Cringe Books Novels & Stories

It’s plain, with no writing, and thin maybe only twenty pages. “That is everything I have on Grimalkins, if there is any other information out there on what you are then I don’t know about it.” He shifts forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, “Tell me Crimson, what do you know about yourself? I will try to fill in the gaps as much as I can. And hopefully, that book will help you understand what you are.”

"Is it double cringe or is Riley just being oversensitive?" Lake considered this with the kind of serious attention most people reserved for life-or-death decisions. "I think it's contextually appropriate cringe," he said finally. "Which makes it effective storytelling even if it's uncomfortable to watch." "Thank you!" Ollie crowed triumphantly. "See, Lake gets it. You're just being a baby about secondhand embarrassment." "I'm not being a baby," Riley protested. "I just have standards for my entertainment." "Your standards are too high. That's why you never like anything."

In some cases, she just scanned the spines, when visible. After another hour or so, Caitlin, her back killing her, on her hands and knees, reached the far wall. At the very bottom of one of the tallest stacks, she yanked out one particularly large and heavy book—and as she did, the entire stack came crashing down around her; she quickly covered her head as the mountain collapsed, and got out of the way just before being completely crushed. The books finally settled in a huge cloud of dust, and she looked up, dazed and confused. She felt like she wanted to cry.

He's the priest she shouldn't tempt. But confession was never supposed to feel this good. — Taboo / Forbidden / Religious kink Noami The church was quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against your ears and makes every little sound seem loud. I stood just outside the heavy wooden doors, staring up at the tall stained-glass windows glowing faintly in the moonlight. The night was cool, but inside my chest, I felt this strange heat rising. My hands were shaking a little as I pushed open the door. The old hinges groaned softly, like the church was waking up. Inside, it smelled like incense and cold stone. Empty pews stretched out in front of me.

Then he sighed. Leaning forward, he rested his arms on the table. He gave her his most serious gaze, and his voice did that sexy rumble when he spoke. “Honestly, I think most books like that are silly and a bit cringe, Liv. I feel that way about a lot of self help books,”

Until… I stopped. My fingers froze on the page. No. That wasn’t right. I went back. Checked the previous page. Then forward again. My brows pulled together. I flipped back. Then forward. Again. No. No, no… That didn’t make sense. There was a gap. Not a small one. Days. Missing. Not skipped. Not forgotten. Gone. My grip tightened on the file. I read the date again. Then the next entry. The jump was too clean. Like nothing had happened in between. But something had. Something big.

Chapter 1: Book 2 Title: Burning Lineage: Black Home, White Hunger The minivan groans to a halt in the cracked asphalt driveway, the gravel spitting beneath the tires like an angry cat. He finally moves in, the back of his neck prickling with an unfamiliar heat even before the door slides open. The humid air, thick with the scent of damp earth and something vaguely floral, presses in. Then he sees her.

I always craved something more intense, something that would push me to my limits and beyond, leaving me broken and begging. That's what led me to this stupid idea on Christmas Eve. I was alone in my cramped apartment, the snow outside building up against the windows like a white prison wall. Bored out of my mind, I pulled out this ancient book I'd snagged from a shady thrift store downtown. It was all about old Alpine myths, and tucked away in the yellowed pages was a ritual for summoning Krampus… not the watered-down version from holiday movies, but the genuine article, the horned devil who dragged the wicked straight to hell for their sins.

My AirPods were blasting dark, sensual music as I read one of my dirtiest books. I couldn’t stay quiet. “Fuck…” I moaned loudly, back arching off the bed. “Oh my god, yes…” Two of my fingers slid inside me as I kept rubbing my swollen clit with my other hand. “Mmm… please… fuck me harder,” I whimpered reading out what the female lead said in the book, eyes fluttering shut. My hips were grinding against my hand desperately. “Yes… just like that… I’m such a dirty little slut…”

Fuck, why did his criticism already make my nipples tighten under my bra? “Sorry about that, traffic was bad. Show me what we’re working with. I want to get this right for your exhibit.” He gestured for me to follow him deeper into the studio, where canvases leaned against the walls, each one more disturbing and intimate than the last. One painting showed a woman bent over, her face twisted in what looked like pain and pleasure, cum dripping down her thighs while shadowy hands gripped her hips. Another had a man staring straight out, his cock hard and veined, eyes filled with obsession. My pussy clenched involuntarily as I stared, a rush of heat flooding through me.