Tales Of The Crypt Novels & Stories

I pulled a dagger from my vest and tested its weight in my hand. "Why not?" he asked, tightening his grip on the iron wrench he'd picked up from the floor. I looked straight at him, my eyes glowing dark red. "The Crypt isn't a tomb anymore, Kael. It's opening up. If we don't reach the center before the High Council enforcers find the lower hatch, they won't need to cut you open. The vault will drain the blood from your veins without ever touching you.“ A sharp his echoed through the ventilation shaft above us. The backup valves were failing. Oily river water began leaking through the grate, splashing across the floorboards in the darkness.

Zeke sprawled in the study chair, Eli draped across his lap like a needy fucktoy. The boy's plugged ass ground slow and deliberate against Zeke's thickening cock, the friction teasing through the thin fabric of his slacks. Screens glowed with Eli's audits, numbers crisp and untraceable. Books stayed clean. Harlan's remnants had vanished into digital nothing. Roskov cash flowed smooth through layered crypto shells, untouchable. Eli whispered, "Everything's locked tight," while nipping at Zeke's earlobe, his hot breath sending shivers down Zeke's spine. The boy's own dick leaked a steady wet spot on Zeke's thigh, pre cum soaking through.

Only silence—and the scent of something old, rising from deep within the bones of the castle. Beneath the keep, through corridors rarely walked and doors barred to memory, Elara moved alone. Her footsteps traced old sigils carved into stone by hands that no longer lived, beneath torches that flickered in still air. The sacred crypt welcomed no uninvited guests. It remembered every vow ever made within it. And every one broken. The crypt was carved before any living soul remembered—before thrones, before crowns, before the wars that made monsters of men. Its walls bore no banners. Only runes: spiraling, looping, humming faintly as if stirred by breath alone.

We both followed him in silence through the lower halls, past the iron vaults and down into the cryptic chamber where fallen vampires were preserved for study. I didn't say speak throughout the walk and neither did she, but I could feel the tension rolling off her body. We walked into the cryptic chamber and two bodies lay on the stone slabs. And one of the body was barely recognizable, bloodless, twisted, like it had been drained through some deep ancient magic. But it wasn’t the body that caught our attention. It was what was in it. A healer stood nearby, he was holding up something wrapped in enchanted silk. He unwrapped it back slowly.

He kept himself submerged, eyes closed, willing his body to obey. Eventually he emerged. The erection had wilted. Cold water and iron will had finally humbled it. Salt stung like antiseptic. Claire waited by the fire, legs drawn up on a bed of fronds. The pose exposed everything—sex, the curve of her ass—and from the front her breasts rose full and inviting, nipples tight in the morning air. .........Continue on eroticnovel.org [50+ hot and erotic stories]

But considering the action LIGHTS had taken recently against his kind, he would find a way to accomplish the task at hand. His eyes flickered back to the ancient book in front of him. Handwritten and hand bound, it was older than any volume he’d ever held before. As far as he knew, there were only two others like it in the world. One was with the doctor who’d contacted him somewhere in Eastern Europe, though he didn’t know where. The other was allegedly in the archives the LIGHTS team housed in Kansas City. If they were even aware of the legends it held, he doubted they’d think to access it for something as simple as an Eidolon Festival. Sure, the evening news would remind everyone that the

Hundreds of years have passed. Echor build 5 kingdoms named: Alpenglow where the powerful and wealthy creature ones live. Alamort, the cursed kingdom where the evil creatures of Echor come from. Raconteur, the kingdom of the dwarves who take the lead in making weapons. Habromania, the flying kingdom that is isolated from everyone where simple elves live. They avoid getting into trouble that's why they're called 'The Lonely Kingdom'. And finally, Ataraxia, where the creatures called 'Muggles' live quietly and simply They lived quietly, and without any disturbance.

Anne wished they hadn’t spoken to that batty old man, listening to his riddles and dead-end tales. The later discovery of alternate tales, crude folklore and legends betrayed by a handful of the old or wandering mad reinforced Damon’s suspicions of an ancient grave site, though there was no recorded information of its existence until Damon’s final research paper. There Damon recounted it by name, “The Mourner’s Cradle.”

We weren’t exactly legendary heroes setting off on a quest to save the world, just some random people passing through. The crypt was a surprisingly large structure, and somehow claustrophobic at the same time. I tried to think of it like a museum exhibit, although most museums don’t bother with cobwebs and damp. It would have been creepy enough being down there with full fluorescent lighting and a gift shop, but with just a couple of flickering torches and a zomber guide, it was hard not to get the chills. The big stone coffin didn’t help either. “You don’t have to look so worried,” said Jespert, his putrid face glistening in the torchlight. “Nobody will jump out of the sarcophagus. It’s jus

I was worried I might be his rebound. By the time the crocuses arrived, splashing yellow and purple across hard, blank ground, we’d moved on to more dangerous territory. He would hit me, twist my nipples, tie my wrists to my ankles and fuck me. Some- times I would cry afterward and so would he but for different reasons. My tears were a glorious release after zoning out in that taut, trapped place of being subjected to pain. His tears were the pain of loss and fear.