Screaming Funny

"I shook the thought from my mind and continued to plow my wife. My orgasm caught me by surprise, and I erupted, spurting my load into her welcoming p*ssy. Anna gently whined as I came inside of her. I could quite often bring her to an orgasm during s*x, but unfortunately, I didn't have it in me on this night. After our shower we laid in bed together prepping for slumber. The memory from the afternoon popped into my mind again and in a restless moment I blurted, "Did you notice Bob checking you out today?" Anna sighed, "You always think people are checking me out." ********************* This book contains thigh tingling erotic and steamy stories you have ever read in one book. It's a compilation of mouth watering and intense spicy stories for your pleasure. If you are not into adult and mature romance, then please don't open this book. Here you will get to read amazing short stories and new series every day, week and month. These stories will surely make your heartthrob and curl your toes in pleasure and excitement. Let's dive in into these amazing adventures.... Please like comment and share.

⚠️ CONTENT WARNINGS: Explicit sexual content. Taboo and forbidden relationships. Stepfather/stepdaughter. Stepbrother/stepsister. Father-in-law. Age gap. Dubious consent. Possessive and controlling men. Stalking. Dark obsession. Power imbalance. Boss/employee. Mafia. Enemies. Jealousy. Degradation. Praise kink. Rough sex. Multiple partners. Cheating (not between main characters). Morally grey everything. This is not for good girls. Good girls don't read this. Good girls don't wonder what it would feel like to get caught, pinned, owned. Good girls don't lie awake thinking about the man they're not supposed to want — the stepfather who looks at them like a problem he's decided to solve, the stepbrother who knows exactly what he's doing, the boss who makes the air thin every time he walks into the room. If you're a good girl, close this now. Still here? Good. Make Me Scream, Daddy is a collection of filthy, unhinged, no-apology erotica for the woman who wants it wrong, wants it rough, and wants it with a man who has absolutely no business giving it to her. These are short stories, not slow burns. There is no waiting. There is no fade to black. There is only the moment things tip over the edge — and then everything that comes after. Stepdads who stop pretending. Stepbrothers who don't. Dangerous men who decided you were theirs before you even knew their name. Bosses who ruin the professional relationship on purpose. Stalkers who make you feel seen in ways that should terrify you and don't. These men are not good for you. That's the point. 100 chapters. Zero remorse. Read alone. Or with your little Rose.

My girlfriend's so-called guy best friend found out I had epilepsy. He deliberately spiked my drink with stimulants. The moment I drank it, my nervous system was overstimulated. My heart rate surged. My chest tightened. Then the familiar warning signs hit–blurred vision, fragmented awareness, the onset of a seizure. The next second, I lost control of my body and collapsed onto the floor. My muscles convulsed violently. My jaw locked tight. My breathing turned uneven. I struggled to pull out the emergency medication I always carried with me, trying to stop the seizure from worsening. However, just as I was about to take it, I realized the hot water in my bottle had been replaced with highly concentrated coffee. The extra caffeine intensified the neurological stimulation. My convulsions worsened. My thoughts became more chaotic. My fingers stiffened to the point where I could barely move. Aaron Stone looked down at me on the floor and laughed. "Not bad. You're pretty convincing. "I've seen plenty of seizure patients before. Never seen anyone act this well." Gasping for air, I forced myself onto my knees in front of Mia, my jaw tightening from the spasms. "Mia... call an ambulance... I'm having a seizure..." Mia frowned at my obvious condition, but there was only impatience on her face. "Enough already. "If you keep acting like this, it's honestly too much. Since when can people having seizures still talk? "Aaron's a doctor. With him here, what could possibly happen to you?" I stopped trying to explain. Because I was already entering the next stage of neurological collapse. Even speaking had become difficult. Using the last of my strength, I pulled out my phone and sent an emergency distress message.

Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. The story contains explicit adult content of a sexual nature and should not be read by anyone under the age of 18. "Say you're a slut." He said, watching her finger herself, absentmindedly stroking his dick. "I," she gasped, closing her eyes, but being thrilled at saying the words, "I am a slut.. oh, please fuck me." He turned her around, forcing her up onto her hands and knees. She felt him run his hands down her back, up her spread ass, and finally pull on her hips as he positioned himself behind her. She moaned and turned herself up for him, pushing her open cunt back onto him. He leaned forward and grabbed her braids, pulling her head back as he rammed his dick inside her hard. She cried out and tightened around his dick, "Oh god, yes, fuck me. Fuck me hard and dirty." She moaned out. "I'm a fucking slut. Hurt my pussy."

A young guy keeps getting into trouble in very funny and unfortunate ways. He wrecked havocs on people too, mistakenly. He hallucinated and had great fantasies about people to brighten up his hearers. Afterwards, he came back to his mundane reality.

My father loved silence. He believed noise was the mark of lesser people, so he installed a decibel meter in our home. Speaking above 40 decibels meant that we would have to pay him 10 dollars, laughing above 60 decibels meant 50 dollars, and crying or throwing a tantrum was a serious offense at 100 dollars per second. The year I turned four, I fell and broke my arm. I did not make a single sound. I bit down so hard that I cracked two teeth, but I saved thousands in noise fees. He praised me for it and called me a "high-value child," one that was worth the investment. I treasured that compliment and observed the rules carefully, keeping the house wrapped in suffocating silence. Then came the stormy night a thief broke in. He had a knife and was creeping toward my mother as she slept, and I watched it all from the gap in the wardrobe where I was hiding. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shriek and wake my father, to do something, anything. However, my eyes drifted to the decibel meter on the wall, and my hand found nothing but an empty pocket. I did not have enough allowance. One scream would cost hundreds, and I simply could not afford it.