Datura Stories Novels & Stories

somebody asked, which made everyone giggle. “No way. If they did, she wouldn’t be walking properly,” another added. In a chorus of laughter, I felt my cheeks darken with barely contained anger. “But for real, it’s being wasted on Scheur,” Margo, a maid I barely interacted with, said. I knew she had a few relationships with other werewolves, never shying from her sexual escapades and retelling stories. “Yeah, if it was me, I wouldn’t only try to date him but use him to better my life. He is rich—use him and raise your power,” she added, which wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t interested in him at all. I had no interest in being with a man like King Baldwin.

I quietly came against that wall, wishing Daddy had been the one to make me cum instead of my finger. Now, before you get all squicky because he’s my step-dad, let’s get this straight, I’d never laid eyes on the man until my mom brought him home a year ago. So, really, he was just a man to me. But what made it ultra hot was that he suffered from some misguided notion that I was a young naive girl. It was really kinda cute how he tried so diligently to keep his eyes from straying too hard to the places I knew he wanted to taste and feel. Of course, I didn’t make it easy for him. I dressed provocatively, practically waving my tits and ass in his face whenever I had the chance and found any exc

We don’t talk about amounts in front of her. But she knows, in her small way, that our family doesn’t just live off stories; we pay some of them forward. Eventually, bedtime wins. Dante takes her upstairs, narrating some ridiculous story about a dino‑submarine and a princess with a guitar. I close my laptop, rinse the bowl, and wipe a smear of cheese off the marble. Mundane motions. Miraculous, if I think about the girl I used to be. I lean against the counter and stare out the window at the dark curve of the garden.

Story 9: The Billionaire’s Contract Wife The next morning, Aria stood naked in the master bathroom of the mansion while Damian watched her with dark satisfaction. She had woken up with his cock already inside her — he had taken her slowly in the early hours, filling her with another load before allowing her to sleep again. Now, she was showering under his watchful gaze, her body covered in faint marks from the night before: red handprints on her ass, hickeys on her breasts, and a constant ache between her legs.

Harper stands there in nothing but a short silk robe that hangs open, revealing her perky breasts and shaved pussy. She looks thoroughly fucked and satisfied from her night with Dennis. "Well, well. The new lovebirds are awake," she says with a wicked, knowing smile. "Did my pathetic little cuck fill Julia's greedy womb like I ordered?" "Yes, Madam," I answer, my face burning. Julia squeezes my cock tighter, pumping it slowly. "He did. Shot so much thick cum deep inside me I can still feel it leaking out. You were right about him, Harper. He has a decent dick for a worthless cuck."

She realized that stories had the ability to transcend language and cultural barriers, touching the hearts of people from all walks of life. With this newfound insight, Luna embarked on a project to collect and share stories from individuals in Seoul. She sought out locals, immigrants, and travelers alike, listening to their personal narratives and experiences. These stories ranged from tales of triumph and resilience to accounts of cultural traditions and the bonds forged through shared humanity.

She thought about what it meant to be the story rather than to hear it. She had not set out to become a story. She had set out to stop running. She had set out to accept the bond and do the work and be present in the pack she had been placed in. The story had assembled itself around those choices the way true stories did, from the outside, from the perspective of people watching someone do a thing and recognizing that the thing mattered. She found Darius in the study that afternoon. She told him about Maren and Nell and the warrior and his daughter named Petra.

DAHLIA : As I listened to the stranger’s stories one after one, I examined the torch. The fire would continue burning until the reserve of magic ran out. I didn’t have to worry about it running out and leaving me in the dark. I picked some juicy worms and put them next to me searching for a stick. I eyed a small bone I wished it belonged to an animal then prayed for the owner’s salvation. “And like that, Dotoria was born; a land for humans to rule, cursing other races within its borders into madness and cruelty, condemning them to relinquish all emotions and deny their selves. What are you doing? I smell something burning.”

“The ones with all the ridiculous dramatic stories about star-crossed lovers and tragic misunderstandings.” “They’re not terrible,” Darius protested. “They’re educational.” “They’re soap operas with werewolves,” Marcus said. “Educational soap operas.” “I love educational soap operas,” I said, settling deeper into my nest of blankets and boys. And for the next few hours, that’s exactly what we did. Darius read us increasingly ridiculous stories about ancient pack drama while Marcus kept my tea cup filled and Kael played soft background music. Zane held me through it all, his presence solid and reassuring against my side.

She says as she moves towards him to give him a quick peck on the lips titling her head back as she smiled reveling in the warmth of sweet and ecstatic triumph. And that was how Aurora walked out of the rented room and out of his life and of course leaving her stockings and garter as a souvenir for "Young Lord Darius"! ********* Hey guys so this is a short sex story, specially for my loyal readers and subscribers!!!! It's unrelated to Chasing the Courtesan but it's a bonus story too, so hope you enjoy. Blurb: He craves her , wants her , watches her and bids his time in making his move and when finally he did, she becomes his Obsession.