fiction
Erotic, romantic, and sexy fiction for the Filthy community.
Thanking My Hero
I’m dreaming, in my dream I’m sitting next to a bon fire, I can hear it crackle and feel the heat, I can even smell the smoke. Suddenly, my subconscious recognizes that this is not a dream. I bolt up in bed, immediately coughing, the room is full of smoke and I realize my house is on fire.
By JLM fantasies8 years ago in Filthy
They Didn't Know Who Was Watching
Adam and Isabella Macy were the most sought-after students on campus. They were the most beautiful, with pale skin and fine white-blond hair. Adam wore his as if it were a halo, and Isabella's seemed to float around her face and shoulders. Truly, they were the Aphrodite and Adonis of our time. They weren't actually related, only through adoption, and the rumor was that they were fucking each other.
By Clessa Winters8 years ago in Filthy
She Knows
"I want to know you, the real you. I'm sorry for acting like this but I don't know how to act in this situation, and I know it seems weird I took you out of the office for this but this is new and if this project doesn't work out, I don't need the disappoint from my employees," he looks down, disappointed in himself even.
By Grace Xtra8 years ago in Filthy
Love Shadows: Part 3
Lena's pain always tasted the same. It was the perfect melting pot of gut-wrenching loss and a bitter debilitating longing for something she'd never be able to have again. It was her favorite kind of motivation. The weight of it could either drag her down, or tempt the fighter in her to suit up, and push through the day, as if her heart weren't consistently breaking with every breath she took. Once Tony came along, she’d had no time to fall apart. Being away from him temporarily had been the tipping point of her surpression, causing it to hit her all at once and with full force.
By Sharlene Alba8 years ago in Filthy
Love Shadows: Part 2
Repression was a gift that had been passed down to her from her mother, Josefina Navarro, the queen of suppressing her emotions. She'd never seen her mother cry, or show any kind of distraught on any given situation. That was until Lena had shown up at her old childhood home in Houston three years ago, with half of her face beaten to a pulp, and a hysterical five-year-old in her arms.
By Sharlene Alba8 years ago in Filthy
A Perfect Morning
She rolled over and tried to rub the sleep from her eyes trying to make sense of the numbers on the clock feeling that slight edge of panic that she had overslept. Her head cleared enough to realize that she woke early instead of late and had some extra time to play or give into the desire to sleep more instead. As she battled and was ready to succumb for a few extra minutes his had reached across the bed searching for her in his sleep. God she loved how he always reached for her. She decided it was worth indulging in her extra time rather than snoozing through. Slowly she inched her way down under the covers sliding between his legs the covers tented with his morning wood. This was her favorite time of day where she got to play with him as she wished. Taking her time to enjoy his scent, the way he felt on her tongue, indulging in all her senses. She licked up his shaft and swirled her way around the head pressing against his frenulum, and up across the top, searching for a bit of precum. She quickly licked down and around the shaft coating the length so she could easily begin to suck his length when she was ready. But first she wanted to suck just on the head to suckle and play with her tongue, licking it like a lollipop, taking her time.
By Alice Griffin8 years ago in Filthy
Love Shadows: Part 1
"My name is Lena Samuels and I'm not dead, but I should be." Lena's statement left her new therapy group silent. She never wanted to come to this ridiculous place full of false hope. Her doctor had vehemently expressed his concern over her avoiding counseling and never failed to remind her just how important it was for other people to hear how lucky she was to have gotten out of an abusive relationship. Why he didn’t understand boasting about having to kill her husband out of self-defense wasn’t glorious, she wasn’t sure.
By Sharlene Alba8 years ago in Filthy
She Took a Chance and Got a Third Arm
They were the two people on opposite ends of the classroom playing dodgeball with their eyes. Sometimes their irises would meet and sometimes they’d miss one another sliding away quick and discrete. Either way, the game went on. Stare, dodge, stop. Stare, dodge, stop. But that got old and so did summer.
By Micah Brown8 years ago in Filthy
