Customs Stories の小説・ストーリー

-Hey guys, decided to let you know, so it won’t be like I’m defying normal Moroccan culture and maybe offending anyone. For the customs I wrote about in the previous chapter and the ones that I’ll soon be writing about, you should know that most of them actually are from my imagination given that Zagreh is a fictional place. I create customs for them and mix them with real Moroccan customs. Example:

Sometimes, late at night, I still think about that size-S blouse. It was like Pandora's box—once opened, it revealed every ugly, filthy truth buried in my marriage. But I don't regret it. Some truths, no matter how ugly and filthy, are cleaner than living inside a beautifully woven lie.

Slut! Shameless thing! It is really heartbreaking that most of the junior students look up to this tramp. Christabel, stop whoring around! Aren't you scared of getting pregnant at this your young age? You know how the society frowns at teenage pregnancy. This is just a friendly advice o. Y'all should stay tuned for more trendy news in CROWNSTAR HIGH SCHOOL. More news like this coming up soon. Yours truly, Anonymous. I didn't know who wrote this, but I must commend the person. Now, let's see how she would walk around the whole school.

That was my house. On this Tuesday night it was all going to be different from what they used to hear from their famous Rufous the Nightingale stories and not the usual fairy tales, or lazy tortoise stories neither was it going to be Harvey but a story i had decided to tell them ... my story... pardon me OUR STORY i meant. I cannot finish this story, the story of my life without mentioning to them each in the scene where they were birthed and whom their fathers were... The story i am about to tell is not a story but a History , my History , our heritage, history is the highest form of story ....the highest story of my home.

There was one solitary, big book on a low table between them. "The title of the tale is The Binding of Autumn," he began, his voice an entrancing whisper just in harmony with the shriek of the fire. “It's the tale of a harvest god who offers a mortal woman a choice: one night of absolute freedom for one year of unimaginable riches for her people." He didn't move as his eyes met hers. "The consent is the matter at hand. It must be freely bestowed, not coerced, and whispered three times into the skin of his throat." “Do you have any idea what sort of story you're going to be reading me tonight?”

It feels like this is my first book signing since I still have a feeling of nervousness and happiness. “If you know, my new released book is inspired by someone’s story. I know that you know that some of my pieces are inspired by other’s story, but that story is so important to me, so I’m happy that you still visit here and buy the book,” I say. I saw the one big glass cabinet that is empty already, the other big glass cabinets are empty as well. After a few minutes, the staff went on the stage. “Okay, of course this day won’t end without giveaways, am I right?” the staff ask the audience, they scream. I can’t remove my smile while I’m watching them.

F - First U - Uncommon C - Classified K - Kriminal (I am using 'K' instead of 'C' because it's my story, so no offense) Take care of yourselves, my readers !! Tell me what you like, tell me when I was wrong :-)

Hope you enjoyed every bit of the compiled stories! Thank you!

Story Note: “Room for One More” is a standalone short from my erotic collectiona mix of intense, sensual, and sometimes forbidden stories that explore the raw edges of desire. Each story introduces new characters, new fantasies, and unapologetically explicit encounters. This particular tale features a taboo dynamic between step-siblings, told with heat, dominance, and no holding back. Reader discretion is advised. *************************************************

“Hard and deep, for hours, until she screams herself hoarse with pleasure. They say his cock is thick as a man’s wrist and he never tires. And the blessings… gods, her family’s fields burst with grain, their coffers overflow with gold, and every child born after is strong and beautiful. Who wouldn’t want to be the one he chooses?” I had stood ankle-deep in the stream, scrubbing a tunic in silence while my stomach twisted. I wanted none of it. Not the beast. Not the endless rutting they described like some holy ecstasy. Not the fate of being dragged away to whatever shadowed lair he called home, to be claimed and bred and kept like a prized possession. I was nineteen summers old. My fingers w