Novel & Cerita Dirty Fan Fiction

It felt as though my fanning was having no affect. “Okay please, turn it up” I said, salaciously and very weakly, like a dying cat. This was more me manifesting a raunchy fantasy I had been daydreaming about; to have a proper man fuck me to the deepest depth of eternal damnation on a luxurious kitchen island. Charles was that man. It was this fantasy that had got me through those long lonely nights writing tasteles blog posts and wishing I had gone to beg Richard so we could go back to the era of fucking my brains out. Was I on glue or was something going to happen.

I’m Leo, and yeah, you’re probably wondering how a guy who got dumped three weeks before Thanksgiving is now standing on a major adult film set about to fuck the one and only Chloe Vance. It all started with one dumb comment. I was venting to Marcus about the breakup when he leaned over my shoulder. “Dude, the studio just dropped a contest. Bad holiday? Spill your sad story in the comments and win a shoot with a top star. Might cheer you up.” “Type something,” he pushed. “Fine.” I typed fast: “Gf left me three weeks before Thanksgiving because my dick game is apparently mid. Now I’ll be alone jerking off to p**n instead of being in it. Thanks, Turkey Day.”

Kristen rubbed at her twat, wondering what she should write next. There's that D&D game coming up, she thought. My best friend will be over. Mmm, what if it became naughty? >>>>>>>>>>> Virgin's Naughty Fantasy Dream Kristen Miller was hanging out with her friend, thinking about that next naughty story she wanted to write in her journal. That leather-bound one she had found at the Dollar Store for a steal. She had written three so far. Three naughty stories. This evening, she sat on the couch with her friend Natalie while in the dining room, which was just to the right, her older brother Carter held his weekly D&D game. The guys were off to rescue an elven princess from an ogre.

“I am going to be birthed again and I promise to make you pay for this Damon, I, Eliana will destroy you!” His thrilled laughter was the last thing I heard as the fire swallowed me. (AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hi, thank you for clicking to read this out of a thousand other books out there. This is my first time writing in the fantasy genre and I promise to make this worth your while so please do stick with me. Kindly vote and comment)

“Damien, I know you say it’s complicated, but I’m tired of being your secret. I want to be the one beside you. Not her. Not your past. Me.” I scoffed so hard I nearly choked. “Oh wow,” I said aloud, voice dripping with fake awe. “She writes fanfiction about her own affair. That’s dedication.” And before the salesgirl could respond, I let the letter slip from my fingers right into the still-wet cologne puddle. I turned to face her, her eyes wide as saucers. “Maybe,” I said with a dazzling smile, “you should get someone to clear this room. Wouldn’t want anyone to think I'm making a mess on purpose.”

I see a fantasy. A soft breath slips out as Daniel steps closer. His hand hovers near my hip, teasing me with the barest brush of his fingers. I straighten, every inch of my exposed body alive, every heartbeat tightening the suspense in my chest and core. "Hot," Daniel says from behind me. He hands me a small microfiber cloth. "Now, I want you to clean my table and chair. Seductively." I take the cloth, my face burning as I approach the desk. My hands tremble as I press the microfiber over the smooth surface.

Even so, the Russian thought it wise to let sleeping dogs lie and was doing her best to continue on as if nothing ever happened. “Come on, don’t cry,” Fiana coaxed. “I hate it when you cry.” She wiped her lover’s tears with her sleeve. “Awe honey. I know it’s been rough lately. I took longer than normal to get my act together and you don’t need to tell me what a bear I’ve been. I know how bad I was. It’s just... this... this one was extra tough. I mean writing about men and their fantasies. What the fuck do I know about that? What kind of an assignment was that anyway? Who the fuck cares about their fantasies? It was an ass kicker for me and I know I took it out on you. I know I did and... a

"What do you think?" Julia smiled. "You are a sadistic genius," she said. Michael pulled the blade sharply upward and Mickey screamed until Julia got sick of it and stuffed a bar towel into his mouth. She leaned over him. "Now, listen to me you fat wanker. This is just a dream, so my friend hasn't really cut off your tiny little dick. Thing is, when you wake up, it'll be just like he has. You won't be able to get it up, and I doubt you'll have much interest in sex anyway."

Petty, I know, but petty is my superpower. Damien was on my bed, propped on an elbow like he belonged to the furniture. Shoes off, sleeves rolled, the kind of stillness that makes you want to poke just to see if he moves. I’d been telling him a ridiculous story about a girl in my department who claimed her professor had plagiarized her TikTok caption. He was pretending to listen, which meant he was listening to everything but organizing it into a more sensible version. “You’re not even smiling,” I said, bouncing my heel against the mattress.

“Including the darkest one. The non-con fantasy where I chase you… catch you… and force my cock into my own daughter-in-law while she begs her father-in-law to stop.” My thighs pressed together instinctively. My clit throbbed painfully at his words. That particular fantasy had always been my most shameful—the one I wrote at nineteen with trembling fingers and a soaked pussy, imagining Victor as my forbidden father-in-law taking me against my will. Victor’s piercing green eyes darkened as he read the raw need flickering across my flushed face.