Heavy Metal Stories Novels & Stories

She screamed, soaking his shaft with her juices. But Romero wasn’t done. He kept fucking her until he loaded his seeds deep into her. Then they both collapsed to the floor of the red room, sweating and panting.

“Don’t believe a word he says. But if you want to talk about real injuries, let me tell you about the time I dislocated both my hips and still won my fight.” “I think that’s enough tall tales for one afternoon,” I say before George can fill Cassandra with more stories that might or might not be true. “Sorry, boys, but my new boss is a real hard-ass,” Cassandra tells them and then whispers loudly enough for me to hear, “If I can sneak back over here later, I want to hear all about that hip thing.” “You got it,” George tells her with a wink. “I think you’ve got a fan club,” I say when we walk to the front of the gym.

Warning: 18+ only. Featuring hardcore taboo and age-gap erotica. This is an erotic boxset containing twelve stories of irresistible steam, steam, fun, and naughty stories. If you're not up to eighteen, this book is not for you. Get ready to be intrigued. To feel. To...sin. ---------- “I made myself tight for Big Daddy,” she leans up and whispers in my ear. “Every morning and night, I clenched it really tight, released, clenched, released…”

“Good. Because I have not forgotten you either. Every time you clean this room, I find little traces of you. The way you fold the towels perfectly. The faint scent of your shampoo. I left those chocolates for you on purpose. Did you like them?” “I did,” I admitted, meeting his gaze. “They were the best I have ever tasted. Thank you. You did not have to do that.” “I wanted to. You work hard, Hazel. You deserve something sweet.” He stepped even closer, towering over me. “Tell me more about your studies. What is your favorite kind of forbidden story?” I shifted in the chair, suddenly very aware of how alone we were. “Ones where the powerful man notices the innocent girl. Where the attraction is

He joked. "Says the person that works out everyday and weigh 280 lbs " She teased poking his chest, he just laughed it off. He had begged her to go to the gym with him once and she almost fainted there, it took her days to regain her self. In his arms, she fell deep asleep. She looked peaceful like an angel that she is, Hussain used that moment to draw circles on her back. She always hated it because it makes her shiver.

he said, his voice a low vibration that hit me square in the chest. The chatter died instantly. He turned around, leaning against the podium, his sleeves already rolled up to reveal the lion etched into his tanned skin. My pulse spiked. I couldn't stop my eyes from tracing the golden outlines of the beast on his arm, remembering the way it seemed to ripple in the moonlight of my subconscious. "The Art of Storytelling is not a solo venture," he began, his almond eyes finally sweeping over the rows. "To understand narrative, you must understand collaboration and the friction of differing perspectives. For the remainder of the semester, you will be working in groups of five."

Maggie paused, “Remind me, how did you ruin your hair again?” I took a deep breath. “I’ve already said this a thousand times. I wanted to go for a walk but I knew mother wouldn’t let me. So, I jumped out of the window and landed on the garden, tripped and fell into mud. I’m sorry.” Maggie shrieked, “What kind of bride jumps out of a window on her wedding day? What if you broke your leg or worse…your neck?” The kind that’s not going to tell you she washed her hair because it was covered in cum.

Her heart jumped into her throat as she heard the distinct, heavy metallic clink of steel against steel. It was a sound that conditioned her body to react instantly. Her stomach prickled with a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement, the skin tightening into gooseflesh along her arms. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to alleviate the ache building there, but it only made the wetness more obvious. He turned back to her, the shadows clinging to his frame. In his hand, he held a bundle of black leather and gleaming metal. The cuffs. The restraints. The tools that would turn her into his object.

The moment she stepped inside, every conversation died. The room was large, expensive looking, and dangerous. A long poker table dominated the center, piled with neat stacks of cash, chips, and a few scattered weapons ranging from handguns to automatic rifles all resting casually beside whiskey glasses. Five men sat around it, all in expensive Armani suits that did little to hide the hard edges of their bodies or the tattoos peeking from their collars and cuffs.

He was spacing out with a somber expression. Anderson quietly turned to Suit, waiting for the demon to state his question. “Never mind. I already have my answer. Besides, like you said. It doesn’t matter. She’s already burning in hell anyways. So, shall we begin the next story? I believe you’ve rested enough?” Anderson nodded his head, ignoring the bit about Miss. Agnes burning in hell. He did not exactly care. That story was over. The kids were fine and made something of themselves. No matter what, he would most likely choose the same path. He could not guarantee a different approach would work. Most important, the story was over, and he was moving on.