Short Fantasy Novels Novels & Stories

“Fantasy?” Came the uncertain inquiry through the bullhorn that sounded out loudly amongst the hustle and bustle of the crowded pier. Raising my hand I picked up my duffel bag and began making my way forward. As I walked the men about me stared. They always stared. It was kind of nice and yet annoying at the same time. It didn’t help that my Russian born mother so enamored with her relocation to a new and in her eyes, ‘fantasy land’ of America had named me as such.

she said. [Season End] Read Similar 30+ Stories on https://eroticnovel.org/

Noah Callahan was nineteen and still believed love happened the way it did in the books he read in secret. He lived in a small apartment above his aunt’s bakery in a quiet coastal town two hours from the city. His parents had died when he was twelve; since then it had been just him, and Aunt Mara, flour-dusted mornings, and the soft click of the register. He worked the counter, delivered bread to local cafés, studied online for a literature degree he wasn’t sure he’d ever finish.

Ace raised his head, and I quickly dropped my gaze to the book in my hand, adjusting my reading glasses. “You're so wet for your stepbrother, you little slut,” Jeff grunted in Katie's ears as he slipped a hand inside her core. She whimpered under his touch, clenching around those thick fingers like it was her lifeline.” I adjusted myself on the couch as my insides squirmed from what I'd just read. I imagined Jeff's dialogue as Ace's and the thought of it made heat spread across my skin. In a fit to suppress what I was feeling, I brought my legs together.

His hand settled lightly on my shoulders, then trailed down my arm in a slow caress. When his fingers reached my knee, they slipped beneath the hem of my dress, stroking the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. A soft gasp escaped my lips as his fingertips grazed the damp fabric covering my pussy. “You’re drenched,” he observed, voice rough with satisfaction. He pressed two fingers against my clit through the lace, circling with firm deliberate strokes that made my hips jerk forward involuntarily. “All this from reading your own fantasies? Or is it because I’m finally touching what you wrote about so many nights?”

The library stood silent, its towering bookshelves casting long shadows under the dim overhead lights, a sanctuary of knowledge where I retreated to lose myself in words. I was introverted, my mind a labyrinth of intellect, but beneath my reserved exterior simmered a curiosity about my own hidden fantasies—erotic encounters in quiet, public spaces, a thrill I’d explored before with lovers past. My skirt brushed my thighs as I moved, a book in hand, the rustle of pages masking the quickening of my breath as I imagined being caught in passion here.

“I have a book I think you might enjoy." "What is it about?" I asked him curiously. "Most servants can't read. I usually read for them." "It's a book of short stories. Most are fairy tales- Half-fish people want to be full people. A princess trying to beat her pre-destined fate. Children who are abandoned in the woods try to find their way home. There are several stories within the book." "Sounds interesting," I replied, watching Bart rejoin us. I got up quickly to help him with the trays.

Maera The night was short. I kept having these dreams. Ever since I touched Lord Fenrik’s shoulder, something in me changed. I kept seeing blood. A knife. And Lord Korran is lying on the floor. Then I would wake up just to go back to the same dream. The last one had awakened me to a fully bright day. “Goddess! Am I going crazy,” I said to myself. My head pounded. My throat felt sore. I touched where he had wrapped his hand and wrinkled at the discomfort.

One of Danny's first reading loves was in the horror genre, devouring Poe, King, Herbert and others as a child, and he has recently developed a side line in writing horror shorts for the author and compiler, Samie Sands, which he enjoys very much. Danny now lives in France, and his book, A Tale of Aquitaine, is part auto fiction, part fantasy, and about his life there caring for a disabled child. He is now working on a forthcoming novel entitled, Lala's Non-stop Erotic Cabaret, a story of sex, murder, and insanity..

“And you wanted me to notice.” “Yes.” He hooked his fingers into her thong and dragged it down her thighs, letting it pool at her ankles. Cool air hit her soaked pussy. He groaned softly. “Look at you. Dripping down your legs already.” One thick finger traced her seam, gathering wetness, then pushed inside without warning. She moaned, pushing back. He added a second finger, pumping slow and deep, curling to hit that spot that made her knees buckle. “You’ve been fantasizing about this, haven’t you?” he said against her ear, leaning over her. “About me bending you over my desk and fucking you raw while the campus walks by outside.”