Farting Fantasy Novels & Stories

Craft pushed a button for the top floor, and I held my breath. Him caressing his thumb along mine should have felt soothing, but I was anything but calm. Fantasy Night. I kept picturing shirtless men walking around, flirting, and having an orgy or some other weird kinky shit that I was naïve to being a reality. Was Craft really into that crazy stuff? Guess I was going to find out.

How can we put an end to this if we don’t stay away from each other? We were not in any kind of relationship, but when I write my diary entry that night, it feels like I’ve been jilted. I strike through the whole entry, determined not to let him mar my sexy fantasies. Just because I stopped acting on these fantasies doesn’t mean I can’t write them. This time, I’m writing from experience. When Rhys touches me in my fantasies, I feel his touch as though it were real, the scent of his skin when he embraces me so unadulterated that the lines between imagination and reality start to blur.

But I guess it's my fate, I would be admitted into the university this year, and I guess meeting Mr grumpy would be fatal, the devil doesn't bargain anyway, it's a losing game, after all, a mafia won't have a use for me. Maybe my fairy god mother decided to make one of my silly wishes come through, and she chose the silliest, maybe this might be the hottest guy I ever set my eyes upon, he ends up being unreachable. I laid my back on the bed in defeat I can only imagine. My imagination has worked for me for ages now, i pictured a scene in my head, the perfect fifty shades scene, one of my R18 novels, taken from Kate's house, it disrupted my sexual fantasy, though I am stuck in my little house

A true fantasy is a fixed mistaken notion that gains traction, like a wheel of a wagon on the road, it propels a person in different paths, often unpredictable and toward catastrophe. He has become more like a wonderful wagon wheel, taking him to new extraordinary journeys of life, but unable to alter his path or fundamental beliefs. So what once required medications no longer does. The "fantasies of the great voyage" are no more than fiction with an extra kick. After all, he was stone-cold sane. In truth, he would wager he was safer from demise than anyone else. Beyond that, he was cursed to live a long life. A very long life.

roommate has homosexual thoughts and fantasies he has been fighting. Thoughts about me. Seeing my cock in the locker room and at the house when I walked around post shower. Fantasies of sucking my cock, worshipping me. Fantasies about being bent over in the locker room and being “claimed” and “taken”, made to take my big cock so deep that his abs bulge from the other side. Fantasies of submitting and surrendering to me and being my fuck toy. Fantasies about absorbing my seed and carrying it around with him everywhere he went. Fantasies about hanging with his “gym bros” while having my kids swimming deeper and deeper into his guts, with his friends being non the wiser.

The fantasies grew darker, more daring. “Entry Twenty-Two: I’m at a crowded gallery opening. A black dress, backless, slit to the thigh. A man, a patron, wealthy, older, drops his champagne flute. As I bend to help pick up the shards, his hand slides up the slit of my dress, finding no barrier. His fingers push inside me, right there on the floor, as people mill around us. He whispers, ‘Such a well-mannered cunt, dripping for anyone who looks.’ He fingers me to a quick, violent climax, my body shuddering as I try to gather glass with trembling hands. He helps me up, licks his fingers clean in front of me, and walks away.”

My cunt fluttering on the edge of my orgasm. It builds like a volcano about to erupt. And in my fantasy, Dante rubs his cock head against my clit, circling and pushing but never where I want him the most. My fingers move frantically. My thumb grinds on my clit in tight, desperate circles. The pr sure keeps building. “Daddy please, put it in me please! Fuck me. Please!” I’m right there. About to tip over the edge and— The door creaks open. I freeze, yanked out so violently from my fantasy that I feel physically sick.

he stated and clenched his hands, taking deep breaths. I racked my brain for a question but couldn't find the most suitable. "Whats your biggest fantasy? "I asked, simply and he smiled. "F*cking three b*tches at the same time "he stated and licked his lips. My lips squirmed in disgust. "Gross! Andre, you are so raw! "I blurted out and he smiled. "So whats wrong with that, huh? "He said, sardonically. "Do you knpw how much fun i could get from it? " he started and i stopped him with a wave of my hand.

with articles and photos of themselves. In one area was a Fantasy posting board. It had pages of computer paper stuck up there in several categories. Each page had a brief— or sometimes really detailed fantasy— and then a person’s name at the bottom. Most of them had either a photo or a phone number as well. It was obvious that if you read a fantasy that really turned you on, these folks were inviting you to drop them a line— perhaps to enact that same fantasy. There were several that only increased the hardness of my cock that was straining against my shorts. And Carrie wasn’t helping matters at all with her bust pressed against my back. She was looking over my shoulder at the same wall and

What's your deepest, darkest fantasy? I pause, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I thought about my fantasies and started to type. “Meeting the eyes of a handsome stranger in a bar full of people, he crosses the room, grabs me by the hand, and pulls me into the restroom. Before I can blink, we’re making out, hot and heavy. His hands are all over me, under my shirt, down my jeans. Circling my nipples, then pinching just hard enough to make me gasp, and slipping a thick finger into my soaking pussy at the same time. I can’t even see him, but I can feel his thick, fat cock rubbing all over my ass, teasing between my cheeks, before he finally thrusts deep inside me and starts to fuck me, ha