Willow X Tigry Novels & Stories

"Does my son f*ck you this good? No? Then take this d*ck like the good girl you are." My father-in-law had me bent over the kitchen counter, hand clamped over my mouth to muffle my moans, while his son—my husband—called my name from upstairs... *** You think you know what you're getting into? You don't have a f*cking clue. This isn't some tasteful romance where the camera pans away. This is the raw, uncut, NC-17 version of your filthiest 3 AM fantasies—the ones you'd never admit to anyone, not even yourself. We're talking D*ddies who don't ask permission because you already gave it with those desperate eyes. Men old enough to be completely off-limits but experienced enough to make you forget your own name. They'll bend you over their desk, f*ck you silent at family dinner, and make you call them D*ddy while reminding you how young, and tight you are. Trigger warnings? Everything here is designed to trigger you. Age gaps that'll get you disowned. Rough hands leaving fingerprint bruises on your hips. Choking that blurs your vision while he calls you his perfect little slut. Public s*x in places you'll never see the same way. Getting passed around because one man isn't enough. These men don't make love—they f*ck, claim, own. They'll use every hole like it belongs to them because it does. Degrade and worship you in the same breath. Call you their dirty girl while balls deep making you scream. Now be a good girl, turn the f*cking page, and let Daddy show you what you've been missing.

In the third year of my eating disorder, my husband, Nikolai Hollowell, is the only person who still insists on making me eat. Even when I vomit until I'm a trembling mess, he will make another dish for me again half an hour later. He coaxes gently yet stubbornly, "Have one more bite of the apple slice, Emi." But the moment I smell the food, I throw up again until I can barely breathe. That night, I make another post on X to ask for help. "How is someone with an eating disorder supposed to keep living?" The top comment says, "Get a boyfriend who's a chef! My darling cooks different dishes for me every single day, all 365 days without repeating once. Even the apple slices he cuts are shaped like cute little bunnies, so I absolutely love eating now." Someone replies enviously, "Wow! Where do you find a man like that?" She answers, "Find one? Good men like that no longer circulate on the market. He is actually married. His wife has had anorexia for three years. She has become only skin and bones. "He says just looking at her kills his appetite, and he does not even want to touch her. Well, I'm nothing like her. I always finish every dish he makes." My breathing catches in my throat. This morning, Nikolai personally made bunny-shaped apple slices for me. My fingertips turn cold as I tap into the woman's profile. Her caption reads, "Wow! If your wife won't eat bunny-shaped apple slices, then I will!" Attached is a photo of a man's long, elegant fingers holding an apple slice up to the woman's mouth. And the one reflected in her starry eyes after zooming in—is a face identical to Nikolai's.

He dipped his head back between my thighs and placed his hand under my a*s, pulling my waist towards him. He began licking around the edges of my p**sy, closing in slowly to the center. He traced me with the very tip of his tongue until he could taste my nectar. He licked the entrance of the v*****l hole, sucking my juice like it was liquid sin, like he wanted to drown himself in it. Then he dragged his tongue back to my c**t stroking it. I didn’t move, I kept still, as if I did he might stop and I was scared of that. My chest just heaved, letting out the faintest of breaths. Another stroke of his tongue on my sweet spot, and a very quiet m**n bubbled out of my throat. He moved his tongue again, flicking with more pressure and I jolted like I had been electrocuted. I pushed my hips forward and completely enveloped his head between my thighs, my knees bending until my legs were locked behind his head, burying his head deeper into my wet p***y. My body tightened, not like I was about to c*m, but like he was easing all the pressure he had built up. Are you looking for the best e****ca stories? The perfect e**tica content that would keep you on edge wanting more? Search no more, you’ve found the perfect one. Turn the pages and read, if you dare! This is a compilation of extremely erotica content ranging from forbidden s*x between step family members, student and teacher, between best friends, gays and lesbians and so much more! Note: Do not read if you’re below 18 Extremely erotica content!

On my fifth birthday, my parents showed up at my birthday party later than usual. They brought with them a skinny little girl who couldn't seem to speak at all. I rushed over, hoping to hug Mom, only to get knocked down by her. That was how I fell into the ten-foot cake that my parents had specifically picked out for me. Buttercream filled my nose and mouth, suffocating me to no end. When I managed to climb out of the mess, I burst out in tears and asked Dad to cuddle me. But Dad retracted his hands while looking conflicted. "Don't blame your mom, Willow. From now on, you must take good care of Maple, your little sister. As long as Maple is happy, your mom will be happy." Later on, the mean kids in the neighborhood shove Maple Thompson, my new little sister, into a pile of sand. I rush over to protect her immediately. Once we get home, I mimic my parents by drawing a bath so that I can clean Maple up. That's when Mom suddenly barge into the bathroom and slap me heavily across the face. "You've already enjoyed our love for the past five years! Why are you still greedy for more? I can't believe you're trying to drown Maple right now!" Mom's eyes have gone bloodshot. She drags me by the hair and stuffs me into the washing machine. "Only a washing machine is capable of cleanse that filth out of your soul! You can only scramble out of the washing machine and apologize to Maple once you've decided to quit bullying your sister!" In the living room, Dad lowers his voice. "Keep your voice down when you're chewing Willow out. Maple is about to fall asleep. Don't go around waking her up now." Mom doesn't want to look at me anymore. Instead, she slams the lid onto the washing machine forcefully. I can't get out of the machine. What she doesn't know is that the washing machine will activate. "The 212-degree-Fahrenheit wash cycle has been activated." Scalding hot water is soon dumped onto my body. It hurts so much that I gradually lose my consciousness. Will Mom love me again once I'm squeaky clean after the wash cycle?