Tags: Incest, Spanking, Analingus, Mf, ff, (Future Mff)


Part 1

It’s hard to believe that tomorrow makes fifteen years since the day that things changed for my sisters and myself. My parents were going to Hawaii for their twentieth wedding anniversary and they had left me in charge of the house and had told my two sisters Milly and Maddy the night before at dinner that while they were gone my authority was absolute and my word was Law around the house.

It was the second monday of summer vacation and I awoke to the smell of blueberry muffins. After glancing over at my alarm clock, I momentarily wondered what was going on. My parents’ flight had been scheduled to depart at 5:30 that morning, and since my alarm clock told me that it was 10:37, my parents had to be somewhere over the Pacific Ocean at that time. That left my sisters as to the reason I was smelling muffins. The problem was my mother didn’t like my sisters to use the stove because they almost always left a huge mess afterwards that she had to clean up after they left the kitchen. I sighed and got out of bed to see what mischief Milly and Maddy were up to.

After throwing on a pair of biking shorts and a tee shirt, I always slept in just my jockey shorts, I went downstairs. I pushed open the kitchen’s swinging door and walked into what looked like a white hurricane had blown through the room. There was flour all over the counters and stove, as well as on the floor and the kitchen sink. The sink held a half-dozen mixing bowls, plastic spatulas, and various other batter covered utensils. There were two muffin pans filled with muffins sitting to the left of the stove and an open tub of butter sitting in front of the pan. Four muffins were missing from the pan on the left and standing about three feet away from the pan stood my sisters; each of them buttering the two halves of a blueberry muffin, their clothes dusted with flour.

Before I say anything more about what happened after I walked into the kitchen and my sisters‘ mess, I think I should give a bit more context to what the situation was here. It was June 26, 1996; just a little over a month until my eighteenth birthday. Milly was thirteen and Maddy was twelve, and both were as rambunctious as redheads are supposed to be.

I think I should give a bit of background on myself and my sisters before I go any farther in this story. The three of us were something of a mystery to our parents. There had been no redheads on either side of the family for generations, and yet all three of our parents’ kids had red hair. (Trying to figure out where our hair color came from was one of the main reasons why I chose a career in genetics when I went off to college after I turned nineteen.) Our parents were also a bit unusual when it came to naming us as well. For instance, I was named after my parents’ favorite actor and my middle name is my fathe Message too long. Click here to view the full text.

Alright folks, this will be coming out in parts.


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My father Eamon had been IRA, during the troubles. He had met my mother Teagan defending a town from the INLA in the late 70s. She had, at the time, been only 16, while he had been 20. Her family had fed him and a few other fighters following a firefight. Her red hair, Da had said, was the brightest thing he'd seen, and her blue eyes "bore straight through his soul". That night she'd met him in secret and they made love for the first time.
They would later marry, and had me, their bouncing baby boy Ronan in the late 80s. My hair as black as Da's and my eyes a bright green. My mother had unfortunately developed a brain tumor when I was 8 and passed away shortly after it was discovered. Da was despondent for months afterward.
As a result of all of this, I grew up with a strong respect for and knowledge of firearms and Irish culture and history, as well as some knowledge of military and political workings. I also grew up valuing every day, knowing that it could be my last. I grew up listening to all kinds of music, and found myself especially enamoured with the gothic subgenres, and later the industrial genres in my teens. I wore business casual clothing and a deathhawk, and Nora, a girl I dated in high school had begun to get me wearing eyeliner. My father simply shook his head. He didn't care so long as I kept my grades up and stayed in shape. I hung around a few local clubs in my late teens and even DJed at one, briefly.
I ended up pursuing a career with the Defense forces, owing largely to my father's training, and worked my way into the Sciathán Fiannóglaigh an Airm(Army Ranger Wing), where I quickly became an accomplished sniper and travelled around the world a bit on some peacekeeping missions and joint task forces.

It was in Afghanistan that I met one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. I'd sat down at a table at one of the many bases after an astoundingly tough night op. I was sore and exhausted, having spent hours laying stock still with my rifle in hand followed by another hour of constantly providing cover fire and dodging haphazard return fire, switching positions to keep those fuckers guessing. It had ended with an RPG hitting a half-broken floor below me and collapsing supports...and then the floor I was crouching on at the time. While I hadn't broken anything I had taken a single bullet graze to the side of my then-bald head and my uniform, as a result of the collapse, was absolutely caked in desert dust and abdobe and a little bit of blood on the shoulder. I wanted a dram and a hot meal and sleep. I had at least been able to secure a bowl of soup. A woman with Canadian uniform had walked in, sat down across from me, and pushed a flask of Jameson's in my direction.
"You look like hell." She'd told Message too long. Click here to view the full text.

