Written Sex Fantasy นิยาย & เรื่องราว

He doesn't stop—oh fuck, he doesn't stop—curling deeper, his palm slapping against my clit with every savage plunge. The overstimulation burns, sweet and agonizing, building me right back up until my thighs are shaking, my shameless release running down my legs. I love it. I love it so much it breaks me open, tears rolling freely now because this is my fantasy come to life. The one I've poured into my secret werewolf smut stories under the name Alpha's Little Slut. Alphas who claim hard, wreck thoroughly, and leave their mates ruined and begging for more. But this is better. Realer. Azren's fingers are merciless, stretching me, owning me, his breath hot and ragged against my ear as he whispe

she gasped, grinding her clit against him with every downward thrust. The fantasy was overwhelming. Here was his dream character , confident, seductive, dripping wet , riding him in real life. Alex flipped them so she was on her back, legs spread wide. He thrust deep in missionary, eyes locked on hers. The red contact lenses made it feel like he was truly fucking Zero Two. “I’m close,” he warned, pace becoming erratic. “Come inside me,” Lila moaned, wrapping her legs around him, heels digging into his back. “Fill your waifu with cum. Breed me.”

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains breeding/impregnation fantasies, rough sex, dominance/submission dynamics, group sex (MMF), and werewolf erotica themes. Reader discretion advised—triggers for size difference, intense power play, and heat-induced frenzy. CHAPTER ONE "I fucking need it," Selene was begging as she flailed around on the floor, touching herself intimately. "I fucking need a cock now," she demanded. She looked crazed with lust as her eyes devoured the two wolves, licking her lips as she continued to paw roughly at her own flesh. In fact, just moments before, she had spread her thighs wide open to give them a show as she jammed several fingers up inside herself and mewled with

"Someone sent me a link. To the school site. To a post that has excerpts from stories you wrote. Stories about me." I felt like I might throw up. "Ryan—" "Is it true?" he demanded. "Did you write sexual stories about me? About your stepbrother?" I could not answer. Could not find words to defend myself. "Answer me," Ryan said, his voice rising. "Did you or did you not write these things?" "Yes," I whispered. "I wrote them. But Ryan, they were private. They were never meant to be seen by anyone." "But you wrote them," Ryan said. "You wrote detailed sexual fantasies about me. About us. About things that would never happen."

“Fill my tight little virgin pussy with that thick cock of yours. Make me yours.” My fingers slide between my thighs. My breath catches. My heart pounds. My panties are almost dripping. I stand up, letting them fall down my legs, stepping out of them with slow, deliberate grace. My wetness clings to my inner thighs. I drag my skirt up to my waist and sit back on his desk, legs parted, giving in to the fantasy. One finger grazes my clit and my hips buck. It feels electric. I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t care.

I slammed into her harder, deeper, the wet slap of our bodies growing louder, more savage. “Grgghh! It feels… fuck… it feels incredible,” I growled, my voice rough with desire. “So fucking wrong… and so good.” “Tell me,” Mrs. Lisa demanded, her own moans rising in pitch. “Tell me what you’re doing to your friend’s mother.” “I’m pounding my friend’s mom pussy,” I grunted, slamming my cock into her pussy. “My cock is buried deep inside her pussy. I’m making her moan so fucking loud… making her scream so much.”

How can we put an end to this if we don’t stay away from each other? We were not in any kind of relationship, but when I write my diary entry that night, it feels like I’ve been jilted. I strike through the whole entry, determined not to let him mar my sexy fantasies. Just because I stopped acting on these fantasies doesn’t mean I can’t write them. This time, I’m writing from experience. When Rhys touches me in my fantasies, I feel his touch as though it were real, the scent of his skin when he embraces me so unadulterated that the lines between imagination and reality start to blur.

I let out a low groan, my hand now slipping inside my pants to stroke myself slowly, matching the rhythm I knew he'd be using. My eyes glued to the screen as heat built in my core, every word from him stoking that fire. He added, “Tell me you're touching yourself, Fred. Please baby, let me hear you say it.” And I bit my lip, typing hastily, “Yeah, I'm stroking, you bastard, thinking about your cock buried deep.” The exchange pulled me under, my breaths shallow and my body arching slightly on the couch as the fantasy wrapped around me like his arms.

that felt like the most powerful ending for this couple. Okay, that was the heartfelt, literary reason. Now for the completely, utterly ridiculous and honest reason: I literally could not write another sex scene. I am not joking. We were closing in on 80,000 words on this thing! A hundred thousand words! Do you have any idea how many different ways there are to describe a hand running through hair? Or a deep gaze across a room? I was starting to lose my mind trying to come up with fresh, non-repetitive action. I truly don't think I would have survived trying to write a fresh, unique, meaningful, and non-absurdly-long sex scene at this point in the narrative. My fingers were cramping, my thes

it was an erotic story ,titled the hot kidnapper) I raise an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in my eyes. I push off from the desk and walk closer, my heels clicking on the floor. “A story, huh? You think you can just walk in here and write a tale for me? How about you show me what you’re made of first? Tell me, what’s your fantasy? What gets you going in the dark?” I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, my large breasts pressing against your arm. (Pushing the paper to you I ask you to read it aloud ,you cheeks turn a faint red as you try to explain you brought the wrong story,I press a finger to your lips shushing you and telling you to read, you read it all)