Credence Spicy Pages Novels & Stories

WARNING; matured content! ★JENNIE★ When burning desires surpass the moral self-esteem we have clung onto is when we decide to let ourselves go. I didn't know I was capable of following my guts until it was my only choice upon the lost will to hold on to the so-called principles-same principles that have amounted to nothing but heartbreak and mysteries.

she whispered. Carlos's voice sounded behind her ear, resonant and deep. “When it comes to flavor, everyone has their own preference—meals, wine, ice cream, diet. The same goes for sexual desires. They call them kinks. Some are soft, some hard. Some are crazy, painful… even sick.” His voice dropped lower. “And some… deadly.” Her pulses jolted violently at the last word. She wanted to look at him, but his voice stopped her.

“Just do your thing; what is your name, please? “Pardon my manners; I didn't introduce myself properly. My name is Spicy, and I am the only makeup artist in New York who can add spice to your makeup glam. You can follow me on I*******m at @spicy_hott. I wanted to tell Spicy that I didn't have an I*******m account but then I decided to keep quiet because who doesn't have an I*******m account in the 21st century? Spicy was preparing his makeup items, and I was just looking around. I loved the space and how coordinated everything was. I wish I could have a room full of makeup items like this but that is literally impossible because of my kids. I'll just come back one day and find them coloring

I scream his name, a piercing cry, a prayer, a blasphemy. It's the signal. His control shatters. His face decomposes into a grimace of pure, primal pleasure. He thrusts one last time, splitting me in two, and I feel him explode inside me. Hot, deep, the ultimate assertion. His seed marks me from within, sealing the insane pact we have just spoken. My own body follows, shaken by spasms so violent they seem to dislocate me. It's not pleasure. It's capitulation. A dissolution. I drown in him. And I let it happen.

JENNY moaned in response to Jason's treatment of her femininity especially when his finger began to move at a faster rhythm. Not only did the heat she felt but also the trembling of her whole body intensified. It was a cold night that in fact, they were in the Summer Capital of the Philippines, Baguio City. But something else is happening to her now. She feels like the whole room is on fire because Jason hadn't yet but severely abused her femininity while he also didn't let go of the very passionate kiss on her mouth.

"Unless you count a stash of condoms." "That’s suspicious," Aria shot back. "Why would he have those when he said he doesn’t do werewolves?" "Now you’re just grasping at straws," I told her. I pushed the papers aside and picked up a weathered, leather-bound journal. "Fine, maybe he’s not some evil mastermind," Aria grumbled, leaning her head back against the wall to stare at the ceiling. I didn't answer. I flipped the journal open, my fingers freezing as my eyes landed on the first page. I scanned the handwriting, then the detailed, unsettling drawings. I flipped the pages faster and faster, the blood draining from my face.

Kyra is his obsession, his punishment, and his prey. Steven Blackwood doesn’t love he dominates, he torments, he claims. Resistance brings pain; surrender brings chaos. Trapped in his mansion, surrounded by fear, jealousy, and the shadowed eyes of those who serve him, she must navigate a world where innocence is weakness and temptation is unavoidable. Every moment in his grasp threatens to break her, and survival is not escape, it is submission to a man who bends desire and fear into a power only he understands. In the hands of a devil who refuses to be denied, she may lose everything…even herself.

The message read: "Sir, With all due respect, what exactly were you expecting to find through print media? Do you know about Squirt, or are you specifically looking for a more mature sub? I'm twenty-nine, so unfortunately I probably count. I'm not looking for an NSA Dom, but I must've seen your ad for a reason. Let me know what I need to prepare for your auditions. Yours, (Someday, maybe) Wil." Unlike him, I didn't use a personal email address. I used the throwaway account I'd made for FetLife. I wasn't expecting a response. The guy was probably a grandpa—and probably not in a hot way. Besides, it wasn't exactly a glowing application. A little over a day later, though, I opened my inbox and

And knowing you as well as I do, I imagine it will have been quite a while since my passing before you finally open this letter. "We really did have something beautiful once, and that's why it hurts so much to know you've never loved me. I'm only writing to say one thing—thank you. For seven years, you let me believe in a beautiful dream. Now that it's over, it's time for me to go. Don't waste your time missing me." Conrad read my last note without showing a single flicker of emotion. Then, like a man hell-bent on punishing himself, he pored over the chat records I'd leaked to the paparazzi—reading them once, then twice, then again and again. He drowned in those messages from dusk till dawn.

My mouth goes dry. “Ms. Catherine,” I say, barely keeping my voice steady. “I’m kinda stuck on this paper. I’ve got a packed schedule, but I was wondering... could you maybe help me out? Like... with a home visit? I can cook. Spaghetti?” She looks up, tilts her head. Her lips curl into a smile. “Spaghetti sounds great,” she says. “I’ve got hot yoga tonight. But how about tomorrow at seven?” “Seven’s perfect,” I manage, nearly breathless. “I’ll set the table.”