was optional from the moment the last line was cast off. By the second day most passengers had stopped bothering with even the optional part. The decks, the lounges, the narrow corridors between cabins, the hot tubs, the shadowed corners of the observation platforms—all of it had become continuous, shifting territory for sex. The air carried the permanent layered scent of sunscreen, salt water, clean sweat, and the sharper musk of constant arousal. No one looked twice at a cock being stroked against a railing or a woman bent over a sun-lounger while a stranger fucked her in full view of the afternoon crowd. She had boarded alone, thirty-two, fully consenting, the ticket purchased for exactly this reason. By the final night she had already lost count of the bodies she had touched and the ones that had touched her. A man in the forward hot tub on the second day. Two women in a cabin on the third night
Última atualização : 2026-09-06UNHOLY CRAVINGS: Dirty Shorts The Sauna
The private sauna sat at the end of the spa’s restricted corridor, reserved for the evening by a single booking under a false name. Cedar walls, tiered wooden benches, a single low light behind heat-tempered glass. The thermometer on the wall already read well past the point of casual comfort. Steam rose in slow coils from the rocks each time a ladle of water was added, thickening the air until the far corner of the small room disappeared into white haze. Three people occupied the middle bench, the last of the day’s clients, the rest of the spa already closed. She sat between the two men, a towel still wrapped under her arms, skin already gleaming with a fine, continuous sheen of sweat. Thirty-one. Fully consenting. On her left the broader of the two men leaned back against the hot wood, towel draped loosely across his lap. Thirty-four. On her right the leaner man rested his forearms on his knees, the same towel doing nothing to hide the growing weight beneath it. Thirty-two. The boo
Última atualização : 2026-09-06UNHOLY CRAVINGS: Dirty Shorts The Costume Party
The mansion had been transformed for the night. Every light was low and amber or blood-red. Heavy curtains blocked the windows. The main ballroom pulsed with a bass-heavy track that moved through the floor and into the chest. Guests arrived already masked—lace, leather, porcelain, feathered, some simple black half-masks, others elaborate enough to hide everything but the mouth. The single printed rule on the heavy cardstock invitation had been clear: absolute anonymity. No names. No removing the mask until you left the property. Under the masks, everyone was a stranger. She moved through the crowd in a structured black corset and little else, the half-mask of black lace leaving only her mouth and the lower curve of her cheeks visible. Thirty. Fully consenting. The anonymity was the entire point. A man in a full leather hood and open chest harness caught her wrist as she passed a darkened alcove, pulled her in, and kissed her without a word. His mouth tasted of whiskey and smoke. His
Última atualização : 2026-09-06UNHOLY CRAVINGS: Dirty Shorts The Heatwave
The cabin sat at the end of a gravel road that had turned to dust under three straight weeks of record heat. By late afternoon the thermometer on the porch read 104. Inside, even with every window open and two box fans running, the air felt thick enough to chew. Electricity had flickered twice and then held; the old window unit in the main room labored without conviction. Clothes had become a form of voluntary suffering. There were four of them left after the others had driven down the mountain in search of a motel with working air conditioning. Two men, two women, all of them long-time friends, all of them adults, all of them past the point of pretending the heat was the only thing making their skin feel too tight. Thirty-one, twenty-nine, thirty-three, twenty-eight. They had started the day in shorts and tank tops. By evening the fabric clung in transparent patches and the decision to peel it off had felt less like a choice than a physical necessity. Shared showers had come first—
Última atualização : 2026-09-06
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