Horny Stories Novels & Stories

For this reason, I decided to move all then into strange short stories, that is already a storybook of different themes. The w******l policy does not allow me to remove or delete those books, so they will remain there but as a "paused" book. You can find only the introduction of those books on w******l and no else more. But there you can find some covers I made for those stories and that I can not upload here. The stories of a single chapter will continue to be published, of course. Each volume of Strange short stories will have 3 medium-sized stories and about 10 short stories.

“You two always collect payment like this, or am I just special?” Roy’s laugh was low and dirty. “Special enough. Most girls don’t bend over this easy.” Hank’s thick fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts and tugged once, testing. “Mouthy little thing. Bet that mouth does more than talk.” I felt the heat between my legs spike. My secret kink—the one I never admitted out loud—was already throbbing. Older men. Rough hands. Being used like I was nothing but a warm hole on the side of the road. These two had walked straight out of every filthy fantasy I’d ever gotten off to alone in the dark.

She looked at me weirdly and walked further into the room before picking up a book on the bed and flipping the pages open. “Weird topic to be interested in.” She joked, laughing nervously. The one she had picked talked about how to kill a werewolf but the info was false. How and why would they even have that in the library? All the methods were things Zayn's father had done to him when he was younger and hey he still was alive. “Are you planning to commit a massacre? Wait… do you want to kill Reya?” She gasped dramatically, placing her hand to her chest and we both burst out laughing our hearts out.

The above sentences are the thoughts of the author about what he thinks, but it is my duty to tell all the things he has in his mind. The space science and the beginning of the human era, why I always talk about the past, why I'm interested in the dead stories, why I tell a tale of another time, why I don't like the present and, also why I'm not narrating about those dumbasses who were about to close the mysterious case of random killing by an unidentified criminal (creature)? You might have so many questions and confusions about the fact that I puzzle a simple story in what we call a Riddle…? But you can still believe in me that I'll give you a gift tomorrow.

Another part — the dangerous part — wondered what would happen when he finally figured it out. Because there was no hiding it much longer. No turning back. Not anymore. End of story 1

My head was spinning, my pussy throbbing, and two strangers were touching me like I belonged to them. Cody pushed two thick fingers inside me without warning. I cried out but the sound disappeared under the bass. He fucked them into me slow and deep while Trent pinched my nipple hard enough to make my eyes water. “You love this, don’t you?” Trent whispered, biting my earlobe. “Getting fingered like a cheap whore in front of everyone. Bet you’ve never been this wet.” I tried to say no. All that came out was a broken whimper as Cody curled his fingers and hit the spot that made my toes curl. I was helpless against it.

Salt-and-pepper hair, strong jaw, and those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to see right through me. Mom was away for a work conference until tomorrow night, leaving just the two of us in the big suburban house. I’d spent the evening alone, restless and horny. The kind of horniness that built up after weeks of crappy dorm showers and no privacy. I locked my bedroom door, dimmed the lights, and opened my laptop.

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."

Loving it. The invasion was swift and brutal, stretching her already sore ring of muscle. A sharp cry was muffled by the cock fucking her throat. Full. So full. She was packed, a triple penetration that stole the breath from her lungs and any coherent thought from her mind. Her body bowed off the bed, a silent scream of overwhelming ecstasy. “Look at that,” someone whistled. “All three holes stuffed. A perfect fucking gangbang slut.”

“Does this bore you?” “Sorry, Ma’am.” It wasn’t so much that it was boring, it was that it was just stories. He needed more. “And then today, at lunch, I seduced a UPS guy. All tan and muscles, he looked great in his uniform shorts but he looked even better out of them. Nine-inch cock, at a minimum. Straight and thick. And boy could he eat. Someone had trained that boy well. I had three orgasms before we even got to the actual fucking. I thought about you—stuck here, cleaning the bathroom or the kitchen or whatever it was you were doing.”