Creepy Text Stories Novels & Stories

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, scrolling further, trying different keywords. There were no reports of anything shady. No horror stories. Just a lingering air of mystery, of exclusivity. And desire. A few anonymous posts hinted at things left unsaid. "You’ll never be the same after." "Your darkest fantasies, waiting to be unlocked." "I was scared, but I shouldn’t have been." My breath hitched, hands tightening around my phone. I leaned back on the couch, dragging my fingers across the embossed lettering of the invitation once more.

“Hey Mom, Anna wants me to sleep over tonight… Yeah, we’re having a girls’ night. I’ll be home tomorrow. Love you.” Dinner finished in a silence filled with anticipation. When we got back to the car, Bruce didn’t start driving right away. Instead, he reached over and placed his large, warm hand on my thigh, just above my knee. He squeezed gently, then began caressing slowly upward, his fingers tracing the soft skin under my skirt. I shivered, parting my legs slightly without thinking. His hand slid higher… higher… until his fingers brushed against the front of my panties. “Fuck, Mira,” he breathed, voice thick. “You’re soaking wet already.”

Chapter 3: Claimed My fingers were still sticky from my own cum when I read his text again. Come open the door. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it between my legs, that fresh ache mixing with the leftover throb from watching him shoot his load on the balcony. I didn’t even bother with the robe. I walked downstairs naked, tits bouncing with each step, pussy lips swollen and slick as I reached the front door. My hand shook a little on the knob but I turned it anyway.

Saliva dribbled down my lips, down to my chin as I kept on bobbing my head, my cheeks hollowing with each desperate suck. His breathing grew ragged and his chest rose and fell rapidly but he kept looking down at me. I maintained eye contact. “Fuck…you're so good…”, he gasped, his thumb pressed against my jaw, urging me to keep going. He didn't know I was so good because I had learnt through books and illustrations that I hid and read whenever I was alone. I kept going as per his order but the ache in between my legs got so bad, I felt myself dripping onto the plush rug.

Spreading my legs wide, I displayed ny cum soaked pussy for the princes taking pride in how their eyes glinted with ravishing hunger. Draven wiped his brow, as he gestured towards his brothers then me. "Who is next? Cedric? Thorne? Lucien?", he asked looking at each of them. The golden-haired prince from earlier pushed past Draven, his huge 10-inch cock swinging with every step he took. Behind him was his dark-haired brother with a scar on his chest, and their red-haired brother. They surrounded me in an instant, the air was thick with the smell of sweat, precum, and cum. Cedric reached me first, his fingers tangling in my hair as he tilted my head back.

His eyes were fixed on a small, subtle black lens nestled between two textbooks, a tiny red LED light blinking steadily beside it. “Sam?” Clarissa’s voice was small. “What is that?” He didn’t answer. He just stared, his earlier triumph and passion replaced by a cold, sick dread. The phone screen was a horror show, a gallery of her own shame. Clarissa’s own face, flushed and tear-streaked, filled one half of the livestream. The other half was a chaotic, moving collage of cock—thick, veiny, glistening with her spit and her sweat—pumping into her from every angle. The chat scrolled beside it, a relentless torrent of vulgar commentary.

Little did I know, the spark was about to become a raging inferno, courtesy of something far beyond the mortal realm. It started on a rainy Friday night. I’d come home exhausted from a long week, my blouse clinging to my skin from the downpour outside. I kicked off my heels, letting them thud against the hardwood floor, and poured myself a glass of merlot. The apartment felt emptier than usual; my last girlfriend had left months ago, citing my “workaholic tendencies” as the reason. Truth be told, I missed the warmth of a body next to mine, the soft curves and whispered promises in the dark. To distract myself, I rummaged through the old box of junk in my closet— relics from my rebellious pha

Thirteen Months Ago-JANUARY 11th, 2025 The cemetery in Daisy Field was a graveyard of repressed desires, shielded by a sea of black umbrellas and the heavy Florida humidity. Bethany Evers stood at the grave's edge, her hips swaying with a grace that suggested she was mourning a lover rather than a priest. She daintily dabbed at her eyes as Sister Patrice wailed a hymn, but her focus was elsewhere. She adjusted her push-up bra, hoisting her generous breasts upward the moment she caught her ex-boyfriend Rupert looking. She wanted everyone to know that while the holy Father was dead, the town harlot was very much alive.

it was an erotic story ,titled the hot kidnapper) I raise an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in my eyes. I push off from the desk and walk closer, my heels clicking on the floor. “A story, huh? You think you can just walk in here and write a tale for me? How about you show me what you’re made of first? Tell me, what’s your fantasy? What gets you going in the dark?” I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, my large breasts pressing against your arm. (Pushing the paper to you I ask you to read it aloud ,you cheeks turn a faint red as you try to explain you brought the wrong story,I press a finger to your lips shushing you and telling you to read, you read it all)

data-slate-node="element" id="w-e-element-19" data-slate-node="element">I woke up again to the sound of the dripping water. My coughing reverberated all over the empty, dark place as I looked around. My brows deepened as I heard something strange. Something like a murmur of someone with words that were beyond my comprehension. Sorcery? Could it be a witch who got me and imprisoned me in this place? My senses sharpened, desperate to know more—hoping I could talk to the culprit and make a deal with him or her to get out of this place. But the question is, are they willing to listen?