Search Stories Novels & Stories

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

I panicked, Jax slipping out the window like a ghost. Body aching, pussy throbbing, I dressed slow, cum still inside. Downstairs, his eyes met mine over coffee promise of more anytime. The weekend? Far from over.

A new post from the same anonymous account. "That was just the beginning. Over the next few days, I'll be posting more of Lila's stories. Stories about other guys at school. You might even find yourself in one of them. Stay tuned to see just how perverted Lila Richmond really is." My hands were shaking. This person did not just have one story. They had multiple stories. Stories about different people. I had written so many over the past year. Stories to process my confusing feelings. Stories about Ryan. Stories about Derek before I knew him. Stories about random guys I found attractive. Stories that were never meant to be read by anyone.

The next day at work felt like absolute torture. I was the manager of Velvet Desires, an upscale adult store located in a quiet corner of the city. We sold high-end toys, luxurious lingerie, premium lubes, and everything a woman could possibly want to explore her deepest fantasies. Normally I loved my job. I helped shy customers find their first vibrator, recommended the perfect bullet for discreet public play, and smiled through awkward conversations with complete confidence. Today, however, I could barely concentrate on anything.

*Next Collection* **Story Synopsis** Nineteen-year-old Lisa discovers her married neighbor’s hungry eyes on her through the open bedroom window each sweltering summer night. Instead of hiding, she lets the forbidden thrill pull her deeper into a silent, shadowy game of temptation. What begins as distant stares slowly spirals into something far more dangerous—until one night the line between watching and touching finally breaks ***** Lisa's Pov ... I’d just gotten home from a late shift at the campus coffee shop, my tank top clinging to my sweaty skin and my tiny denim shorts riding up my ass like a second skin.

We roasted it relentlessly for half an hour, sharing naan and chicken tikka from the same containers, passing the wine around like old times. Then, because alcohol apparently turns me into an oversharer when I’m desperate for touch, I blurted it out. “I haven’t gotten laid in ten months.” The room fell silent except for the thunder outside. Jordan stopped chewing. Luca’s fork hovered mid-air. “Ten?” Jordan echoed, eyebrows shooting up. I groaned and yanked my tee over my face. “Don’t make me repeat it.” Luca lowered his food gently. “Ethan?” he asked, voice low and careful.

The education program Claudia would eventually, years from now, build into something that bore her own mark. At the back of the report, a section I'd asked the communications team to add two years ago. Stories. Not statistics. Stories. Specific people whose lives had been touched by the foundation's work. A woman in Chicago who'd accessed the therapy center after losing both parents in a car accident at nineteen. A boy in Seattle who'd received a scholarship and was now finishing a degree in public health. A family in London who'd found the resources to stay together after catastrophic loss. People my parents would never know existed.

I sat back from the island. I had told this story in pieces. To Victoria across a folder of documents. To Noah on a Singapore rooftop in the early days when the telling was still fresh and raw. To Nina over eggs at nine-thirty with forty-three minutes of anger on the other side of it. I had told it in the clinical register of a legal deposition and in the private register of a woman processing her own history and in the careful, managed register of someone who understood that how a story was told shaped what the listener did with it. I had not told it to Ethan.

It was coming from her—my stepmom Sarah—and him—my stepbrother Jake. I lounged on the big sectional couch in the living room, legs stretched out, my nipples already hardening against the thin white fabric of my tank top. No bra. I hadn’t worn one on purpose. The wine had me flushed and bold, my pussy tingling with that slow, forbidden ache I’d been ignoring for months.

I consoled him and gave him some water. “She locked me up in the store room” “WHAT? IN THE STOOR ROOM? HOW DID YOU COME HERE! Tell me everything.” I questioned. “I was locked inside since morning and when she opened me up, I ran and hid here. She warned me that she’ll lock me again if I told this to anyone.” I stood up and as I went forward Zac held my leg and started to cry. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to get locked please.”