Degradation Stylo Fantome Novels & Stories

He's a time bomb that can go off at any time. Santo slides open one of the heavy drawers of the solid oak desk and pulls out a brown envelope made of kraft paper. He clamps his cigar between his teeth and pulls out a series of photos he raises in the air. "Do you know what these are, Lulu?" he asks me, his eyes dark. His Italian accent is even stronger than I remembered and has the effect of an ice-cold shower on me. He terrifies me. I say no with my head. Santo gives me a smile that would horrify even the Devil himself. Then he puts his glass on the desk to grab his cigar and blows the smoke to the side.

Jacob replied. Soon, Isabella noticed an old abandoned, house far off in the distance, in desperate need for a new paint job. She shivered, as though, ice had replaced her spine. It looked like one of those haunted houses you saw in the movies. The cold air enveloped her entire body. The multiple layer of clothing could not protect against the deathly cold, and Samson tightened his hold on her. The walkway leading up to house were cracked. Weeds and dandelions poked out from these cracks. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of house, reaching their tentacles towards the roof. The house's walls showed black decay by neglect. Splotches of original paint hinted at the house former prosper

WARNING Explicit stepmother/stepson incest (he calls her "Mom" while he's balls-deep) • Raw cheating on the husband/father • Rough degrading sex: choking, slapping, spitting, hair-pulling, "slut" talk • Bareback creampies, facials, swallowing • Almost-getting-caught adrenaline • Age-gap filth + forbidden obsession Arranged-marriage jealousy and heartbreaking goodbye sex This is NOT romance. This is pure, dripping, no-limits taboo erotica. About "Hooked on his Dick" One open door was all it took. Natasha walks in on her stepson Noah stroking the biggest cock she's ever seen and instead of walking out, her panties soak through. From that second, they're doomed. Secret quickies while Dad

she laughs "like they say these days faking it in style." I give her a confused look "what?" "You know, when you're in a fake relationship, these days that's what everyone's doing." "Well, I'm only doing this for mom, and trust me I will not develop falling for him." "My dear friend, you're saying that now, but when the time comes you'll be dying for his touch, his kiss, his scent, his di- ah" I shot her with Levi's water gun. That damn dirty mouth girl. "Charlotte you bitch," she curses, ask I continue to shot her.

he said. She looked at him more carefully. "You know the routine?" "I watched the showcase on Friday. The transition between the first and second sections has a half-beat delay. You're trying to close it." She was quiet for a moment. "You watched the showcase." "I was there. You were good." He said it without decoration, the way someone stated a fact they had no particular investment in, and then he shifted his folder under his arm. "I'll find somewhere else." "The transition is in the left formation," she said, before she had decided to say it. "The timing is right but the angle of the entry is creating a visual lag. It reads as a delay but it's actually a positioning problem."

And in its depths, I saw a reflection that made my heart skip a beat. It was my own reflection, but it was twisted and distorted, like a funhouse mirror. My eyes were black as coal, my skin pale and decaying. I looked like a corpse, a reanimated corpse with a hunger for flesh. I stumbled backwards, horrified. What was happening to me? What was Brigitte doing to me? But Brigitte just laughed, her voice echoing through the room like a madwoman's cackle. "You're mine now, Anton," she said, her eyes glowing with that otherworldly energy. "You're mine, forever and ever."

Derek Stygian’s stripper's club was bathed in a deep red light. The kind that makes everything look darker than it really was. Shadows moved along the walls as slow music played through hidden speakers, the bass low and steady like a heartbeat. The air felt hot with sin, heavy with smokes of their cigarettes, filled with sweat of the male strippers and the tables were filled with expensive alcohol. Not everyone in the city was allowed into Stygian's secret cult. Only those who are ready to sell their soul for discretion are allowed in.

Immediately I stopped my actions and turned to face her. "What about this tattoo? Where did you get this tattoo?" As it was always covered with her long hair I had never noticed that. It was made in such a position that until someone is tying her hair in a high ponytail or in a high messy bun, it won't get noticed. But I saw it correctly no matter how small it was. It was of a small fallen angel. "It's our family tattoo." She replied in a normal tone. "Fuck." I scoffed internally.

When I unfold the letter, I wish it were a check. Instead, I see the handwriting I have come to dread. [You are quite good at hiding, Printsessa.]

expression vanished, replaced by the sharp, calculating look of a man who lived for this exact kind of power move. ​"Say that again," Mateo said, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. ​I took a long, steadying sip of the bitter black coffee. The caffeine hit my system, clearing the last of the gin-induced fog. I looked Mateo straight in the eye, ignoring the throbbing in my temples. ​"The offer you made at the gala," I said, my voice firmer than I expected. "The one about me being too talented to be a footnote in a Cromwell story. Does it still stand?"