French Short Stories Novels & Stories

Then she got dressed in her sweaters and coat and rushed out, yelling over her shoulder she needed to get her “brats.” That night I went home, got into bed, and fantasized about Eva, on her knees sucking my cock, I squeezed and stroked my balls for a few minutes and my thick cock reached its full 7 inches. I stroked it hard for about 30 seconds and blew a tremendous load into my foreskin, licking my fingers carefully, enjoying the taste of my own cum, another story I may share in the future. A couple of days later Eva sent me a text inviting me over, “the kids haven’t seen their Uncle Frank in ages.”

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

I didn't even wait to hear the rest of the sentence because the moment Kade's gaze left mine, I took to my feet and ran. I ran so fast to the room Lorena and I had been sharing that I could barely feel my legs hitting the carpet. By the time I reached the room, I hurriedly got inside and locked the door hard behind me, my breathing so loud in the quiet space. I hadn't realized how forcefully I'd locked it until I heard the echo nearly wake Lorena—she turned on the bed, making sleepy humming noises after I'd shut the door.

The kiss that measured itself and left the mind with more to do than the mouth. A car that turned and turned until it arrived at a clearing made for a lesson. Lucien’s rules that looked like three small stones and turned into a path. The permission withheld until it was given with precision. A red door and three men arranging her attention like a piece of music, taking turns with one theme and three hands. Competition that did not become cruelty. Claiming that felt more like argument than theft. A library with a fire that did not roar. Adrien Vale’s gaze like a ledger that recorded and forgave in the same line. No spectacle, only certainty, and the strange feeling of being steadied instead o

There was one solitary, big book on a low table between them. "The title of the tale is The Binding of Autumn," he began, his voice an entrancing whisper just in harmony with the shriek of the fire. “It's the tale of a harvest god who offers a mortal woman a choice: one night of absolute freedom for one year of unimaginable riches for her people." He didn't move as his eyes met hers. "The consent is the matter at hand. It must be freely bestowed, not coerced, and whispered three times into the skin of his throat." “Do you have any idea what sort of story you're going to be reading me tonight?”

Short terrifying stories that leave you insomnolent . . . definitely a must read to while away time and get sleepless with fear, hahaha. I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon. You can send me your short stories for a feature if you feel like it. Thanks for reading. Enjoy! While you're at it, you can check out my other profile @KinahFeels.

Shit. That felt nice.My back arched, following his mouth.“Desperate little slut.” His tongue swirled around the bud, making me moan. “Is that what you wanted?”“Yes.” I groaned when the sharp end of his tongue flicked against my hard skin. New feelings filled my mind, and fireworks of sensations exploded behind my eyelids. My skin was burning and only he could put it out.“Yes, what?” His teeth grazed my nipple, making me go insane.“Yes, sir.” Just as the words left my mouth, I felt him sucking my nub. I meowed and raised my chest, my head growing hazy from the sensation.His lips left my breast. “Open,” he commanded, and I obeyed, opening my mouth wide so he could put his fingers in there.Only

“It’s not required. Just something a little different. For students who want to challenge themselves.” “What kind of different?” She walked over to the second chair, the one she usually offered students, and picked up a slim, old paperback with worn spine and no title on the front. “It’s a short piece,” she said, holding it out to me. “Translated from French. Originally banned. Very descriptive language. Lots of… subtext.” I took the book and flipped it open to the first page. Then I stopped. The first line read: She parted her thighs slowly, waiting for the warmth of his mouth to find her.

She was looking over my shoulder at the same wall and reading some of them softly under her breath. “Hmmm, look at this one,” I said. “This person seems to have described our date last week in perfect detail.” It was a story about a woman who liked to be spanked and punished. “I like this one,” Carrie said, pointing to another. “I really think we should try and work this one into our next date.” The story was about a couple who arranged to act like strangers and meet up at a trashy bar and pick each other up. There were long descriptions about them fucking in the back of the bar as the guys playing pool watched and stroked their cues.

I left the club on shaky legs, ass throbbing, body covered in blood smears and bite marks, cum still leaking down my thighs into my jeans. I had come here for a story about underground fighting. Now I was the fighter’s personal cage slut — bent over, bred, and marked every single night. And I could not wait for tomorrow.