Hey dudes, I wrote this on 4chan while requesting something on /r/. It's written in 4chan style, with the main character as Anon Ymous, but it's basically a Mills & Boone. That means it takes a fucking AGE to get to the juicy bits. If you like nosex give it a go!

It's half finished at the moment, but I haven't stopped at a cliffhanger, there is some resolution.

Tell me what ya think. :)

~~~

Be me in highschool. Tall, awkward, wiry. I was never sure why Nicole sat next to me in business class but I was glad she did. She was a year older than me, and I was considered a gifted child so while I took the advanced courses she took the remedial, that meant we had a lot of classes together.

We became friends, I can't say for sure what we talked about or what we had in common, but we passed notes during quiet time and hung out on morning tea break. Thinking back to those times is like watching a silent film, I can see our lips moving, the motion of her laughing, but I can't hear her voice. Green eyes, freckles, red hair. Her image still flashes in my mind when I masturbate. I can't pinpoint the exact moment when I realised, but at some point in the early 2000's, a teenaged version of me realised that Nicole Fisher was going to be his first.

"Hey, do you wanna have a threesome?" It was probably around when she said that. I remember turning red, dropping my pencil and staring at her like a frightened animal. I don't remember saying anything in response, but she pressed her hand against my shoulder and said, "With me and my boyfriend!"
I shook my head. What was she saying?! She was a year older than me, she said her boyfriend had a huge dick! What if I embarass myself? She's just saying it to make fun of me. Thoughts like these turned over in my head and I kept quiet. I'm not old enough to have sex anyway.

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This is the first half of the second tale in the "Mikey and Me" story, in which we meet Katie, a girl in Josh's neighborhood.

Tags: bg, preteen, viol, nosex

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Katie Part 1

“If you can strip me, you can take me.”

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I'm sure she said it.

Word for word. Just like that. I heard her.
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This is my first attempt at starting a story on here. I've tried a few things on Fiction Press, but not quite this depraved. I'm inspired by some of the examples here (especially Roommates), so I thought I would give it a try. I don't pretend this is that good. I'm not even sure that I'm posting this right.

Chapter 1

I turn to move past Hayley McSween in the hallway connecting the kitchen to the dishwasher in the restaurant serving St. Edmund’s Country Club. With a hand on my chest, she lightly pushes me into the door for the stockroom. “Can you close for me tonight? I want to go to the mall with from friends.” Her fingers trace from my chest to my belt buckle suggesting a possible compensation for my sacrifice.

I am Kyler … Kyler Jakubowski. At nineteen years old, I scrape, borrow, and force my way through my sophomore year in bio-premed at Stony Brook University on Long Island. Straight A’s so far – lookin’ good. It may be mercenary, but I will do just about anything to endure this crucible for that glimpse of wealth I see at the other end.

I live in a cramped, non-air-conditioned attic apartment of an ancient home that I rent from some old couple – Mr. and Mrs. Watson. With its back staircase access, I never have to see them, if I don’t want to. They’re okay, though – always waving to me and baking me stuff. Back in the day, the house was an old whaling captain’s home, so I have access to a little glass room above the attic. His wife could watch for his ship to return. No lie – it’s called a belvedere.

My college is on Long Island, but my savings account is strictly Schenectady. It was a lot easier to afford the $300 monthly rent before my roommate, Freddie Steffanaur, was expelled for copying an entire term paper, verbatim, from an internet site – for the third time. What a fuckin’ jackass.

Which is why, when Hailey McSween asks me to close for her at work -- I’m tempted to say, “Yes” without delay. I can use the extra hours, even though I have a shitload of homework – I can fake it through Statistics, but Orgo is getting pretty tough. I’m lying -- even though Hailey’s only sixteen, she is smoking hot with reputation to spare. I’m always happy to do her a favor … just in case it could lead to something.

Ah shit, who am I kidding? That’s just living out one of my masturbation fantasies. With a healthy allowance, she doesn’t need the job, but her parents think it builds character. I’m glad I enjoyed a few seconds of that delirium before answering because she reaches down and traces my stiffness from the outside with just one finger, and it drives me senseless, “I can make it worth your while.”
