Dirty Fan Fiction Novels & Stories

That was when I noticed the low blue glow coming from the living room. The television was off. The light was coming from a laptop open on the coffee table. I should have turned around and gone back upstairs. Instead I walked closer. Daniel was on the couch in just a pair of dark shorts. The laptop screen faced him. I couldn’t see the video clearly from the doorway, but I could hear it—soft, wet sounds and a woman’s low moaning. His right hand was inside his shorts, moving in a slow, tight rhythm. His head was tipped back against the cushion, eyes half-closed, jaw tight.

Mia had always wanted to become a slut but she pretended to be her mother's good girl. That Evening, Mia’s phone screen glowed in the dim light of her bedroom. She opened the message from Julian, her boyfriend of nearly two years. She smiled and unlocked the notification. The words hit hard and fast. “Shit Mia. I can’t anymore. I just can’t stay with you anymore since you can’t give me sex. I quit.” Attached was a photo: Julian receiving a blowjob from Jess, Mia’s best friend. The image was clear, unmistakable. Mia’s eyes widened in shock. She tossed the phone onto the bed, her chest tightening.

She wanted me to paint her and I had. I finished reading the short fantasy story and I was completely out of breath. Panting, I realized with a start that I had started rubbing myself through my panties while I read his story. And my pussy was dripping generously. My father fantasized about cumming on my body? And my god, why was the idea of him drizzling his load on my tits and belly so arousing to me? And the "dirty talk" he had projected onto me. It was something I had never done before. Not for real. Was that really what he wanted from me? And why was even that thought so erotic to me?

I couldn’t sleep either, kept thinking about you saying no one’s ever stayed. **VesperVixen:** Brutal honesty from the bakery boy. I like it. Yeah, that part was real. Guys see Vesper Vixen and think “jackpot.” They don’t see Ivy. The one who forgets to eat when she’s editing, the one who blocks creeps and still cries after, the one who’s tired of being a fantasy. **quietreader87:** Then they’re stupid. I see Ivy. The one who reads poetry at 3 a.m. The one who laughs at dumb memes. The one who’s real.

My pussy clenched uselessly around the speculum and his fingers, leaking even more slick down my ass crack onto the table. “Not yet,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “You are not coming until I decide the treatment has worked. Describe another fantasy. Make it dirtier this time.” I whined loud, my hips trying to grind against nothing while he kept me pinned and stretched open. “God, okay, okay. I fantasize about you inviting other doctors in to watch while you finger me like this and make me squirt all over the table. “ “I want them to see how much of a dripping slut I am for your hands. “

Deliberately forgot, but that's hardly the point. I grind my pussy against his hardness as he swipes my hair to one side. He buries his face in my exposed neck and takes a long sniff. "You smell like a real-life wet dream." Real-life wet dream? I laugh at my vivid imagination. Tens of women at work drool over Rhys Redmond, but I must be the only one filling up pages with fantasies of things that will never happen. If this doesn’t get me checked into a mental facility, nothing will.

But the amount of sacrifices I had to make, the kind of things I had to do, the amount of dirt I had soiled my hands in, I can't even begin to talk about it, but it's really bad. but then again, no big money comes clean. That I have to handle along side with our chicken only Restaurant; The hot pot And then the Fitness home; Legs up and then the Club; Garden of Eden, where sin was born. I've been thinking of a lot of things lately but Charlie just seems to take a large space in my head and it's somehow annoying because.. I've never had to deal with these kind of feelings before until I met him, I don't know if I'm going crazy or I actually like him

I act so well, moan so good while having sex with my ex, Daniel. He did his best, I couldn’t break his confidence. I deserved an Oscar, I know that. He brags about how good he makes me feel. We dated for 1 year and 3 months, I couldn’t keep up with being with him since I couldn’t get satisfied by him. I didn’t like the idea of cheating on him, so I try to enjoy everything he does. The foreplay, the moments, the looks. They all go so well until he is in and starts doing what he does worst. Then he goes on saying “Call me daddy, you little slut” for someone I’m acting up for.

Alex’s arms buckled; he caught himself on elbows, forehead pressed to scattered spreadsheets. Damian didn’t give him time to adjust. He pulled back slow—almost all the way—then slammed back in. Desk jolted. A coffee mug tipped, rolled, spilled cold across papers. “Fuck yes,” Damian hissed. He set a brutal rhythm—deep, punishing strokes that punched the air out of Alex every time. The desk creaked in protest. Files slid to the floor in soft thuds. Alex tried to keep quiet but couldn’t—small, broken moans slipping out with every thrust.

I almost laughed, but I bit it back, Instead, I leaned even closer, my lips nearly brushing the screen. "But Father, it's so hard. These fantasies... they get worse every time. I dream about him pinning me down, fucking me hard and wild, his dick slamming into my womb, like he can't control himself. I want him to grab my throat, to slap my ass while he pounds into me from behind. I wake up wet, my pussy throbbing, and I have to finger myself just to get through the day, but the thought of wanting him even while fingering myself is something I don't know how to explain"