The Grind Is Real Novels & Stories

“A desperate, horny little mess. You wanted my attention? You have it. All of it.” He ground his hips against mine, a slow, filthy grind that sent a jolt of pure, undiluted pleasure straight to my balls. I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped my lips, a low, broken sound of pure, unadulterated need. It was pathetic. It was honest.

The creature's body was slime-like, yet it seemed to have short limbs and a small mouth that produces a harsh hissing sound when it opens. "Don't call them junk," the elderly professor replied. Struggling to stand up from sitting on his chair, he gently placed the book he's reading on his desk, which was also filled with empty laboratory flasks, notebooks and pens. There was a stain of spilled ink covering the upper corner of his disorganized table. His hair and beard are almost white, with visible streaks of gray, and along with his crumpled and stained lab coat, they all seemed to have been unattended for a long while now.

He would have his pick of eligible graves. He’d had two so far, and now he intended to take a third. Jim decided to dispense with foreplay, he was already hard from the anticipation. He knelt down and ran his fingers over the grave’s turf, fondling and probing until he found the sweet soft spot. Every grave has that perfect place for penetration, where the soil gives the most. He took out a trowel and cut through the turf, removing a core sample and leaving a hole just large enough for him to enter. A little water from a bottle in his other pocket turned the earth to mud, a perfect lubricant.

Rocked. A slow, tentative grind. Then another. Friction, thick and devastating, sent sparks up my spine, and I whimpered, grinding shamelessly against his thigh like a girl possessed. He groaned, dragging his lips down my jaw, teeth grazing skin before he bit my earlobe, just hard enough to make me jerk. “That’s it, baby,” he growled. “Fuck yourself on me. Show me how desperate that sweet little cunt is.” I whimpered, hips rolling harder.

I didn't need to thrust, the slow, deep grind was enough to drive us both mad, for now. My tight clutched around him, fighting to keep the wave from breaking too soon. I closed my eyes, letting the sensual sounds fill the air—the damp friction of skin on skin. His ragged breathing, my own choked pleas. I pushed deeper into the grind, my core trembling as the heat became unbearable. “Good girl, keep that rhythm,” he managed to speak, but his words were nothing more than a broken plea.

And Claire’s whole body dissolved in the molten lava of her release. “Fuck, yes,” Griff growled, and let himself finally take his own pleasure. He pushed deep – as deep as he could go – and then held himself there. His large body strained, tensed… and he rode the undulating, pulsing waves, just let them wash over him, crash over him, over and over, before slowly relaxing.

Two more groups presented and the next group was "Anna Peterson and Harry Pace!" Kavinsky and Kaylee cheered them up more than everyone as they moved forward. "What we have here, is just to explain the concept of gravity...", Anna started and when she was done, Harry picked it up from where she left it and continued. After they were done, they presented again with their project, to show how it works. "A C4!", the teacher shouted again and they went back to their seats. It was a common project he had seen over the years, so he was not that impressed.

It's just that he's too drunk to scroll through his phone to check what he and his bandmates attained today. It's all the same. They break records, thousands of dollars go to their banks, Plural, the name of their fandom, praise them—especially Gold, for doing even the bare minimum. It has always been like this for the past three years. "Oh, fuck." Finn, one of Gold's bandmates, curses as he guides a random woman grind on his lap. "Oh, please." The golden boy responds, rolling his eyes and drinking his favorite whiskey. His drink complements the lyrics of the song that's currently blasting through this bar. As if on cue, the lines he relates to the most start playing.

BZZZZZZT. "Oh, fuck!" My head falls back, my forehead grinding into the mat. The vibration trapped against the floor is relentless. It has nowhere to go but straight into me. "Keep the rhythm," Echo demands. "Don't stop. Inhale... grind." I’m panting now, sweat beading on my forehead. I rock back, driving my clit onto the buzzing bullet. It feels like electricity arcing through my pelvis. "Exhale... release." "Inhale... take it."

When we got home they are still like that even when we ate our dinner that the grandparents notices… and granny now ask me to have a tea with her while the boys with gramps are having a drink outside. “The boys like you.” I don’t like where this is going. “I like you too, but I don’t want the boys to fight for a girl especially that you are not even sure who you are and if you have someone with you.” I nodded in agreement. “I know… but I can’t say anything.” “You have too. Confrontation sucks and it hurts people but it will hurt you all if you continue to stay silent.” Granny has the best advice… and I’m thankful of all of them and she’s right… and I want to make everything right… I will in