Etotic Stories Novels & Stories

Until now, strange short stories had only very short stories. But from volume two I intend to add stories that have 10 to 20 captains as well. These stories are not so long nor have so much visibility as a separated book. For this reason, I decided to move all then into strange short stories, that is already a storybook of different themes.

Pinky squinted to read it, her eyes tracing the loops and crosses. "Collection of short stories for ladies," the title read. "Stories of desire, of awakening, of the first time." Pinky blinked, her eyes widening as she read on. The handwriting was feminine, secretive, as if the writer were sharing her most guarded thoughts with only the pages. It was a confession. A revelation. As she began to read.

Juliette had heard these horror stories from the previous receptionist. As she got closer to the door, she heard a thud as if he had thrown his shoe at the wall. He threw things, but most often his shoes, she’d learned. She bit her lip at the thought that at least it wasn’t an employee’s head. In the brief silence that followed the thud, she slowly opened the door to his office. He was still on the phone and beckoned her to enter. She shut the door behind her and began to lay out the lunch that she had brought on the long table mostly covered in papers by his desk.

The air in the library was thick with the scent of old books and the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Sadile Marconi, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders like a river of flames, sat at a secluded table, her green eyes darting between the pages of her textbook and the clock on the wall. The numbers seemed to mock her, ticking away the minutes until her next class, a class she was dangerously close to failing.

she asked lowly so Ethan did not hear. "Perfect," I said and she turned back to the stove with pink cheeks. Dinner tasted better than any restaurant and we ate on the couch because the table stayed covered in Ethan's work papers. Lena sat between us and passed garlic bread around. Ethan told stories from high school about the time we tried to build a treehouse and fell through the floor. Lena laughed with her hand over her mouth and asked questions that made the stories longer. I watched her eyes light up when Ethan talked and felt something twist in my chest.

Uncle's forbidden touch 8 The attic breeding stuck with me. Uncle's cum plugged in all night, his stories of family curses whispering in my ear as the storm raged. My belly didn't show yet, but I felt it—the heir growing, his dark claim deep in my womb. Days after, he was tender in a twisted way. Fucks slow and deep, hands on my stomach, promising more kids to carry the line. But his eyes had that hunger, like he needed to mark me permanent.

“Huh?” “You said instead of fruitcake you were bringing sex stuff. Do people even eat fruitcake?” I exhale heavily. “Fruitcake, Bundt cake, whatever.” “Bundt cake?” “I said whatever. I don’t know what people bring to their neighbors.” “A cup of sugar,” he suggests, then pauses for a beat. “Or sex dolls and condoms.” “You know, I usually try to not take my lessons in social etiquette from naked men with bongo drums.” “Hey, you’re the chick who showed up at my house with two girlfriends, bringing me condoms and—I’ll admit, the blow-up dolls are new for me. I’ve never had a girl try to pick me up using inflatable—”

There was an odd swear word in it but it seemed right for the context'. 'Did it turn you on?' I asked simply. Julia now flushed bright red and did not answer. 'Your face tells me that it did. I'm glad, which is what it's supposed to do. Did it offend you?' 'No. How could a lovely story like that offend me?' she asked in return. 'What better definition of erotic writing do you want. Something that is not offensive but is a turn on both mentally and physically' 'Do you think that that story is true?'

Though his form of payment were long and boring war stories of his past. Old man Cabbage’s house was so old everyone in the town was afraid it would one day collapse and bury the old man under, to which his response was, ‘what are you brats talking about? Old Lilly here has withstood even nuclear bombs. There’s no way for it to fall apart now.’ Everyone knew he was just delusional. There had never been a war let alone a nuclear bomb anywhere near Old Crows Town unless the house was a migrating one that followed the old man to war. Plus, the house was a fragile one made of wood. There was no way it would survive gunshots, let alone a nuclear bomb. “That old man is just so pitiful. He’s all al

Photographs covered the walls portraits of strangers caught mid-smile, moments of stillness, and little stories told without words. “Wow,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful.” Ethan shrugged lightly. “It’s just life through a lens.” He motioned toward a chair near the window. “Sit. Want coffee? Or tea?” “Coffee’s fine,” I said, and he disappeared for a moment, returning with two steaming cups. When I took the first sip, he leaned against the table across from me and asked, “So, how’s your story going now?” I smiled. “Better, actually. The words are finally moving again.”