Harry Potter Harem Stories Fanfiction Mga Nobela at Kwento

She had had many vivid fantasies about them. Suddenly, she was glad Kim had insisted on coming. Tonight, she vowed she'd get laid by one of them. After Ken had deflowered her and then refused to fuck her again, she'd had little opportunity for sex, thanks to exams and such, so Ken was still the only man she'd slept with. Helen was desperate. She scanned the room again, picking out a group of four good-looking lads. She looked for Kim, not wanting to abandon the shy girl amidst this predatory crowd. She spotted the girl, head down, looking at the floor and clinging to her father. Helen nodded, reassured.

My in-game ID in "Galaxy Rim" was "Moonwalker," and I was the top-paying mage on the entire server. Half a month ago, my Alien-brand computer had been sent in for repairs, so I had borrowed Stacy's cheap laptop once. I never expected her to secretly save my password. Not only did she steal my account, but she also secretly saved my aesthetic social media photos that were only visible for three days, used them to present herself as a rich and beautiful girl, and started flirting with multiple players in the game at once.

"I know you liked me watching last night. You left your legs open on purpose. Let me see James's cum leaking out of that pretty hole." He spun me around and backed me against the counter. His hand slipped inside my shorts this time, fingers sliding straight into my pussy. I was already wet and he groaned when he felt it. "Fuck, Lauren. You're soaked. All this from thinking about me stroking my cock while your husband fucked you?"

The room was very dark. The fire in the study downstairs had probably gone out by now. The only sound was the soft rain still tapping on the glass. Sarah was lying in the middle of Liam’s huge bed. She felt heavy and warm. Between her legs, she felt a dull, pulsing ache. It was a reminder of what had happened just an hour ago. She was no longer a girl. She was a woman, and she carried the weight of Liam’s seed inside her.

His shock was obvious, but he remained silent, choosing not to ask about it anymore. "So anger will help me turn?" he asked. "It could, but sex can too, if it's deep and primal." I smiled. This got his attention. He loved sex, especially with me. On Xanthea, all royal females are Sirens and are allowed to have harems of as many men and women as she chooses, This is their norm.

After doing much research in the library, I’ve come across quite a few readings that explained that witches and wizards can have mates and it wasn’t unusual for them to mate another species. I looked down at Harley, finally pulling my gaze away from Sarah for a moment and I told Harley to get Anila out of there. I knew, even if he wasn’t in control of his bear, that he would listen to me. If it meant protecting Anila, I did not doubt in my mind that Harley and his bear would do anything necessary. Once they were out of sight, I turned my attention back to Sarah. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked through my teeth, unable to keep my cool any longer.

Lucern straightens from his crouch, his guilty eyes meeting mine. “You are the reason that Jamari is trapped in the Fae Realm with Gods knows who.” I continue. “And you are the reason that now when we get her back she will be bringing another mate to join our growing harem.” Fire licks across my skin as the anger buried deep within me grows. “Congratulations on throwing your mate straight into the arms of yet another that you will inevitably have to share her with.”

Ch-1 --------------------- [Warning: this story is in the 'incest' category. As a result, the mother and son in this tale might have a relationship which you might find unsettling. At the end, when they kiss each other goodnight, neither of them has to go to another bedroom. The father already sleeps there.]

Pinky squinted to read it, her eyes tracing the loops and crosses. "Collection of short stories for ladies," the title read. "Stories of desire, of awakening, of the first time." Pinky blinked, her eyes widening as she read on. The handwriting was feminine, secretive, as if the writer were sharing her most guarded thoughts with only the pages. It was a confession. A revelation. As she began to read.