Craving Novel Novels & Stories

All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire. —Edgar Allan poe DARIUS Some presences choke you like smoke, but hers,hers lit me on fire. And I hadn’t burned in years. “Again,” I yelled at the men sprinting across the field. Their strides had slowed, a clear contrast of the burst of energy they started with. I pushed them harder than usual, not out of discipline, but because I needed the noise to drown out the chaos in my chest.

The kind of verdict that makes you question every quiet night, every gentle touch, every time you didn’t push back because you thought that’s what love looked like. He left. The door clicked shut. And something inside me cracked open, not heartbreak exactly, but defiance. If I was so boring, maybe I’d prove I wasn’t. To myself, if no one else. I started scrolling that night. Late. Alone. Wine glass empty on the coffee table. Forums, stories, videos. Things I’d never admitted I was curious about. The deeper I went, the more my pulse raced – not with shame, but with something hotter, sharper. What if I wasn’t boring? What if I just hadn’t found the right way to let go?

It hurt to hold, but she didn’t let it go. She began to write that night—not to him, not to anyone, but to herself. Small sentences. Simple truths. My breath is mine. My body remembers more than his touch. My craving is a symptom, not a bond. She wrote until her hand cramped. And when she finally stopped, she realized she was breathing on her own again—shallow, uneven, but hers. The craving didn’t vanish, but it changed shape. It no longer felt like devotion. It felt like hunger—one she could starve if she chose to.

I stood there, feeling like a failure. “I feel everything for you, and I know you do, too. There’s a hunger I feel for you. I missed you… your touch.” She used the back of her fingers to trace a line down my arm, eventually taking my hand in hers. “But I need you to say it. Even if you don’t love me, tell me, do you feel the spark, Lucille Parker? Do you hunger for me? Do you crave me?” Fuck yes, I crave you, Ella. I’m starving for you. I wanted to scream it, but the words felt so much easier to say in my head than with my lips.

He nodded, but his eyes held a spark of something dangerous—maybe he'd want more, become a complication. As I slipped back home later, cum trickling down my thighs under my dress, I smiled to myself. Richard and Jake would be home soon, none the wiser. But the risk, the betrayal—it fueled my fire. Next, perhaps I'd invite Harlan over when they were out, or tease them into another family session while hiding this secret. My cravings never ended; they only grew.

Every moan, every shudder only makes me crave her more, like she’s a drug I’ll never shake, a hunger that grows sharper with every taste. Her pleasure peaks, a shuddering moan escaping her as her body clenches around me, dragging me over the edge with her. The intensity should leave me sated, but it doesn’t. My hand tightens on her hip, my fingers digging into her skin as a gnawing hunger twists in my gut. Something’s wrong, seriously wrong. Why am I still burning for her, still craving her like I haven’t just had her? She’s barely conscious, her body limp against the sheets, her breaths shallow and uneven, yet the need to keep going claws at me, relentless.

If someone had told me a day would come when my own stepson would treat me like this, I would have called the person insane. Yet here I stood, trembling at the mercy of my stepson, craving nothing more than a thick cock to ravage my aching pussy. The sudden slap of his cock against my cheek snapped me back from my thoughts. My lashes fluttered rapidly. “Make that mouth useful.” His cock pointed directly at my face, and somehow the degrading scene ignited a wild desire within me. This felt strange because I had never truly craved domination before. My lips parted. The tip of his cock slid into my mouth, drawing a soft hum from me as I rolled my tongue over it.

Sara His cock always tasted crazily good. That was why I kept coming back for more. I would say I was slowly becoming addicted to it, which isn't a good sign. He's Layla's father. Layla's my best friend. Someone I shouldn’t even have a dirty thought about. I had betrayed her and didn't even feel that guilty about it. And even now, with her downstairs, I couldn't think about anything else but getting pleasured by her father. Carson gripped my head tighter, shoving his cock deeper inside my mouth.

I tilt my head looking at him. His attention is finally caught by me and he looks down at me. He scoffs, "And what are you? Do you think drinking and snorting cocaine makes you any better? Makes you a better person than us?" I haven't done drugs in.. god knows how long. But just the mention of it still sends chills down my spine. Can't believe my body still craves for it. "I haven't done drugs in months by the way. But I know it doesn't make me a better person. But you don't know how it feels to crave something like that," I tell him pointing my finger at him. "Wanting something that your body only craves for."

Clar was practicing yoga late at night when she suddenly felt an overwhelming hunger. The emptiness in her stomach was impossible to ignore, and she couldn't help but imagine various delicious dishes: "I really crave sweet and sour potatoes, braised pork, mapo tofu, and snail noodles..." This intense longing was clearly driven by her extended period without food.