Fic Prompts Generator Novels & Stories

* Three dots appeared immediately. Then: *That's not an answer.* *I know,* he typed back. *It's honest though.* A pause. Longer than her usual response time, long enough that he picked up his phone twice to check if she had stopped typing, and then her message arrived and it was not what he expected, was not the level, controlled Ava Bennett response he had learned to anticipate, it was something quieter than that, something that felt like the version of her that appeared in empty gyms and practice rooms when no one important was watching.

Curiosity finally won. I opened it and fired up his laptop. Most of the files were boring business shit. Then I found a hidden folder called “Cream Pies Unlimited.” My pussy twitched the second I clicked it. The “Images” folder was packed with hundreds of pictures — pussies of every kind, freshly fucked and leaking thick, white cum. It dribbled out of stretched holes, ran down arse cheeks, pooled on bedsheets. I stared, breathing faster, and slipped a hand into my panties. My clit was already swollen and slippery.

I just don't bother with these women. "Cancel the meetings for today," I said to my assistant, "also go and bring some girls here." "How much sir?" "10," yeah ten should be enough. He nodded and went. I pull out a picture from my desk and stare at the woman, "how could I ever marry, someone if it's not you." An hour later. All the women that Luke (the assistance) bring are all bunch of gold diggers, one of them even has the nerves to touch me.

Penny paled just watching the video, her legs shaking as she looked up at Charlie in disbelief and demanded, "W-What is this?! I never said such things!" Seeing her panicked reaction, Charlie chuckled. "It's a video synthesized with your facial features, body proportions, clothing, the furniture arrangement in this office, and most importantly, your voice. In fact, I can generate a video of you saying anything I could think of—whether it is that you want Fleur dead…

Urgent. With the call still on speaker, I tapped open W******p. The screen lit up— text after text, image after image, flooding in from an unknown number. No name. No context. Just a stream of messages, each one more unsettling than the last. The images were more graphic than ever. Some were real— me in the shower, unaware, water cascading down my back, my silhouette visible through the frosted glass. Others were AI-generated nightmares— me with men I’d never met, women I didn’t know, in poses too vulgar to describe. My body twisted, contorted, displayed like a product.

But I need to clear the notification so I open one after the next. Photos of tits. Pretty faces. Dirty words. They’re all in attendance as I knew they would be but in the mix of the pile comes one message that I wasn’t expecting. I don’t even recognize the name. Not that I would. It’s AI generated, I think, with no photo in the perfect little circle at the top of the screen. I see the words on preview but I still open the message. USER: EPPIRSRNBAE: Not quite a phone number.