Stealthy Stories Novels & Stories

I ordered pizza for us and as they gamed, I fired up the laptop in my bedroom, curious to read the stories he'd been stroking to yesterday. As I read story after story, I was shocked both at the content of the stories and by what these stories were doing to me. My pussy was on fire, and my left hand slowly pleasured myself as I read each incestuous story. Some of the stories had dominant sons seducing their mothers, while others had powerful daughters dominating their mothers, while still others were more intimate and egalitarian in the sexual relationships between sons and mothers. I'd never even remotely considered my children in a sexual way, but yesterday's events of my son's masturbatio

I am left here to ponder about my own misfortune. I cannot be a stealer. It’s impossible. Stealers were creatures of myth and legend. Bad omens, the worst kind of creature to exist according to the stories, but not real. I'd never heard of a stealer existing anywhere in North America, much less the rest of the world. Even the legends are so obscure that I barely know what a stealer even is. I believe it has something to do with unmated men and widowed pack members. On top of everything, the topic is a large taboo.

Forbidden Pleasures My Stepbrothers 12 Blackmail’s Reckoning The weeks following my mother’s return were a tightrope walk over an abyss. Every glance, every accidental brush of hands, every late-night creak in the hallway became a potential disaster. Mike and Logan had grown even more vigilant. They installed a secondary lock on my bedroom door. They created coded signals for when it was safe to touch. And yet, the hunger never faded. If anything, the constant danger made our stolen moments hotter, more desperate, and more reckless.

The ancient library was a tomb of forgotten knowledge, its towering shelves heavy with dust and the faint metallic tang of old paper. Freya had always preferred the night shift. The quiet wrapped around her like a lover’s cloak, letting the shy 24-year-old lose herself in books rather than people. Her pale skin glowed under the dim lamps, dark curls framing wide green eyes that hid a secret restlessness--a hunger she didn’t yet understand. But only 'Yet' Tonight, the storm outside howled against the tall windows. Lightning flashed as she carried a stack of restricted occult volumes toward the back. A presence filled the air, cold and ancient, making the hairs on her neck rise.

Not on my birthday. I wanted to do something stupid. Something reckless. Something that would make tomorrow morning feel different when I woke up and remembered it. I kept walking, slower than normal, letting my sandals drag a little on the pavement. The ice cream was mostly liquid now; I finished it in three big bites and tossed the stick into a trash can as I passed. That’s when I saw the sign. Ink & Steel. Small black storefront squeezed between a dry cleaner and a cell-phone repair place. Red neon needle in the window, buzzing faintly. I’d passed it a hundred times but never really looked. Tonight the light was on inside. Two guys visible through the glass.

Chapter 1: Caught Fucking Around Trigger warning: This story is raw, gritty. It's not the kind that pets you. It will strip you off your pride like a little dirty dog, take you to your peak and punish you harder. When you're done, your pussy won't be the only thing that leaks... your master's marks will be your new tattoo, and little puppy, you'll thank him for it. Drop now if you hate dirty stories with degradation. Britanny's POV

“Leonard told the golf story again.” “Crime,” I said. “Punishable by lemon tart,” she said, and handed me a shortbread like a bribe. “What are you reading?” “Medieval trade routes,” I said, as if that were a thing I do without a man in my closet. She squinted at me over the kettle. “You’re flushed.” “Kettle heat,” I said.

Raven sounded a little confused, and still looked embarrassed. Heather put her book on the table and pushed it in front of Raven. There was a small picture on the front, just like most of Raven's Braille books. The picture looked like a little blonde girl wearing a homemade Superman -- Supergirl, I suppose -- costume. The title was Robin's Great Adventures. At the bottom of the picture I could barely make out the words "A story by", then in larger letters "Raven Tipton".

They told mе tо keep mу mouth shut and not tо say аnуthing tо you аbоut it. I wаѕ еxhаuѕtеd аnd mу hеаd wаѕ swimming аgаin and I guеѕѕ that's whеn thеу called уоu.' She said, and I was instantly turned on by her story. Fuck.

she whispered, the words barely audible. It was massive. Thick, veined, and uncut, it was a brutal contrast to his soft, rounded frame. A secret weapon. Her mind, always calculating, spun. Billy’s pretty-boy arrogance, his quick, selfish finishes in her dorm room after parties… This… this was something else entirely.