Elena Story

 “Humans like you always beg in the end and it’s pathetic.” "I am going to fuck you like a whore and later beg to be killed", NOT REJECTED BUT UNWANTED  My world cracked open in an instant. “No!” I screamed, but the alley swallowed it. My legs gave out, but his grip held me up, forcing me to watch. Alex—was he—? His body twitched. Once. Twice. Then... nothing. “You’ll join him soon enough,” he whispered, but did he mean it? Was I next? Before I could process, his hand lashed out. My vision went black. Was this the end?

“I want you to ride me, peanut butter, make your daddy proud, grind on me so good that it takes away my stress of the week.” His strong arms carrying her to bed as he sits down the pile of money, he had kept just too wet them in her juices as he fucks her. Her eyes look at him no break of eye contact as he shifts closer to her his big crotch grows even more as he now straddles her and she lets out a moan. “Just make daddy proud baby”

(Completed) "Mr. Evans, please maintain some dignity. Don't forget I'm your brother's wife!" Having caught her husband and best friend together in the bed, Elena wanted nothing more than to exact revenge on the people she once called family. She refused to be a pitiful divorcee and vowed to make everyone who had once looked down on her beg for forgiveness. And to start with her newfound freedom, Elena indulges in a one-night stand with a stranger. However, what was meant to be a fleeting escape turns into a nightmare when she learns that the stranger is none other than her husband's older brother! Would Elena be free from the shackles of her marriage? Or would the mysterious stranger make her life a living hell since he seemed to have a personal vendetta against his family? [The story is 18+ and involves mature content.]

In the shadowed streets of the city, power, passion, and peril collide. Elena Moretti, a fearless woman with a fiery spirit, never imagined being drawn into the dark, intoxicating world of the DeLuca Mafia—a realm where loyalty is bought with blood and desire is as dangerous as a loaded gun. When she crosses paths with Luca DeLuca, the enigmatic and ruthless mafia heir, a storm ignites between them—a tempest of forbidden attraction, secret rendezvous, and unrelenting tension. Every stolen glance, every heated touch, pulls Elena deeper into a world she should fear, yet craves. But in a life ruled by crime and power, surrendering to desire comes with a cost. As alliances fracture and enemies lurk in the shadows, Elena must decide: obey her heart, or survive the deadly game that could consume them both. “Dangerous Cravings” is a story of seduction, betrayal, and lust where love and danger are inseparable… and every craving could be fatal.

With only an hour left until the concert began, every trending topic across the internet was dominated by a single headline. [Breaking: Rising Star Tiffany Burgess to Propose to Her Manager After Ten Years of Romance, Leaving Fans in Awe.] This proposal was not just a personal milestone; it was the centerpiece of our company's most ambitious PR campaign of the year and the culmination of a love story between Tiffany and me. Then, in the fire escape, I bumped into Tiffany, dressed in her wedding gown, locked in a passionate kiss with a young man. "Wayne, let me explain," she pleaded. "Explain what?" I snorted. "That just before our proposal, you're sneaking around with another man? The proposal is live-streamed to millions, with thousands of media outlets eagerly awaiting the announcement." I slammed the engagement ring down onto the table in front of her. "After the encore tonight, you'll either propose to me on that stage, or you'll be ruined, both in reputation and career!" Her fists clenched, but in the end, she gritted her teeth and grabbed the box. "Fine." Under the spotlight, she stood before me in her wedding dress, pulling out the ring. But instead of turning to me, she held the ring up toward the guest seating area, where her true love sat. "Wayne, thank you for helping me reach the stars," she declared. "But tonight, I'm going to chase my moon." The crowd erupted in shock and confusion. In a single instant, I became the laughingstock—the unwitting prop in her grand romantic gesture. My heart shattered the moment she reached him.

The project I had poured my heart and soul into earned the company over a hundred million in profit, yet the credit was handed to the vice president's nephew. I stood in a corner, the stack of source code documents trembling in my hands, nearly crushed by my grip. That nephew—who couldn't even get Hello World to compile—was now on stage, smiling brightly as he accepted the award. The vice president came over and draped an arm around my shoulder like we were old friends. "You're just an outsourced worker," he said casually. "These honors wouldn't mean anything to you anyway. Jason is new. He's got limitless potential. From now on, you'll be responsible for mentoring him properly." Only then did I realize that decades of struggle had been nothing more than laying out a red carpet for someone else's glory. That very night, while reviewing the project's code repository, I discovered a massive flaw—one serious enough to bring the entire system crashing down within three days.

The moment my roommate walked in, she used my locker. She claimed to have too many things and nowhere else to put them. I rolled my eyes. Why should I let her get her way? I was not her parent. She was no princess, but she acted like one. I was ready to argue, but she tossed 200,000 dollars at me. “At your service, Your Highness!”

A week after my engagement, I was delivered an unusual engagement gift. My phone chimed. I glanced down and saw a push notification from a social app. [Fell in love with a female livestreamer right before my engagement. I feel guilty toward my older girlfriend who's about to become my fiancée—how should I deal with this?] The user ID was "SimonLovesClaire." The profile picture showed a melancholy side view of a man wrapped in a gray scarf. I recognized him instantly. It was my fiancé, Simon Aldrich. That limited-edition scarf was the birthday gift I had given him last year.

I did three years in prison for my wife, Lilian Parson. The day I got out, she handed me an envelope for her company's grand opening. Inside was a single dollar bill. For a second, I thought it was a mistake. Then I saw her colleague, Nathan Ramsey, holding his envelope—his also contained a single dollar. Relieved, I pushed my doubts aside. I smiled, stood by Lilian's side through the entire ceremony, the picture of a proud, supportive husband. That night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw Nathan's latest post. A photo of a check. [Congratulations to Lilian Parson on the grand opening! So generous—100 million as a gift!] The comments section exploded with envy and blessings, congratulating him and "the boss" on finally becoming a couple. Lilian offered no explanation. Instead, she hurried to draw a line between us. "You just got out of prison," she said coolly. "It's not a good look to go public right now. Let's keep our marriage a secret. In front of others, just call me your boss." Then she turned around and liked Nathan's post. I wiped the tears from my eyes, picked up my phone, and dialed the number of her greatest rival. "From now on, I work for you," I said.

At the year-end company meeting, I was announcing the bonuses when a new employee suddenly raised her hand. "Over at the other company, they handed out two boxes of imported cherries at their annual party," she said, shaking her phone. "And we only get performance bonuses?" The video, maliciously edited, went viral online and hit the trending list the very next day. I had the finance department cancel all the year-end bonus transfers. "If cherries are what really count as a gesture of goodwill," I said, "then this year's year-end benefit will be cherries—fifty boxes per person." When they saw the mountain of cherries piling up before them, the employees who had once joined in mocking me panicked instantly. One by one, they cried and apologized, begging me to reconsider.