Clean Humorous Stories Novels & Stories

Let the stories pull me away from my own hurt and anger. And somewhere in the telling, I started to relax. Started to laugh at his descriptions of childhood mishaps. Of Enzo’s serious face even as a boy. Of family gatherings that ended in arguments and then pasta. “You’re good at this,” I said after he finished a particularly funny story about stealing Nonno’s boat. “At what?” “Making people feel better. Making them forget.” Something soft crossed his expression. “I’m glad I can help.” I stood too. “Thank you. For the drink. For the… stories.”

Vera deadpanned, then smiled when he laughed, really laughed, the kind that lit up his whole face and crinkled the corners of his eyes. She liked that sound more than she cared to admit. They fell into an easy rhythm after that. Nothing serious, nothing heavy, just snippets of stories, childhood mischiefs, and mutual teasing that felt like balm after everything that had happened. He told her about sneaking out of his boarding school with his friend and getting caught three blocks away because his friend had a weak bladder and needed to pee every twenty minutes. She countered with the time she’d raced an undercover cop in a stolen motorcycle and only escaped because he’d pulled over to answer

Story Note: “Room for One More” is a standalone short from my erotic collectiona mix of intense, sensual, and sometimes forbidden stories that explore the raw edges of desire. Each story introduces new characters, new fantasies, and unapologetically explicit encounters. This particular tale features a taboo dynamic between step-siblings, told with heat, dominance, and no holding back. Reader discretion is advised. *************************************************

A man hit by a car in New York in 1977 got up uninjured, but lay back down in front of the car when a bystander told him to pretend he was hurt so he could collect the insurance money. The car then rolled forward and crushed him I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon. You can send me your short stories for a feature if you feel like it. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

“Emma, come here.” “But, I need to….” She tried to pull away from me. I knew she wanted to set her books down, and I knew she hated that I was touching her, but I needed my friends fixed, both of them, and there was only one person who could do that. He was telling a story as we approached, and I didn’t want to interrupt, but I also couldn’t wait too long either. “And then, wouldn’t you know it, but that bear totally left my lunchbox alone and ate every last crumb of my brother’s sandwich!” The kids standing around Mr. Horton’s desk laughed as if that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard in their lives. “And that’s why you don’t always have to be fast—you just have to be faster than the

oh, the stories they would tell. They would only tell happy ones. The ones where my smile was wide, Junior's eyes sparkled with love and adoration, they would talk of the food we'd burn, and the many nights we'd order take out, they would speak of the many times I accidently farted around Junior and his teasing chuckles.

"Man, what did you just say?" The guy scoffs and repeats. "Stupid slut!" CJ laughs. "Please tell me it's me you called that." The guy scoffs. "It's your cheap whore right there..." "That's funny bro!" CJ laughs and the Indian guy joins in and now they are both laughing. "See you around bro..."

THEMES: Care and After care, Revenge, Mushy- strained confession, Non- sex KINKS: Touch- Her- And- Die, LENA'S POV I'm at a quiet spot in a club-------- a rare spot--------- crying my eyes out. Fuck I can't continue this way, I can't keep fucking that... that gizzard. But I love my job, I can't lose it. I sniff as I wipe at my face, only for more tears to flow; I can't believe I enjoyed it.

My sundress clung to my skin from the humidity, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide how my nipples had stayed hard since the pool earlier. Tyler grinned wide, already slurring a bit as he slammed back the fresh drink. “Nah, baby, we’re celebrating! Honeymoon rules. Kyle, remember that time in college when you got so fucked up you tried to piss in the RA’s fridge?” He burst out laughing, loud enough that heads turned at nearby tables, slapping his brother on the arm. Kyle leaned back in his chair, that cocky smirk never leaving his face, his eyes locked on me across the table like he could see straight through my dress.

He made me laugh, a genuine, bubbling sound that felt good after the fear. “Your turn,” he challenged, when he finished. “Tell me a joke. Something to keep the darkness at bay.” I thought for a moment. “Okay, okay… What do you call a fake noodle?” He raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on his lips. “What?” “An impasta!” I delivered the punchline with a flourish, and he actually laughed, a deep, booming sound that warmed the room. “Alright, alright, that was a good one, for a rookie,” he teased. “My turn. Why did the scarecrow win an award?”