Creepy Text Stories Novels & Stories

Every time I thought I was at my limit, Kade would whisper something cruel in my ear, or Brian would deliver a spank that reignited the fire in my blood, and I’d find a second wind. By mid-afternoon, I was lying splayed out on the rug, my legs shaking uncontrollably. I was covered in a film of their cum, my skin tacky and smelling of musk. The sheer stockings were torn, and the maid’s apron was hanging by a single string. Kade walked over and stood between my spread legs, looking down at me like I was something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe. "You're holding up better than I thought," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. "But we’re only halfway through day three. Brian and Ken have som

I felt so weak and wobbly that I thought I was going to fall on my way down the stairs. That’s it. Happy reading because that is a happy ending anyway, ahahaha! The End! +++++++++ Yes, both stories are from members of the Paramdam and Paranormal All-Stars FB groups. They are such fun people don't you think? And now I wonder, what kind of nightmares do you have? I hope they would be as exciting as these... On that note, goodnight for now, and I hope that you would return to the Supernatural Spa very soon. This is your Storyteller, the Diwata saying... Fare thee well!

Author: Catherine Edward Pari Tibba, the land of fairies is home to an ancient legend. Deep in the belly of its oak and pine forest lurks an evil, waiting to be unleashed. Andrew Garrison is desperate. Driven with sorrow, he sets out to Pari Tibba to seek the very evil whose name must not be spoken of. Disclaimer: Explicit Content. The story contains mentions of rape and non-consensual sexual acts, strong mature language, and graphic violence. Prelude

It infuriated Cassy more—with the night that’s the homecoming of the ghosts and horrors. A wicked laugh itched to be out, instead, she scrutinized the height. The distance between her and the ground did not harrow her. It amazed her at how different she’s lurking around where the normal people might not even stare without a wave of nausea washing over them. An urge to smoke-filled her; she fetched a pack from the inside pocket of her dark blue jacket; ignited the flame, mumbling, “Every legendary story is a pent-up frustration of human beings to invoke fear in the minds of those whom they hate. Several against one or one against many.”

The ground shifted beneath me. Rough arms wrapped around me as my legs failed me. Yet, even in that moment, all I could feel was pain. As darkness swallowed me whole, Anthony’s voice followed me into it. “Daisy…” ********** ‘Wake up, sleepyhead.’ ‘I love the way you look when you're pretending to be asleep.’ ‘You can't avoid me forever, doll. Wake up or I'm gonna tickle the life out of you.’ ‘Three seconds. 3… 2…’

His rolled up sleeves reveal the thick veins in his forearms, and the scent of him, that woodsmoke and sharp musk, seems to drift across the rows of desks, clogging my lungs. "Most writers fail because they are afraid to feel," Professor Tyler begins, his eyes snapping back to mine for a split second before moving on. "They describe a scene like a blueprint. But a story is not a blueprint. It is an experience. If you want your reader to bleed, you have to describe the coldness of the blade. If you want them to burn, you have to make them feel the heat of the skin."

“Breathe, baby. It's okay.” I hiccuped, looking up at him through blurry tears. “You’re not mad?” He wiped a smear of cum off my cheek with his thumb, then licked it clean. My stomach flipped in shock and...lust. “I got a text,” he said quietly, looking at me with that familiar heated look. “From Jessica. She said, ‘Hope you enjoy the surprise Cheyenne made for you.’ I thought it was gonna be… I don’t know. A sexy video. A note. Not this.” He glanced down at my wrecked body. “But fuck, Chey… watching all of them take turns on you? Hearing you moan through that box? It unlocked something in me I didn’t even know I had.”

WARNING‼️ THIS STORY IS A PARANORMAL STORY 🔞 Chapter 1 My skin felt sticky from sweat as I peeled off my damp shirt and stepped closer to the tall antique mirror I had dragged out of the closet earlier. I wiped sweat from my neck and stared at my reflection, for a second everything matched. Then my reflection smiled a heartbeat after I did. My pulse jumped. I blinked hard and shook my head I was just tired that was all. I turned away to grab a towel but something made me glance back. My reflection stared at me, eyes darker, lips parted.

I admitted. His breath was deeper now. And I found myself speaking up. I told him about the dream where my step uncle pinned me against the wall of my childhood home, my lips parted, wrists tied. I told him how he whispered filthy things in my ear while his fingers slid between my thighs. I told him how I begged. How I cried out. How I woke trembling and wet. With every word, my body remembered. The heat. The ache. He didn't speak. But I felt him listening. When I stopped, I was breathless.

But I’m not done playing yet. I lean close, my breath hot against your ear. “You think you’re ready for me to stop?” I murmur, my fingers trailing down your stomach, stopping just short of where you need them most. “Not yet, darling. I’m just getting started.” I grab a silk scarf from your closet, dragging it across your skin, slow and teasing, then switch to the rough edge of a loofah, scraping lightly against your clit until you’re whimpering. A chain necklace, cold and heavy, follows, then the soft bristles of a makeup brush, each texture pulling a different sound from you—gasps, moans, a choked sob that makes my blood sing.