Just-wingit Nude Novels & Stories

I start scrolling and sure enough, there is a picture of me, a naked picture of me that has gone viral. I have no idea when this picture was taken, but it looks like it's in Mack's old living room. I'm sitting naked on the table, legs spread with my hand between them. My eyes are closed and my head is leaned back, pushing my breasts forward. It's obvious that it's a screenshot from Mack's Instagram account. His handle name is right on the top. The caption makes me start to hyperventilate. News Four Sports Producer by day, soccer groupie by night…Tiffany Wendel is the reining champion of the Texas Mutiny's Blow Job Races. Easy on the eyes and easy in the bedroom. She's the man of Rowen Flanig

CASSANDRA The silence weighs heavily, thick as a damp sheet. They stare at me. All of them. The three harpies recoil, one with a shredded wrist, another with a blood-streaked cheek, the third breathless, eyes wide open. But behind them, other silhouettes have approached. Thin shadows, emaciated bodies, but with greedy gazes. The inmates. Those who do not strike, who observe. The silent witnesses of every humiliation, every fall.

Ravi slammed the door behind him and was startled to find Adrian floating by the window, his wings flapping, hands folded across his chest, wearing a smug expression. He knew all too well that this creature was the one responsible for the chaos Ravi had just experienced. Ravi quickly moved to the window, fists clenched in anger, a sharp gaze directed at him with disapproval. He opened the window with a loud creak. "You're the problem here."

“That.” My gaze drops to the phone, a naked picture of her in a blue wig and a mask stares at me. Initially, I’m shocked, but I try to hide it. “Nudes?” “Swipe,” she says. I begin to swipe, it's different angles of her naked, some without her face in it, some in lingerie and then a video pops up, it's her on her bed, naked and licking a long huge dildo. That one makes me gasp, “Arielle—” I pause.

But even with the polished branding and ethereal filters, the cracks were showing. Her latest post was a picture of pale hands clasped over a candle jar. The label read “WILT” in soft script. The caption below it: They all take until there’s nothing left of you. Then they blame the ash. I stared at it for a beat, then took a screenshot and dropped it in the shared folder Makayla had set up for evidence. One more entry in the spiral.

“Who me? No, I’m not…” I started but he silenced me with a kiss. “You are,” he said. “Why do you think I punched Don Winston in the first place?” “Because he poured ketchup all over me?” “And he didn’t just do that to embarrass you. Guys have different ways of expressing a crush, angel. Winston’s brain was just tiny. He hadn’t graduated from kindergarten tactics yet.” “Seriously?” I asked in shock. “Seriously. And since you played in that concert, the list of guys I would threaten to stay away from you has increased ten-folds.”

I start scrolling and sure enough, there is a picture of me, a naked picture of me that has gone viral. I have no idea when this picture was taken, but it looks like it's in Mack's old living room. I'm sitting naked on the table, legs spread with my hand between them. My eyes are closed and my head is leaned back, pushing my breasts forward. It's obvious that it's a screenshot from Mack's Instagram account. His handle name is right on the top. The caption makes me start to hyperventilate. News Four Sports Producer by day, soccer groupie by night…Tiffany Wendel is the reining champion of the Texas Mutiny's Blow Job Races. Easy on the eyes and easy in the bedroom. She's the man of Rowen Flanig

Jax, a blade laced with wolfsbane, just in case. Damascus felt the pull stronger now. Like something inside him was vibrating, trying to rip free. They crested a ridge. There, hidden beneath a canopy of weeping pines, was a facility. Old stone walls wrapped in barbed wire and warding runes. Two guards patrolled the front. Another stood on the tower with night-vision goggles. “Damn,” Jax whispered, “They’re expecting someone.” “Not us,” Cain muttered. “Let’s keep it that way.”