Story For Men Novels & Stories

the speaker said, pointing to six naked men with baskets in their hands, and collars around their necks. Everyone in the bar cheered. “We have some fake cocks placed strategically around this certain area,” he pointed again, “and any man who gets to fill a basket first gets to fuck the owner of the basket for the rest of the night.” More cheering. “Who will volunteer?” Before he could blink, Gerald was shoved forward by his friend. “You have to participate,” he told Gerald, “Loosen up and have some fun.” “Good. We have our six men. Ready? Go!”

But thinking back, there wasn’t much difference between our parents in this world. They were still patriarchal and deemed women only worthy of being led, fucked, and for breeding. It was the twenty-first century and the world had advanced, but not in our world; women were nothing here. The men on the other hand were traumatized as kids. Many of them had their first kill between the ages of ten to eighteen. They had to endure all kinds of torture and cruelty at such a young age. And then they grew, had kids, and did the same to them. It was a never-ending cycle.

“Very tight. How many men have you been with?” “Two.” “Two.” He pauses halfway in. I can feel the stretch of him, the thick intrusion testing my limits, and the fullness is already more than I’ve ever handled. “College boys?” “Yes.” “Did they make you come?” “No.” “Of course not.” He pushes the rest of the way in and I cry out, my hands splaying on the glass, breath fogging the surface. He’s deeper than I thought possible, the head of his cock pressing against my cervix, and the pressure is right on the border of pain and bliss. “Boys don’t know how to make women come. They know how to get themselves off using your body as a tool. There’s a difference.”

“Now this one…” He shook his head, almost impressed, almost unsettled. “This one’s mad.” He leaned back against the counter, gripping the edge of the book a little tighter. There was something about this story that didn’t feel heavy like the last one. It was still intense, but cleaner. Sharper. “Man went in for a job… came out with something else entirely,” he muttered. Adam ran a hand over his chin, thinking it through. It wasn’t about control this time. Not like before. This one felt… equal. Two people walking into the same moment for completely different reasons and meeting right in the middle of it.

It was like a tropical tsunami, destroying everything in its path—just like love. "Can't we drink together even if we don't know each other?" The guy stumbled to his feet and turned toward her aggressively. He actually had a pretty good-looking face—young, handsome, maybe around twenty, perhaps having just hit adulthood. "I got dumped!" he whined, his voice a mix of grievance and rage. His delicate, expressive eyes were clouded with alcohol and unshed tears. Sora scoffed. What a literal child. Who in the world hasn't been dumped a few times? What was the big deal about a breakup?

He looked at me like I was something breakable that deserved care anyway. Elowen last. Perfect posture. Perfect calm. The kind of man you expected to speak in verdicts and be right every time. Eight-year-old, stupidly honest, I remember thinking: They look like the kind of men who don’t let people take what belongs to them. My father had told me once, when I asked why the world was always watching, that powerful people didn’t just fight wars. They fought narratives. The four men didn’t approach me. They approached my brothers.

"Especially with men like that. Men who are used to getting what they want. Men who don't understand the word no." "You sound like you're speaking from experience," I said. Her smile faltered for just a second, something dark crossing her face before she smoothed it away. "We all have our stories," she said lightly. "Our history with complicated men. That's what makes us interesting, right?" We talked for over an hour, and I found myself opening up to her in ways I hadn't expected. Telling her about my family, about Hunter's hockey career, about my job at Hopkins Enterprise.

I walked over with a tray of pork slices and bowls of soup, placing them carefully on their table. “Here you go,” I said softly. They barely paused their conversation.. One of the men poured more alcohol into the small cups on the table and leaned back in his chair with a loud sigh. “I’m telling you,” he said, waving his cup in the air, “men cheating is just natural. It’s a man thing.” The others laughed in agreement. Another man nodded, chewing on a piece of pork. “As long as a man still loves his wife, what’s the problem?” he said. “We work all day, we’re stressed… sometimes we just need something different.”

I hated men - players like him. Guess that's just one of the lies we tell ourselves. A/N Thank you for reading my story up to this point. It means a lot. Updates would be on Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

Instead I feel like a grenade with the pin already pulled. The invitation lies on the vanity, its thick cream cardstock mocking me with gold lettering. Felix and Lena cordially invite you to celebrate their union. My ex. Getting married. The same man who told me two months ago that he needed space, that our relationship was holding him back from becoming the man he wanted to be. Apparently the man he wanted to be was someone who proposed to Lena three weeks later.