Exquisite Corpse Book Novels & Stories

I sat cross-legged on my living room floor, wearing nothing but an oversized black t-shirt that barely reached my thighs, my dark hair spilling loose over my shoulders. The air smelled of damp wood and the vanilla candle flickering on my coffee table, casting jittery shadows across the room. In my hands was a leather-bound book I’d picked up at a flea market that morning—an impulse buy, its pages yellowed and etched with strange symbols. I thought it was just some occult novelty, but boredom and the storm’s restless energy had me flipping through it, reading aloud words I didn’t understand.

Each page looked like it had been soaked in shadows, the ink melding with the very fabric of the paper. “This,” Petra said with a flourish, “is the *Tome of Deeds*.” Her fingers slid delicately over the edges of the book as she opened it, revealing intricate sketches and cryptic writings that seemed alive with their own purpose. “Within these pages lies every secret about the world’s hidden side,” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper as if the Darklord himself might hear.

I whispered in her ear then bit it a little. “Do whatever you want, Manuel! You can use my body anytime and anywhere. I can replace your wife in bed. Ugh!” She was so good at talking dirty that her words were enough for me to cum again. Her legs trembled in unison of mine and cummed too. But I wasn’t finished yet. I wanted more. I took both of our semen and used it as lubricant in her ass. “Have anyone fucked this beautiful ass of yours?” I asked.

He exhaled, long and shaky, like I’d just handed him the keys to every dark thing he’d ever wanted. Then he moved. God, the way he moved. A languid, deliberate drag out until only the swollen head stretched my entrance, then an equally slow, merciless push back in, never quite giving me everything…fuck!. Each inch grazed my walls with devastating precision, lighting every nerve ending on fire. My pussy fluttered around him, trying to pull him deeper, but he controlled it all, every fraction, every breath. He groaned, low and ragged. “Christ… you’re gripping me like you were made for this. Like your body’s begging me to ruin it.”

My fingers trace along a few promising books like ritual studies, old magic, psychic links—I’m impressed by the things they keep here, but none of them contain the detail I need. I need to find more. I desperately scour through the whole place, careful not to break the dust that blankets the shelves, so no one will notice that someone sneaked in here. Then, my eyes drift to a manuscript tucked behind a set of other old books. The title along the spine reads: Soul Tethers and Mate Imprints. My pulse skips as I pull it out and flip through the pages. This must be it! I’ve never snatched a book this fast in my life. I find a secluded corner of the study and lower myself to the floor, book in ha

“What’s your talent? Besides looking like a shampoo commercial?” Oh, you want talent? I thought, picking up the caviar-peeling fork with deliberate slowness. How about noticing Grandma’s monocle is fake? Or that Lysandra’s texting Kieran Ashford under the table? Or that Cassian hasn’t touched his food because he’s too busy watching me dissect this scallop like it holds the meaning of life? I took a bite. The scallop tasted like regret and overpriced ocean. “I collect first editions,” I said in Selene’s airy tone, though my voice felt like glass shards in my throat. “Machiavelli. Dante. The Art of War.”

Many people always gathered there. Katia stopped at a stall where they were selling books of an erotic theme and skimmed through some titles. There were some books she already had, but others she didn't. Some of these books, she never thought she'd see in print. She picked up a book titled "Diary of a Submissive" by Sophie Morgan. She read the synopsis, raised an eyebrow, but ended up buying it. She didn't know why she bought it, but she had already paid for it.

The first thing that struck you about The Hollow wasn't the smell of stale beer or the dim lighting, but its brutal, unapologetic honesty. It didn't bother pre- tending to be something it wasn't, laying its sins bare for anyone who dared to look. The sticky "oors, scarred by countless boots and forgotten dreams, told a story all their own. Each scu# and stain was a testament to spilled drinks, broken promises, and the weight of too

My name is Joseph Chapman. I met one of my best friends, Lance Ellis, in college. When the holidays came around, he invited me over to his place. Lance lived with his mom. It was just the two of them in a big house. The moment I stepped inside, I noticed a pair of women's high heels sitting neatly on the shoe rack. Inside one of the heels was a pair of worn stockings. They looked… weirdly tempting. While Lance was not paying attention, I quietly reached out, picked up the stockings, and brought them to my nose. I breathed in.

’ I put my nose back into place, and accepted the blanket, turning purple, as my body temperature was giving up, and Sister Ophelia walked me back to my room. I feel no pain. Not on the outside, at least. They call it CIP, or Congenital Insensitivity to Pain. I can break as many bones as I want, cut myself a thousand times, as deep as I want, but physical pain would never reach me. It was both a gift and a curse. If I got hurt badly, I wouldn’t feel it, and it could kill me. Clarissa hasn’t managed to do that yet, unfortunately.