Gorillaz 2d Plastic Beach Novels & Stories

Forbidden Flames: Erotica Collection Rated 18+ | Mature Content Warning This book is for adults only. It contains explicit sex, strong language, taboo themes, power imbalances, and intense forbidden fantasies. Read at your own risk or pleasure. Forbidden Flames: Erotica Collection sets fire to raw, unapologetic short stories where desires ignite and boundaries burn. Behind every locked door, late-night office, shadowed corner, or family beach house, control crumbles and pleasure takes over. A rebellious student tempts her married professor into desk-bound ecstasy. Lifelong best friends confess hidden cravings in a champagne-soaked hotel suite. A protective older brother comforts his heartbroken sister until hugs turn carnal. A devoted wife teases her husband with filthy texts from a stranger’s lap, then rides while he watches in voyeuristic shadows. Step-siblings reunite and drown in years of unspoken lust. A tough cop “interrogates” a caught thief in her cruiser. A shy patient surrenders to her doctor’s dirty exam. Strangers collide on a rocking night train. A yoga instructor stretches more than posture in private sessions. A vampire claims his prey with hypnotic bites and thrusts. These tales are fast, filthy, and mercilessly hot—dominance that commands, submission that begs, risk that electrifies every touch. Possessive professors, teasing wives, forbidden siblings, power-play cops, and strangers who seize what they crave—no regrets, just sweat-soaked sin. No slow burn. No holding back. Just skin, heat, and desire that leaves you breathless and aching for more. If you crave professor pets, secret flames, sibling sins, cuckold thrills, and every taboo edge—Forbidden Flames will consume you. Steamy | Taboo | Forbidden | Professor | Best Friends | Siblings | Cuckold | Power Play | Risky Encounters | Dominant | Voyeuristic [Collection expanding with fresh heat 🔥]

The housekeeper’s daughter, Selena Greene, deliberately chose to get married on the same day, at the same hotel as me. When our cars passed each other on the way to our weddings, she rolled down her window and asked to switch my bridal bouquet with hers. My bouquet, however, wasn’t just any bouquet. It was hand-carved from priceless jadeite by my grandfather himself—a one-of-a-kind heirloom and his blessing for my wedding day. “Trish,” she pleaded softly, “please. I’ve sacrificed so much for this wedding. I just want it to be perfect. I’ll give it back to you as soon as we get out of the cars.” My heart softened. Against my better judgment, I handed her my bouquet and took her cheap, plastic flowers instead. However, when we stepped out of our cars, she refused to return it. Worse still, during her ceremony, she tossed my jade bouquet onto the floor, shattering it into countless pieces. That bouquet had been my grandfather’s way of being present at my wedding. It was all I had left of him. Yet, in front of everyone, Selena put on an innocent act and accused me, “Who takes back a bouquet after a switch? A glass bouquet like this is all over online shopping platforms for ten bucks. I’ll just pay you back. Trish, you’ve made my life hard enough on normal days. Do you have to humiliate me on the most important day of my life, too?” Furious, I confronted her, but she ducked behind my fiancé and my brother, wiping at her eyes like the victim. My fiancé immediately went to comfort her, leaving me standing alone at the ceremony, humiliated and ridiculed by everyone. My brother, too, called me cruel and heartless. He cut me off financially and threw me out of the family home. Selena’s husband, having quickly risen to success with the help of powerful backers, unleashed his relentless revenge on the now penniless and alone me. In the dead of winter, hired thugs found me and brutalized me to death. And Selena? She became their princess, adored by all three of them. I sank into darkness, full of rage and regret. However, when I opened my eyes again, I was transported back to the day of the wedding.

Expect raw, graphic sex scenes with rough play, power dynamics, taboo elements (including step-family), group action, dominance/submission, risky/public settings, and plenty of filthy language. No gentle foreplay, no fade-to-black — just intense, unfiltered fucking. If hardcore stuff isn’t your thing, skip this one. In this collection, expect Highway Patrol Threesome — Two badass female cops pull over a smug driver late at night. The stop turns wild: he’s cuffed to the hood while they take turns riding him under flashing blue and red lights, trading filthy orders and sharing every drop. Step-Sister’s Late-Night Visit Built-up tension snaps when his teasing step-sister sneaks into his bed after midnight. She climbs on top; he flips her, pins her wrists, and fucks her rough against the headboard, trading dirty secrets they’ll both pretend to forget. Gym Locker Room Surrender The trainer catches a regular stretching alone after close. Door locked, he pins her to the lockers, hooks one leg over his shoulder, and pounds her standing until her screams bounce off the tiles and her legs give out. Secluded Beach Takeover— A bronzed stranger spots a woman sunbathing topless on a hidden shore. No chit-chat — he drops between her thighs, yanks the bikini aside, and fucks her right there on the towel with waves crashing nearby. Neighbor’s Midnight Intrusion The rough guy next door scales her balcony after dark and finds her waiting in lingerie. He tosses her on the bed, spreads her wide, and gives her slow, punishing strokes that rattle the headboard against the wall. And many more that will make you wet. Read if you are ready to cum harder than you ever have.

