Gay Mystery Books Novels & Stories

I’m the only one who knows he’s gay, and I’ve never understood why he thinks it’s such a bad thing to be gay. Honestly, I don’t even think it’s that serious. Because if today I managed to find a woman who could actually satisfy my fucking sexual urge, then trust me, I'm dropping all the dicks without a second thought. “Not going?” Donald repeated, like I’d just said something illegal. I barely had time to respond before his mood flipped completely. “Oh no, no, no—you’re definitely going,” he said, already grabbing my hand. “Donald, please—” I tried to protest, but he wasn’t even listening.

"Hey, what book is this?" The man who was focusing with the microscope lens finally lifted his face, "Isn't there a title there?" "Yeah I know, but about what? I've never heard of Aima before. Is this a book about sexuality? A porn book?" asked Gail happily. This man rolled his eyes, "Seriously, if you are looking for a book like that you can find it at Night Flowers," he said. "Then?" The old man straightened his stiff body then pushed his wheelchair and turned to face Gail. "This is a book about a lost history," he said.

“ It’s nothing. Just a library book I checked out. By accident. Just a silly mistake.“ Now that was the understatement of the century. “A silly mistake, my behind,” Edith cackled. “The Kama Sutra. The Joy of Sex. Dating for Dummies. The Multi-Orgasmic Couple. The Girlfriend's Guide to Great Sex.” Edith pointed to each of the books as she listed off the titles. Picking up the books, Mattie said, “This is my business. My personal, private business.” “Poppycock.” Edith stood, hands on her generous hips, blocking the door. “If you wanted this to be private, you wouldn’t have brought those books here.“

He set the glass down and crossed to me, stopping just close enough that I could smell his cologne dark, expensive, dangerously familiar. “Notebook?” he asked. I lifted the leather-bound book like a shield. My handwriting inside had grown filthier with every page he made me add. He took it from my hands, flipped it open to the newest entry, and read my words aloud in that low, commanding voice. “‘I vow to spread you open and taste how desperate you are for a man you shouldn’t want.’” My breath caught. I’d written it at 3 a.m. last night, fingers trembling, shame and arousal warring until I gave in and put it on paper.

My library professor whose deep commanding voice made my thighs clench during lectures. The man I’d fantasized about bending me over these very tables and fucking me senseless until I can’t remember my name. I opened the book, and the dedication page read: For those who crave quiet darkness.” My breath hitched. I flipped to the next page and started reading. “She knelt before him in the silence of stacks, skirts pushed high, panties already soaked. “Read it out,” He ordered. “Every filthy word, while I taste how wet you’ve become for me.”

It was his penis, under the book. He started guiding my hand up and down while I looked at him in amazement, my eyes and mouth wide open. Then he grabbed me from behind my neck and made me bend over him. He said whispering "you have to use your saliva little girl" and so I tasted his soft tip. He pressed my head on him for a while as he caressed my ass.

Maybe I should find out if I’m actually gay and like men or Im just confused. And then I thought about something. Am I actually gay? Or am I just attracted to Mason Grey

Our Secret: My Dirty Tale is a compilation of short erotic stories intended for a MATURE AUDIENCE. Please note that ALL characters in these stories are above the age of consent. I would give a trigger warning, but there are wayyy too many. What to expect? Every kink possible. Every sexual pairing possible. Leave your morals behind, grab a toy or two. God knows you'll need a helping hand 😉*wink* Happy-horny reading! Xo, Athena♡

Pete groaned as William grabbed the nape of his neck and stared lustfully into his eyes. “You hear me? This hole belongs to me now.” “Yes—yes! Yours—fuck—yours!” William moaned. The bathroom was filled with the slick sound of skin against skin, muffled groans and their heavy breathing. Pete reached and grabbed William’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts, fast and rough. “Come for me,” Pete growled. “Do it, ballet boy.” And William did. Biting his forearm to keep from screaming, his body convulsing around Pete’s cock so tight it nearly dragged Pete over the edge with him.

More dangerous. It had been nearly six weeks since that fateful poker game. Six weeks of transformation. Elena’s body bore the subtle evidence of her new lifestyle—faint lingering marks on her inner thighs, a constant low throb of arousal, and a newfound confidence in her sexuality that both thrilled and terrified her.