Kinda Funny Fantasy Critic Novels & Stories

God knows I spend more time inside the fictional worlds I create than I do in the real one. So maybe this is just… that. This is just my brain taking something small and stretching it into something bigger, darker, more dramatic. Something that isn’t there. Writers are already labeled as dreamers, Overthinkers and delusional people. We’re seen as people who create problems just so they can solve them. And I refuse…..I refuse to let a fantasy override my common sense. It’s either that…Or I go mad. And I’m not ready to unpack that kind of madness yet.

"I only thought of showing my world to her and sharing the joy of being in fantasy together..." "Well, no one is to be blamed for being excited," Kith responded. "What we should do now is to prevent her from dreaming whenever she falls asleep. Bad dreams in Fantasy are anomalies that stick with the dreamer even in their wake. They will try to lure the innocent human into becoming their door because they want to enter Fantasy where they can be real. I mean the human mind is an open door to these bad anomalies plus their pure existence can create new things." Hue said nothing. His gaze was still fixed on his wife. He inhaled deeply.

But seeing it tonight, it was livelier than what the book made me see. Fantasians are all-over the place. Fooleys, sweeps, baylans, glacias, flamias, and other creatures I can't name yet are busy walking and buying stuffs in the side alleys. "This is amazing," I whispered with pure amusement. "You want to eat something?" Cool asked after slightly tightening his hold on my hand to get my attention. "Hmmm," I answered absentmindedly, still in awe in everything I see. "How 'bout Haba?" my forehead crease upon hearing an unfamiliar word.

:O:O:O:O:O I will try to write long chapter dear. Please don't get upset of this small chapter. And dear can you please check out my book His Human Mate? I know many of you don't like fantasy book. But please just have a look. If you don't like it, you can leave the book but at least try once. It is a request from your author. I will wait for your support my dear readers.

I'm not sure how to work with that. Him: No. I just want to go. Always have. Me: How is that a fantasy? Him: I've fantasized about going. Just never actually done it. Me: That doesn't count. It's not even sexual. Him: You never specified 'sexual.' Me: I said 'filthiest'!!! Him: You can't tell me I wouldn't be filthy after La Tomatina. I can't believe it. I can't freaking believe it. He's wheedling out of a real answer by arguing semantics?

So I became quiet and took care of myself. But David and Joon did pay attention to me and they did care about me in their own creepy way. So even though I had this rule with myself to fight everything they did to me. I would enjoy these little moments where they care about me. Just then I would accept to be a part of their creepy fantasy of me being their little girl, to get to know the feeling of being cared for, of being loved for.

It felt as though my fanning was having no affect. “Okay please, turn it up” I said, salaciously and very weakly, like a dying cat. This was more me manifesting a raunchy fantasy I had been daydreaming about; to have a proper man fuck me to the deepest depth of eternal damnation on a luxurious kitchen island. Charles was that man. It was this fantasy that had got me through those long lonely nights writing tasteles blog posts and wishing I had gone to beg Richard so we could go back to the era of fucking my brains out. Was I on glue or was something going to happen.

From when I had taken Lord Fenrik’s cock into my mouth. “Goddess!” I screamed, as I fully remembered what had occurred under the blistering moonlight. My hand fiercely on my face as I writhed not in shame, but in a wicked delight. A part of me loved it. It had been a long time since anyone had made me explode with an intense oragsm, not even Derek came close. “Maera!” He called this time, his voice ejecting me out of my fantasy. I turned my head reluctantly to his direction, eyes questionable as to why he was pestering my peace.

My fingers found my clit—already slick, already begging—and the first slow circle made my back arch so hard water sloshed over the edge. “Oh God,” I whispered, even though I knew it was the wrong name to say. I stroked faster. Two fingers sliding over and around my clit while my other hand came up to pinch my nipple the way I imagined he might. The water made everything slippery, louder. I slipped one finger inside myself, then two, curling them the way I’d done every morning for weeks. My hips rocked up to meet my hand. The fantasy took over completely—Father Chris’s voice in my ear, his breath hot against my neck, his fingers replacing mine, thicker, surer, pressing that spot that made sta

I almost laughed, but I bit it back, Instead, I leaned even closer, my lips nearly brushing the screen. "But Father, it's so hard. These fantasies... they get worse every time. I dream about him pinning me down, fucking me hard and wild, his dick slamming into my womb, like he can't control himself. I want him to grab my throat, to slap my ass while he pounds into me from behind. I wake up wet, my pussy throbbing, and I have to finger myself just to get through the day, but the thought of wanting him even while fingering myself is something I don't know how to explain"