Dark Obsession Novels & Stories

“No, Darren, I can’t, I won’t, just let me go, please, please, I am begging you, just let me go, why are you doing this to me, why are you obsessed with me, why me of all people, what is so broken inside your head that you think this is okay, that you think this is love, that you think this is anything but sick?” “You look like him, you sound like him, you know exactly what you are doing, you are twisting everything good I had, you are using his face and his body against me like it’s a weapon, and it’s killing me, Darren, it’s killing me. “I can’t even breathe looking at you because all I see is him and all I hear is him, but it’s not him, it’s you, and you are sick, you are so sick you need

"I want to fuck you in the bathroom, the kitchen. Fucking hell, I want to take you in the dungeon, watching as you strain against the chains, pleading for release." Isabella stared up at him, her eyes half closed, her lips slightly parted. She had to admit, Antonio had a lot of dirty dark fantasies. The way he said it, the way he pressed his erection against her thighs, the way his fingers wrapped around her throat firmly, and the way he sniffed her skin, his breath making her shiver, it all added to the pandemonium in her head. As much as she hated to admit it, she craved for it. The darkness he promised her, she wanted it. She needed to feel it, to be completely submissive while he ravaged

Begging him to touch her. He’d wake up in the oppressive darkness, sweat slicking his body. Sometimes, he’d be hard, the physical manifestation of his unfulfilled desire. Sometimes, a furious, burning anger would consume him. Always, without fail, he woke up profoundly, achingly unsatisfied. The dreams fed the obsession, intensifying the hunger for something far beyond carnal pleasure.

They’d vanish from the laundry, only to reappear days or weeks later, folded neatly in my drawer, stiff with dried cum in the crotch. I never threw them away. I wore them again. Let the evidence of his obsession rub against my pussy while I went about my day, secretly thrilled at how fucked up it was. Because the truth is, I have always craved the dark. Rough fantasies. Stories about girls taken in alleys, in their homes, by strangers who couldn’t hold back anymore. I’d touch myself to the idea of being watched, wanted so violently that someone would risk everything to have me. So I fed him.

In the darkness, she promised herself that she was going to make him regret ever taking her. Serena had spent hours in the dark, her wrists were aching and her mind was racing. She replayed everything she knew about Lucian Moretti. She had heard he was Ruthless and Calculating but most of all, Dangerous. He wasn’t just another enemy in her father’s long list of rivals, he was the kind of man who didn’t play fair.

Chapter 2: The Night the Hunger Learned My Name I didn’t sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed with every light in the apartment burning and my phone in my hand, searching terms that made me feel insane. Incubus. Energy feeding. Bound entity. Apartment curse. Everything either read like bad fiction or dead-end occult forums with broken links. At 4:17 a.m. I finally set the phone down and admitted the only evidence I had was the lingering scent of smoke and sweet spice and the fact that my cock was still half-hard no matter how many cold facts I threw at it.

He pulled back to maintain the intense eye-contact, seeking any sign of lies, but where there was none, he trembled. Not from fear or from heartbreak. But, possessiveness. A strong, uncontrollable one. “Cannot breathe, huh?” The sapphire in his eyes darkened, replaced by a void of absolute, unhinged obsession he no longer bothered to conceal either. “Let it ache, then,” he growled, his fingers gripping my jaw in a commanding force, forcing me to witness the chaos he had chosen himself. “Because Dorian is absolutely right. I am obsessive and extremely selfish to you. And I will never, ever apologize for it.”

My library professor whose deep commanding voice made my thighs clench during lectures. The man I’d fantasized about bending me over these very tables and fucking me senseless until I can’t remember my name. I opened the book, and the dedication page read: For those who crave quiet darkness.” My breath hitched. I flipped to the next page and started reading. “She knelt before him in the silence of stacks, skirts pushed high, panties already soaked. “Read it out,” He ordered. “Every filthy word, while I taste how wet you’ve become for me.”

He licked the corner of his lips and moaned. "She tastes incredible," he pushed as he slid a finger into her. “ Fuck, and very tight.” My fists clenched. "I said enough." He stood slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You okay, man?" No. I wasn't okay. Because this hadn't worked. This hadn't made me want her less. It had made everything worse. I wanted to throw him out instantly and have Aria pinned against the wall. Have her reminded of who exactly she belonged to. But I couldn't. Because that would mean admitting the truth. That I was obsessed with her. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

• MORALLY GRAY CHARACTERS: Obsessive, possessive, and dangerous behavior. The actions of the characters in this book are not meant to be healthy or emulated. This is a work of fiction exploring the darkest corners of obsession, and extreme power imbalances. Reader discretion is not just advised, it is mandatory. “If you’re still here... you’re already mine. Try not to scream.” ꧁ 𖤓 𖤓 𖤓 ꧂ ꧁ Marisella ꧂ I’m breaking my mother’s heart. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.