Slipstream Fiction Novels & Stories

His rolled up sleeves reveal the thick veins in his forearms, and the scent of him, that woodsmoke and sharp musk, seems to drift across the rows of desks, clogging my lungs. "Most writers fail because they are afraid to feel," Professor Tyler begins, his eyes snapping back to mine for a split second before moving on. "They describe a scene like a blueprint. But a story is not a blueprint. It is an experience. If you want your reader to bleed, you have to describe the coldness of the blade. If you want them to burn, you have to make them feel the heat of the skin."

I wаѕ, but not fоr thе rеаѕоn they thоught. THE END Thank you for joining me on this intense journey through Lost in Lust.️ If you enjoyed this story, I invite you to explore my other novel, “Wild Pleasure”️ A very sexual erotic novel. Nuzel.

Her slick puffy lips slid all over mine, mixing our juices in long sticky strings that stretched and broke every time our hips pulled apart with wet smacking sounds. “Fuck yes, rub that sloppy dripping cunt on me harder Ara!” I shouted, grinding my hips up like crazy, my swollen clit catching and rubbing right against hers with every frantic roll. My thighs were shaking already and I could feel fresh hot juice leaking out of my hole and running down my ass crack onto the crinkly paper on the exam table. Ara cursed loud and raw, her voice hoarse and thick with lust. “You filthy little slut, your pussy is leaking all over mine like a broken whore. Lustfire has got you dripping like a faucet. S

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.

I don’t think the sliding has ever gone away. I think it’s always been with me, since that day. But maybe I didn’t hear it, because in all my writing that got published, I wasn’t seeing . . . except for that first book, about Michael Lockenstein and really, THAT’s why I stopped writing the sequel to Shades of Darkness, because I had become too scared to see. But now . . . I need to see. Even if I really don’t want to. And when I write, things are quiet. Peaceful. But if I don’t write, if I dare skip an evening confessional with my iBook, I dream. Of horrible things sliding down the hall, toward my bedroom, shuffling, slithering, sliding . . .

The sound of skin on skin echoed off the close walls. She was crying now, silent tears streaming down her cheeks, but her hips had begun to move with a rhythm that had nothing to do with pain. Her thighs were slick, her cunt dripping onto the fine wool of his pants, and the humiliation at the thoughts that they could see her wetness and the way her body arched into his blows, made her want to die. Or maybe to have him never stop.

The kind that’s not going to tell you she washed her hair because it was covered in cum. My mind drifted back to last night or this morning, since I didn’t come back till 4am. I felt a sharp thrill as a memory of me riding a cock while the others feasted on my body, flashed through my mind. A small smile crept across the corners of my mouth. I still felt sore from all the places I had been ravished. A fantasy well lived…so much better than what I had imagined. I bet you’re wondering, how did I end up in a room with a bunch of strangers, living out my fantasy?

When I see Reese Chapman again, it is exactly three years after I sever our mate bond. It is also the third year since I completely seal my wolf and hide at the edge of the Shadow pack territory, living as an insignificant healer. Tonight, the air in the clinic feels heavy and icy under his overwhelming aura. He carries a lightly injured female companion in his arms and forcibly takes over the best VIP ward in the clinic. During my shift, he summons me three times through his guards. The first time, he coldly orders, "There are wolfsbane fragments on the bedsheets. Change them." I send an apprentice herbalist to handle it. Two hours later, he has a nurse relay another order. "The smell

Ethan ripped her top off, grabbed her tits hard and slapped them. “These fat tits are made for abuse.” Jax yanked her skirt up and shoved her to her knees on the dirty concrete floor. “Open that fucking mouth.” Two hard cocks slapped against her face. Lia opened wide like a starving slut. Ethan shoved his thick cock down her throat first, balls-deep in one thrust, making her gag violently. Spit exploded from her lips as he fucked her face mercilessly, her glasses fogging and sliding down her nose. “Choke on it, you pathetic virgin-turned-whore. This is what you were born for.”

I splashed cold water lightly against my face and tried to steady my breathing. “You need to get yourself together, Heavenly,” I whispered to my reflection. But even then, all I could think about was the feeling of his hand brushing my thigh beneath the table while my parents sat inches away. The memory alone sent heat rushing through my body again. God. I pulled down my pants and slipped a hand into my pussy and it was dripping wet. I didn't remove it. I kept sliding in and out of my slippery cunt. I was imagining his monsterious dick pushing through my tight hole.