Dirty Stories Online Novels & Stories

By day, I coded algorithms for a faceless corp, smiling at meetings, flirting harmlessly with the barista at the corner Starbucks. "Large black coffee, extra shot," I'd say, our fingers brushing as she handed it over, her eyes lingering a second too long on my broad shoulders and the stubble shadowing my jaw. But at night, alone in my lair, the mask cracked. I'd fire up the dark web forums, the ones buried under layers of VPNs and anonymous logins, where pervs like me traded links to unfiltered birthing vids. No Hollywood gloss, just real women in the throes, amateur clips smuggled from maternity wards, hidden cams in delivery rooms, even some from overseas clinics where ethics were as loose

“It started spreading across underground city networks around three this morning.” I looked up at him. “What exactly is this?” “Anonymous gossip hubs, merchant boards and social channels routed outside Moonfall’s normal systems.” I kept scrolling slowly and saw that there were more photographs and even headlines from years ago after the broken mating ceremony. Then, I saw the comments underneath, it was filled with pity, curiosity and amusement. My throat tightened painfully. Someone had turned my worst humiliation into entertainment. I expected it to eventually happen especially after Nathan found out someone was trying to dig up my past.

I needed to know the beast I was dealing with. After hanging up my new clothes, well, new to me anyway, I opened up my laptop. I tapped his name into the search bar and waited for the results to appear. The first few links were about Stone Marketing, and their company website and social media platforms. However, one article caught my eye. It was an expose on Mr Stone. I scanned the content of the article, learning several things.

Hope that is alright. Of course. Come in. We settled in the living room. The men opened a laptop and started talking numbers and timelines. I sat on the opposite couch and tried to look interested while my body did something else entirely. Richard’s legs were stretched out in front of him. Every time he shifted the shorts rode a little higher on his thighs. The polo pulled across his abs when he leaned forward. I kept staring. My panties grew damp and the ache between my legs became impossible to ignore. After a while the need got to be too much. I stood up.

Every movement made Elias’s cock throb harder. Elias couldn’t stop the sounds pouring out of him. “Ahh…! Mmmh—! It feels… it feels so good… fuck!” His hips started moving on their own, grinding down against the mattress, then pushing back against Damien’s mouth. Shame burned hot in his chest, but the pleasure was stronger. He could feel himself getting closer embarrassingly fast. *This is so fucked up. He’s my stepbrother. He blackmailed me. He fucked me raw yesterday. And now he’s eating my ass like it’s breakfast.*

He sighed, clicking his mouse to refresh a private, encrypted browser. It was a shifter-fringe website called The Wild Fringe—a hidden corner of the internet where human hikers, rogue wolves, and conspiracy theorists posted anonymous videos of strange occurrences in the deep wilderness. Most of it was garbage. Fake footage of bears, blurry photos of large wolves, and hoaxes designed to scare tourists. But tonight, a new post sat at the very top of the forum. It had been uploaded less than an hour ago, titled: “Impossible anomaly in the Northern Whispering Crags. Watch the kids.”

I wake in Eros' arms, still cautious over everything, as I have no idea who did it. Part of me thinks Olivia, but then again, Miss Long on the front desk hated me as well. To be honest, most women hate me once they know what I do for work. It's like they see me as this pornstar who is going to fuck every guy she sees regardless of his relationships. We're not like that, or most of us aren't anyway. I would never sleep with a guy who is even in a relationship, let alone engaged or married. The exception is at work. Many of the men at work are happily married, but their wives know what they do.

' Cassian soon returned with a bag in hand. Uea stared at the bag as his eyes slowly regained their enthusiasm. He bit his lower lip, trying his best to suppress his excitement. But his heart was racing fast. This was what he'd been waiting for. The kinks of the old Mafia lord. The kinks that turned his readers against him. Uea couldn't wait to enjoy them all! Cassian opened the bag, revealing different kinds of sex toys. Their sizes vary, and there were even some with sharp ends.

But here I was, unable to get him out of my head. I had his number. I'd had it for years—mostly for "emergency" texts when my brothers needed something. I never dared to send him any other type of messages even though there were times I really wanted to. I'd rarely used it for anything personal. But tonight, the ache between my legs and the possessiveness burning in my heart pushed me to take the risk. Before I could overthink it, I slipped my panties off, spread my legs in front of the camera on my phone, and took a picture of my pussy.

> "Note: a URL from one of her pseudonym blogs links to an article referencing diner locations frequented by political families. One entry was a spot in upstate New York. Same place Damian and Devon were last seen together, publicly." He clicked the link. The blog was still live, barely. Old WordPress layout. Minimal followers. But the words chilled him: > "The truth never dies—it just waits for someone desperate enough to sell it.” There was no byline. Just the signature: Crimson & Slate. Michael made mention of that alias earlier. It had once published a rumor about a Manhattan socialite's abortion being covered up by hush money. If she’d used this blog before, she might use it again. So o