Feminized Stories Novels & Stories

I was pretty good at it and at the urging of my then girlfriend Julie, had submitted a few to a story site named Erotic escapes where under the pen name hotforteacher I'd gotten some pretty good reviews. Most of my stories were about older women with guys my age and Miss Ross had been the inspiration for many of them. Most of my female leads had the same long dark hair, big brown eyes and perfect full lips as my favorite English teacher. Yes Miss Ross had been the nasty little cougar in my mind and in print many times over the last few months. Shit, I'd even joined her writing discussion group because it met every other Sunday at her house.

Dex’s POV I tried reading my biology textbook. This week I am studying plant biology. But even after reading the chapter three times, it’s still not making sense to me. It’s my fault. I flicked through the textbook and landed on the chapter about human reproduction. Now all I can think about is Maria. The softness of her skin. Her delicious taste. How pleased I was with myself that I made her climax. Just thinking about our encounter made me hard. I slammed the book closed and headed towards the bathroom. I won’t be able to concentrate on anything until I take care of my hard-on.

“Now what are we to do with her?” “Anything, my dear Clara.” replied Narissa. “Anything at all. We can bring different men to fuck her everyday until her pussy shies away from cocks.” “Good idea.” “I know, right, Loretta?” “Or we could turn your into our very own Onlyfans star. Make money from videos and pictures we sell of you.” “N-no, please.” “What do you say, Renee?” Narissa asked the woman who had been sitting on the bed the whole while. “What makes her so special that our husbands want to die because of her?”

WARNING! THIS IS A NON-CONSENSUAL STORY. PLEASE BE WARNED. IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT AVOID THIS PARTICULAR STORY. As I mentioned, I write based on the prompts readers give if it's not too extreme. This doesn't mean the author supports this in real life. Note: There are limits I won't cross when writing these collections, so when you request a certain story, don't cross a certain line. I won't write it. CHAPTER 1 The bar smelled like spilt beer and old cigarettes. A few people were scattered around the tables. It was late August, and most of the town was at the county fair.

An account in her name. “What are you doing?” she whispered, a fresh wave of terror washing over her. “I’m framing you, of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “When this all comes out, it won’t look like a sophisticated cyber-attack. It will look like the greedy, neglected wife got her hands on the passwords and emptied the accounts. It’s a much cleaner story. More believable.” He made her type in the final amount. A number with so many zeros it made her head spin. Then he guided her cursor to the “Confirm Transfer” button.

And the silence hurts worse than anything. End of story 3

“No, Tatum, not at all. It’s just...we told him that was a dumb thing to ask. You’re already under so much stress and we know you’d never say no to Nat. Plus, just months before, he’d asked one of us to take care of those needs for you.” My eyes bulged at what I heard. “Excuse me? what?” Remy sighed. “He wanted us to handle the sex stuff for him. Because he couldn’t anymore and you seemed so sad and lonely. We were like, ‘Hell no. We are not doing this.’ But he said he would rather the next man you sleep with be familiar and not a stranger. But we said nah, so I guess he concocted this Coverts plan.”

1. LISA I’m Nineteen years old, and my parents still believe I’m their innocent church girl who wouldn’t dare break a single rule. They have no idea how wrong they are. I’ve spent my entire life trapped in that house, watched like a prisoner. The moment their car leaves the driveway, I slip out, find girls who want the same thing I do, and let them devour my pussy in the back seat of cars or rundown motel rooms where no one asks questions. I’ve perfected the art of playing the perfect daughter while my body stays constantly hungry, cunt wet and aching for release.

Ara sat at her desk just before bedtime, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. Writing had completely changed for her. No longer was it just a job or a creative outlet. Every word she typed now was a way to process the terrifying truth. Damon Marshall owned her. Every orgasm, every rough thrust, every filthy word he whispered had rewired her completely. She wrote to make sense of how addicted she had become to the man who had bought her for one month. She wasn't sure what she would do with herself when the contract expired.

Camila stepped inside carefully— And froze. The entire room was filled with paintings. Hundreds of them. Every wall. Every corner. Every canvas. All of them painted the same woman. A beautiful blonde girl with large green eyes. Some paintings showed her smiling. Others laughing. Crying. Sleeping. Dancing. There were so many emotions trapped inside each piece that Camila’s chest immediately tightened. Love. Obsession. Heartbreak. Grief. Every single painting screamed pain. Mateo remained near the doorway silently while Camila slowly walked deeper into the room.