Slipstream Fiction Novels & Stories

Heat flooded my entire body as I quickly turned away and rushed to finish my work. The second I was done, I practically ran out of the study like the hounds of hell were chasing me. I didn’t stop until I reached my small room. The moment the door closed behind me, I collapsed onto the bed, breathing hard. My hand slipped under my skirt without thinking, fingers finding my soaked folds. I was dripping.

The moment the procedure slip hit the floor, Solana instinctively snatched it up and stuffed it away as quickly as she could. However, Isaiah's sharp eyes had already caught sight of the words "procedure slip" on the paper. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it had jumped to her throat, and she could even hear the thumping of her heart in her ears. She fumbled for a moment, trying to come up with something believable. Finally, she mumbled, "It's nothing; it's just a simple dental procedure. Dr. Bates said I should take care of any dental issues early during pregnancy, or it'll cause trouble later."

EMMA The walk up the stairs felt like a fever dream. My legs were still shaky from the two massive orgasms Sarah had ripped out of me downstairs, and my inner thighs were slick with a mixture of my own juices and her saliva. Jake’s cum had dried in streaks on my skin, but my pussy was already throbbing again, aching to be filled. Sarah led us by the hand—her full, naked body glowing under the hallway light, heavy tits bouncing with every step, ass jiggling enticingly. Jake followed close behind, his thick cock still rock-hard and bouncing, glistening from fucking Sarah’s cunt.

They were no longer refugees; they were explorers. They turned the city's primary "Void-Vane" into a "Lunar-Bridge." By focusing the aurora’s energy into a tight, coherent beam, they could create a "Slipstream" to the moon. This was the first step toward the stars. The chapter ends as the first manned "Frost-Sled" enters the slipstream, its pilot—a First-Gen survivor—letting out a defiant roar as he leaves the atmosphere he spent a lifetime trying to reach.

He looked at me, in those seductive eyes while leaning closer towards me… I swear I couldn't just resist. I drowned in every inch of his touch. My hands slipped down her skirt and fortunately she wasn't wearing any underwear. She was damn wet, "do ladies get as slippery as this?" My thoughts rolled, my mind a chaotic ride. I started off with her thighs, the tingles it gave her. I could feel her shaky breath…. She drew me closer, my lips and hers jammed while I pressed myself forward to her… My hands finally slipped in her "goddamn stream"…..

The cue was small. A supplier mentioned a two-week slip on gaskets as if it were weather—casual, almost bored, a date dropped into the middle of a sentence about freight. Elena should have caught it. She should have pinned the number, asked for the written confirmation, flagged the water path before the words finished dying in the air. Instead her mind was still in the cabin: nylon webbing on her wrists, his palm sealing her mouth, the wet quiet thrust when the attendant offered coffee fifteen feet forward. She was sitting in a borrowed conference room with city glare on the table and the four-day wire still humming between her legs, skirt hiding what the jet had left drying on her skin, inn

I come home for the holidays to find four pairs of slippers beside the shoe cabinet. There's a pair for my dad, Dean Pratt, a pair for my mom, Nancy Kerr, and two pairs for my sister, Luna Pratt, including a spare. Mine isn't there. Although my sister attended school in another state, kept her room exactly as it was. Even her slippers sit by her bedside, waiting for her return. I had been away from home for three years. When I returned, I discovered that my belongings had disappeared one by one. And now, they hadn’t even kept a pair of slippers for me. I stand in the entryway, my feet bare. "Where’s my pair?" Mom pokes her head out. "You hardly ever come back, so I threw them away. The

The stream carried our stories away, a silent, gentle curator that asked for no revisions and offered no critique. The next morning, the bank was a fresh slate of smooth, dark mud, and the ritual repeated. Lina drew the history of a crystal that learned to weep. Jeff sketched the blueprint for a bridge connecting two arguing mountains. I traced the journey of a seed that dreamed of being a comet.

She turned from man to man, slurping and sucking, coming off their cocks to gasp some air before going back down again. The men petted her they groaned - they thrust their hips and forced their cocks deeper into her mouth. She felt their cocks become even more bloated and hard as they ground against her cheeks, and felt her pussy gush as precum roiled down her throat and over her hands. Their grunts, and especially Roy's humming growls, filled the room. Tara's fantasy was nothing - reality was better in every way, and she forgot herself, feeling their warm precum drooling down her lips and dripping onto her breasts.

"I told you, I'm helping. Tell me yourself—doesn't it itch? Doesn't it ache?" His thick, strong finger traced up and down my slit. In that instant, every cell in my body nearly exploded. How… how could it itch this badly? How could I want it this much? I couldn't take it anymore. My brow furrowed tight, and a soft moan escaped my throat. Steve grinned. He raised his shaft and shoved it hard into my hole.