Cross Dress Stories Novels & Stories

He let out the friendliest of smiles, making Anderson very uncomfortable. Anderson stared back and forth between Suit and the scroll. His mind was racing. The contract sounded simple enough. Straightforward, but he did not understand. ‘What did he mean by survive the stories? Did he not say I was going to tell a story? What does survive the story mean?’ Question after question popped up into his head. He could not help himself. He had no idea exactly what it meant, but one thing was for certain; He would not move forward if he did nothing but constantly question the situation

We’re at the school’s library doing some of our assignments for tomorrow. Just one semester and we’re off to graduate in this hell of a college. Finally, it's time to get the diploma everyone is dying hard to taste it. “Just not my taste. I also don’t have any dress to wear, I’m not born for those parties actually.” “Well, you looked like shit with your kind of clothes, I agree. But you can always come to my place, I can lend you dresses and even gowns of your choice.” I smiled then stood up.

She loved art, she was always dressed with floral dresses and her life philosophy was 'you only live once' although that hadn't been like that forever. When Gigi and Liz turned thirteen, they decided to try new styles until they find their own. They wore all black clothes for a week, then they tried vintage clothes and the following day they dressed as cheerleaders. Until by the end of the month, Liz stuck with her hippie phase and Gigi was a person who really cared about high fashion.

Fuck You and All of Your Bullshits (Clarabelle Summers & Dean Westminster) 5. In Bed With The Wrong Brother (Draven Summers & Hélène) 6. Sir, I Think The Chef is Cooking Naked (Maxon Summers) 7. Once Upon A Lap Dance (Ros Summers’ story) 8. Tempted by The Devil ( Reed & Liesl ) 9. Taming The Wild Artist ( Piers & Skylar ) 10. Not So Plain Jane ( Steven Summers & Jane Austin ) 11. Resisting The Irresistible (Autumn Summers’ story)

My freaking underwear! “What the hell!?” I yell, trying to cover my body with my arms, “Where’s, where’s my dress!?” He shrugged, making my blood boil, “Where’s my clothes!?” I snapped. “Left it at the boundary” he answered, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Why!?” “It was dirty and carried your pack’s scent” he said, “Now get dressed or do you want to meet the pack in your underwear?”

enough to make you drip? “Let’s take this off,” he said, pulling down the zip of my dress. A cold breeze kissed my liberated back, transporting me again to that night. My roommate was on her knees, a man’s erection was in her mouth while her hand played with another man’s…… And kneeling before her was another man whose mouth was feasting on her bosom whilst his hands stroked his erection. “Oh my God!!!!” I screamed, my things tumbling to the floor. Their heads turned to my direction yet neither of them stopped their disgraceful engagements except my roommate whose mouth made a pop sound as she pulled away from the man’s erection.

I was dressed in a way I had never been dressed in my life. The cloth that fell around me was heavy and beautiful, a deep gold with threads that caught the light and held it, flowing from my shoulders to the floor in long, perfect folds. My throat, wrists, and fingers were covered in diamonds – not just a few small ones. I mean the kind of jewels that look like they weren't made by human hands, clear and cold and shining with their own light. My hair was arranged with a neatness and care that I could feel even in the dream, pinned and styled in a way that made the back of my neck feel both bare and grand at the same time.

The Taboo Chronicles is a curated collection of dark, twisted, and unapologetically erotic stories designed to push the boundaries of conventional desire. From the sacred halls of a silent church to the high-stakes shadows of obsessive power plays, these stories explore the raw, unyielding side of human hunger. Whether it’s the thrill of a secret shared in the dark or the surrender of a soul to a dominant force, nothing is off-limits.

I walk into the cool premises that’s scented with candles and incense, a very huge difference with the disgusting smell of sweat and heat outside. My short black dress that shouldn’t be seen on a pastor’s wife clinging to my body like a second skin and screaming nothing but sin. The thin mesh of the material is damp with sweat from the blazing heat outside outlining my full breasts and wide hips. I intentionally ignored wearing a bra and panties, I’m here for confessions and deliverance after all and what better way to do it than without underwear. As if being told someone is in the premises, two people suddenly appear from a hidden door behind the altar. Priests to be precise. People that h

I was a temptation he could no longer resist. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. His breathing was uneven. "Take off your dress," he said softly. A request. A command. A confession in itself. I reached for the hem. I didn't speak. I didn't need to. The dress slipped off my shoulders and fell in a whisper to the floor. His gaze didn't roam. It settled—anchored—on me, like I was something sacred. Something stolen from heaven. He sat on the couch, legs apart, arms resting on his thighs, like a man fighting a war inside his own skin.