Freaky Stories To Read Novels & Stories

Chapter 2: Sex with my best friend: Tale of a Bi- curious boy. Just to refresh memories, my name is Chris. I’m a bi-curious 19 year old with short, blonde hair. I’m about six feet tall with a nicely sculpted body. Skinny by nature, frisky by choice. My friend, Alex, is slightly shorter and skinnier than I am; again with blonde hair and a few muscles here and there.

We talked for hours as the night wore on. “You really thought about quitting because of burnout?” I asked, tracing a finger along his chest. “Yeah. Days blurred together. Then you started coming in regularly. Made me look forward to shifts again.” He smiled in the low light. “What about you? Why history?” “I like stories that last,” I said. “People who lived real lives hundreds of years ago. Makes my problems feel small.” We laughed softly. Then the touching started again. This time I climbed on top, riding him slow while we kept talking. He looked up at me like I was something special. His hands roamed my body, squeezing my breasts, guiding my hips.

My voice came out softer than I wanted. “You can.” His hand moved. His fingers brushed over my wrist as he turned the page. It was not an accident. I felt the rough pad of his thumb slide slowly across the inside of my wrist. He left it there for a second longer than he needed to. “But you have to stop being scared of the heat. This story has real heat in it, Lila. Don’t sand it down. Don’t make it polite. Write the dirty truth.”

He said and hurried to wipe his tears. "Tss. Why did you cry? You can't even remember my life. This is more like a fantasy story like you read in w*****d stories." I promise here. I don't read W*****d. Misha is the lover, I only hear about his stories. He likes to read gangster stories. Then he imagined that I was a female gangster. He has a story he wants to tell, what is the title now?... Monster High? No, that's not it... Mon... Mon... Montello High? Yeah, that's it because he has reread it several times and he still wants me to read it too like what the hell? I don't like reading that mushy stuff, and besides the stories are exaggerated too much, but Misha is an addict, or maybe I just d

This thing, whatever it was, felt good. *** On Thursday, I met Felix, who felt much too ordinary. We were both in the bookstore two blocks from my apartment. He was tall and had messy curls. He was reading something about modern demonology, muttering something under his breath as he flipped a page. I laughed. I just couldn’t help it. He looked up. I tilted my head curiously. “You don’t actually believe that stuff, do you?” I asked. He smirked, slow and lazyily. “What if I said yes?”

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.

The university library was nearly empty at 9 PM on a Thursday, exactly how Mara preferred it. She'd claimed her usual spot in the back corner of the third floor, surrounded by towering shelves of forgotten literature that nobody bothered with anymore. Her psychology textbook lay open in front of her, but she'd read the same paragraph three times without absorbing a single word. The quiet was hypnotic. Just the distant hum of the heating system and the occasional whisper of pages turning somewhere far below. Then she heard footsteps.

All he knows is that I’m a thirty-two-yearold scientist with a kinky side. The only thing I’ve been honest about is my kink. Through my texts, I’m brave. I write my heart out. I tell him my innermost thoughts and the most depraved of my fantasies. I don’t know if I can be that way in real life.

Thursday Night God, I’m still trembling. My thighs are sore, my body aches deliciously, and my pussy… my pussy feels so fucking full, even hours later. I can smell him on me. I can feel the ghost of his cock stretching me. I have to write this down before the details fade, before the raw, filthy truth of it gets polished into some pretty memory. It wasn’t pretty. It was primal.

She wanted to try something she'd never done before. She stretched her legs wide open, one hand resting on the floor to support her weight. Bernard finally opened his eyes and straightened his back at that point, and his eyes widened when he saw her. "M-Monette..." he exclaimed, stunned. She smiled seductively at him while tracing the sperm he had spurted on her hair. She pressed her two stains with his juice fingers together. "Watch me," she said seductively. And without taking her gaze away from him, she inserted her two semen-coated fingers into her wet pussy. And as his fingers entered her womanhood, she exclaimed and looked up. She began moaning as soon as she moved her fingers. Inside