Sweat Stories Novels & Stories

his breath was heavier “Like a slut” I felt myself get wetter as green eyes finished the words for him. They seem to notice the impact of that title on me, because the next instant Brown hair was right in my face. “Are you a slut?” I parted my lips yet the only sound that escaped were soft breaths. He nudged me, “Say it…” “I…” My chest was thumping hard, blood racing yet I couldn’t speak…maybe from excitement. Brown smirked, “Of course you’re a slut. Only a slut would agree to be locked up in a room with strange men, begging to me fucked senseless.”

Slut! Shameless thing! It is really heartbreaking that most of the junior students look up to this tramp. Christabel, stop whoring around! Aren't you scared of getting pregnant at this your young age? You know how the society frowns at teenage pregnancy. This is just a friendly advice o. Y'all should stay tuned for more trendy news in CROWNSTAR HIGH SCHOOL. More news like this coming up soon. Yours truly, Anonymous. I didn't know who wrote this, but I must commend the person. Now, let's see how she would walk around the whole school.

he says with a smirk plastered across his face. “Please no …no. Stop.” *SMACK* “Ahh…I'm a whore. One” *SMACK* “Ahhhh.. I'm a whore. Two” …..Five,....SIX…..Ten…... .Twelve….. Nineteen. “So this is the final deal” Clover fondled her head gently stroking her hair and caressing her ass cheeks with the stick. Her ass was all red and bruised. *SMACK* “Ahh.. I'm a whore. Twenty.”

That's my life story - keeping the inevitable away from me. Sweat dripped down my cleavage and gathered at my navel. It made me agitated, feeling a sticky sweat all over my body. My hair was all over my face, back, and sides. Delirium was about to take over me. I shook my body violently in frustration, every muscle turning into molten pain. Then I heard the last sound I wanted to hear.

It’s the only one that doesn’t stink. Of course I’ve heard of mating stench before, but I didn’t realize it wasn’t an exaggeration. Does this mean females aren’t telling tales about childbirth, either? As I begin to pitch boxers and briefs and tank tops and jeans into a pile on the biggest shirt I can find—probably Bram’s—sweat streams down my face. It isn’t from the work or the heat simmering low in my belly. It’s sheer panic. What do I do next?

“Okay. So how do I even start?” “Like any other conversation. Start slow. Let it simmer. You don’t go straight for the clit, right? You tease, you build it up. Do the same here. You could start with the classic ‘what are you wearing’ line, but if you want something that really works… tell a story.” “Story?” she echoed. “You mean, like, read erotica?” “No, I mean tell him something from your life. Something hot, or something that could have been hot if it’d gone just a little further. Something real—then spice it up. Let your imagination play with the memory.”

WARNING : This is a collection of short erotic stories. It is extremely explicit, raw and unfiltered. Not suitable for readers under 18. Step into a world where every shade of temptation comes alive. Where obsession feels like love, and ruin feels like pleasure. Every tale drags you into a secret desire, a toxic attraction. Where heroines love being ravaged, and still beg for more. Stepdads who claim what they desire while mom is away or sleeping. Dominant piano tutor who turns practice into breathless, handcuffed restraint, and a junior brother who blackmailed their sisters into a threesome.

The room smelled like sweat, cologne, and something else I couldn’t place yet. There were four men inside. One was Andre. The others turned to look when I stepped in. No one spoke. I slipped off my cover-up. My swimsuit clung to me, the fabric damp from pool water and sweat. Andre walked over and tugged the strap off my shoulder. “If you’re staying,” he said quietly, “you won’t need this.” I didn’t move. I let him pull the suit down, inch by inch, until it peeled off and dropped to the floor.

Rowan left before Iris could see him. Iris sat up and looked around. The air stank of blood and the bank was carpeted with dead bodies. Iris felt nauseous and and finally threw up. "Tell me I was dreaming" She looked at her best friend who looked at Japh. Japh shook his head. "You were…he was…" Iris pointed and touched her forehead. "Breathe" "Werewolves don't exist, right?" She suddenly stood up. "Because there's no way I just saw you change into a...oh no!"

Eventually, the laughter fades. Mae lets out a loud yawn, followed by Savannah groaning about sore hips from lying on the ground. The stars above are still shimmering, but the air has cooled, and dew clings to our clothes and skin. “We should get back,” Savannah murmurs, sounding reluctant. “Before someone notices.” Mae sighs dramatically. “What’s life without a little danger?” Lloyd rises first, brushing grass from his clothes. Then he turns toward us, offering a hand to each of us in turn. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll walk you back.”