I'm the type who has the urge to overshare my life with him. It can be anything, be it the flowers blooming by the side of the road, the unpleasant coffee I end up having, or the sunset I've seen when I'm on my way home from work. Heck, when I think of Edwin Howell all of a sudden, I can't resist texting him at all. His replies are always short and perfunctory, though I suppose they count as a form of response from him. Hence, over the past six months, I've relied on these cold-sounding yet present replies to give me enough strength to deal with the engagement party, go wedding gown shopping, and choose the wedding venue all by myself. Somehow, I've managed to hang in there till the week before the wedding. But five days before the wedding, I discover an AI program that's installed within Edwin's computer. It can categorize every single sentence that I've sent to Edwin and extract the keywords. Then, it'll draft the most perfunctory responses that will never go wrong. If I miss Edwin, the AI will reply, "Mm-hmm." If I feel aggrieved, the AI will reply, "Got it." When I try to vent my frustrations to Edwin, the AI will reply, "Don't make such a big deal out of it." It turns out that Edwin isn't the one who has been responding to my need to overshare. The thing is, he has been texting another woman nonstop in another private chat. They talk about anything and everything under the sun, from exchanging simple good mornings and good nights to asking, "What are you having for lunch today?" and "Do you wanna go to the beach someday?" Finally, I realize that Edwin isn't the silent type who keeps his love in. If anything, he's the flashy type who will proclaim his love anywhere, anytime. It's just that… his love has never been mine to have. As for me, I've finally made up my mind to stop spending my life waiting for a response that will never come.

After the college entrance exams, my parents left me at home and took their adopted daughter on a trip to the beach. A typhoon hit, and the three of them never came back. When the news reached me, I did not cry or throw a tantrum. I had their deaths registered right away and pulled out the life insurance I had bought in advance. I received one hundred million in compensation. My fiance scolded me for caring only about money. What he did not know was that I had been reborn. In my past life, after I learned about their deaths, the huge debts they had left behind fell on me. I gave up the chance to go to college and started working to pay everything back. I fought to protect our ancestral home from debt collectors. My fiance stayed with me and cheered me on when I came home late at night from delivery runs. But he never gave me a single cent to help. At thirty-five, I finally cleared every debt. On my birthday, I bought myself a ten-dollar cake to celebrate. Just as I was about to blow out the candle, the door opened. My parents and their adopted daughter, who should have died in the typhoon, walked in dressed in designer clothes. They smiled at me smugly. “Well done! We can finally believe that you aren’t greedy for money. You’ve passed the test. From today, you are qualified to be the daughter of the Jameson family.” “Jane, this brilliant idea was all thanks to you.” My adopted sister smiled. She leaned close and blew out my candle. The only light left in my twenty years of lifetime went out with it. My body gave in to exhaustion. My heart failed. I collapsed and died on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, they were about to head to the beach in the middle of the typhoon. I bought a massive accident insurance policy for them on the spot. This time, all I wanted was for them to disappear from this world forever.

During the holidays, my husband, Andrew Hartwell, flakes out on the vacation trip we've planned in advance once again. He has to go on a business trip in another state at the very last minute. But the next moment I know, I stumble upon a social media post uploaded by his assistant, Chloe Miller, that features a photo of them lying on the beach side by side while sunbathing. The caption reads, "Mr. Hartwell watched the moon with me last month, and he's now watching the sea with me on this vacation. Everyone, please help me brainstorm which location he'll have to take me during the next holiday! P.S. That location has to be super pretty for photo-taking sessions. After all, Mr. Hartwell looks super handsome in the photos!" Everyone begins throwing out ideas and suggestions in the comment section. I pause for two seconds before leaving behind a comment calmly. "Why not the city hall? Not only is it a nice place, but you two can also receive a marriage certificate of your own." The colleagues, who know about my marriage with Andrew, are stunned, to say the least. Soon, they quickly text each other and start harboring guesses on the way I'm about to get jealous and start a fight with Andrew. Meanwhile, Andrew is quick to call me on the phone impatiently. "Why are you this petty? What's wrong with me sunbathing with Chloe? Can't I take a break on my business trip? "So what if I skip out on spending time with you? Must you kick up such a ruckus? I want you to delete your comment right now! Otherwise, others might view Chloe differently! "Besides, we're already married! There are so many holidays in the future. I'll just spend time with you on the next one!" As I listen to Andrew's stale excuse, I can't help but scoff. There's no more next time. Once the holiday is over, we'll have already received our divorce decree.