Non Consent Stories Novels & Stories

“A tell-all. About Xander Hayes and Olivia Carter.” Dead silence. Then. “No.” She hangs up. Just like that. I blink slowly, my throat tightening. Fine. Next. The second call lasts longer, at least. “We’re not looking for material connected to the Hayes, ” the woman says slowly, like she’s talking to a mentally unstable child. “The legal implications....” “It’s MY story,” I snap. “I've known him for years. I know everything.” “Even so… we prefer to pass.” She disconnects the call. One by one, all the respectable publishers turn me down. Some politely. Some not so politely. Some don’t even pick up my calls.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. REMEMBER: The world of fiction where the characters of my story reside is void of realities of HIV and STI. In the real world where we live in, HIV and STIs exist. The story is merely an escape from that world, so that I can release my subconcious, which is full of crazy and messy sex fantasies. The scenes in this story should never be recreated in real life. Guys, never ever attempt barebacking, rape or other unsafe sex ac

“I told you, I won’t force you.” “But we must, I mean we can’t fake the-” “We’ll mark each other. It'll be enough to sustain our story. I know how you feel about it, but the mark will fade away eventually. We'll renew it once in a while.” By the end of this talk, he was only in his underwear. A small whimper escaped my mouth causing me to slap a hand over it. His laugh filled the room. Despite the turmoil of emotions that were ravaging my mind, I couldn’t deny the fact that his body was nothing less than perfect.

"I've always been curious but never... acted on it." "Why not?" "Fear, I guess. Of getting hurt or judged." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Fair but what if it's mutual? What if it's about trust?" We talked for hours, the shop emptying around us. He shared stories….vague at first, then more detailed, of past experiences, always emphasizing consent, communication. It wasn't crude…it was intriguing, like peeking into a world I'd only read about in books. By the time we parted, he'd asked for my number.

I didn't want to believe it and I didn't want him to think that h was too eager. “What do you mean?" I asked. “Are you in pain? Are you sore?" He asked me and changed the topic without repeating himself. I must have been dreaming then. I started listening to my body and I didn't feel any aches. “Maybe I will feel it later but I am okay," I answered trying to hide the disappointment that was in my voice. I then watched as he slid the condom from his semi hard dick and that's when he saw it. “Is this… is this blood? Madre di dios! It's true I took your first time, cara. Bontà! How could I let you go after that then?”

“You have a point on that. After all, that night with Jake was just a drunken encounter. On the other hand, you could always turn it back around at him and say it wasn’t consensual.” “I… I don’t know if I gave him consent in my intoxicated state,” Myra stammered. That’s what he had said angrily that day in the elevator at the megamall. She had never seen him so indignant. “What is done is done,” Sierra sighed. “Your relationship between him is too close for you to press charges against him. Which you should have done earlier, but I know your heart. You can’t bring yourself to.” “Wait, how did you…”

“That it wasn’t a dare anymore.” We didn’t get the chance to control the narrative. By noon the group chat was already on fire. Someone had posted a photo from Friday—me in Noah’s lap on the dare, his hand on my neck, my fingers twisted in his shirt. The caption was cute enough to be cruel. when the best friends finally snap Tessa had liked it. Then unliked it. Then posted a story of her own that I refused to open. Noah sat at my kitchen counter in yesterday’s jeans, shirtless, scrolling with his jaw locked.

“Also… worthwhile. Turns out spending your days helping hospitals rewrite consent forms is less glamorous than espionage, but significantly better for my sleep.” “How are the forms?” I asked. “Longer,” she said. “Clearer. In three languages. With cartoons. Bash would be proud.” We started down the corridor. Past group rooms. Offices. A small library with a shelf labeled BRAINFICTION / BRAINNONFICTION where someone had thoughtfully placed a sticky note that read: REMEMBER: THESE ARE STORIES, NOT MANUALS. “I saw your last testimony,” Rhea said as we walked. “You didn’t swear at the senator who called NIN ‘an overreaction to a one‑time incident.’ I’m impressed.”

“Does writing those scenes excite you, Freya Laurent? Did your body respond while you imagined me fucking you in this very office?” The crude word from his mouth sent a jolt straight between my legs. I pressed my thighs together, but the ache only deepened, a slow liquid throb. “Yes,” I voiced before I could stop myself. Shame and arousal tangled so tightly I couldn’t tell them apart. Dr Brandy’s lips curved, just a little. “Good. Honesty is the first rule.” He circled behind his desk and sat, pointing to the chair opposite him. “Sit. Open the document on your laptop. The journal entry. Read the first three paragraphs aloud and slowly.”

Hi, I will not say much. This is an erotic story that contains a mom/aunt/son. As you know, I write about Aunt/Mom’s stories. Please support me by reading my other stories, too. Also, you can support me on my P*****n: p*****n.com/laxu00 Story starts