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This is the first story I've ever started that I've finished and posted. Hope some of you enjoy!

Mgg, teenagers

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Last Saturday started out like any other day at the Happiest Place on Earth with my nephew and son, but it turned out to be one of the strangest days of my life.

I live in the Los Angeles area, a good distance away from Anaheim but close enough to Disneyland to justify having an annual pass for my 3-year old son and myself. Long days and nights at the parks used to be among me and my wife's favorite things, before she lost her mind and left me a little over a year ago.

Anyway, last Saturday. My brother Bill, his son, my son and I were at Disney for no real reason. You don't really need a reason when your admission is already paid for. We had been on a few kiddy rides, and I had let Bill escape and ride single-rider on a few rides while I watched the kids. Bill returned from Space Mountain and returned the favor, sending me away with a Fast Pass for Indiana Jones.

If you're not familiar with how lines at Disneyland work, here's the run down: they suck. You can either wait one to two hours in the normal line, or get a Fast Pass for one ride at a time that lets you into a special line where you might only wait 15 minutes. The catch is you usually have to wait an hour in between Fast Passes. So, you generally aren't going on more rides, you just waste your time in more entertaining ways than standing in endless lines.

I strolled into the Indiana Jones Fast Pass line, not in a hurry to get back to Toon Town and see another costumed stranger give my nephew a high-five (my kid won't talk to them, he says they have creepy eyes.) I caught a few glances of the pair of women ahead of me, wearing matching crop tops and yoga pants, while winding our way through the unused portion of the ride queue. Since my wife left so unexpectedly, I hadn't dated or even really tried. But that didn't mean I didn't appreciate the sight of a well-toned thigh in tight lycra.
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This is one chapter of a larger work in progress. The plan is a series of vignettes based upon my real life experiences as a preteen. The chapters will be connected by an overarching thread. Word count on this chapter is just short of 7,500. Comments are welcome. Could use an editor.

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Mikey Part 1

“Come to church with me. We'll get laid.”

Jeez, where did it start with Mikey?
Church, I guess. Ain't that ironic?
See, Mikey was home-schooled so he didn't know any of the in-school kids I knew, except those who lived near us. That's how we met. Hanging around the neighborhood playground park.
But he wasn't lonely. His Mom was like super-religious, and their family hung out with a big church-going crowd that I didn't know.
When I say Mikey's Mom was super-religious, I mean not only was he not allowed to cuss, but he couldn't even use “soft” cussing like “Gosh darn!” or “Golly Gee” because those were all really Jesus' name, disguised sort of, but still very much taken in vain. Which was a sin. So he had no language stronger than saying “Wowwee!”
But as strict as she sounded, she was always really nice to me when Mikey brought me over. She helped us set up a little clubhouse by cleaning out a tool shed in the yard, and she furnished it with blankets and pillows in case we wanted to nap. She even suggested a name for our club. “How about 'The Golden Knights?'” We didn't adopt that, or any other name. We were just "us friends".
I was, like, two years older that him, maybe. I think two grades ahead, but I don't really know how grade levels work for home schooled kids. I found the younger kids easier to hang around with than those my age or older. The big kids were always trying to be cooler and tougher and braver and I just didn't want to deal with that. I was no good at it. The younger kids were easier to deal with. I didn't have to try to be cool. Me just being a year or two older made me cool enough in their eyes.
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So I've been meaning to write a story for this board for a while. A couple half-hearted attempts later, I've finished the first chapter! Woo.

I don't know what tags to mark this as, especially since I don't know what any of the tags mean. If you don't like stories with underaged girls, don't read this. If you don't like stories with a super long build up, don't read this.

Let me know what you think, I want feedback because I've never shown anyone my erotic literature before and I don't know if it's even any good. Also, if you have a suggestion I don't mind hearing it, I think I have a general idea of where I want this story to go but I'm not really sure.

Enough fucking around. Chapter 1, go.


* * * * *


"Dad! Look out!" "Oh hell, Matthew! The door is giving way!!!" "My arm, my fucking arm! Oh my g—"

He woke in a sweat. It was bad enough when he was awake, but now their deaths haunted his scant sleeping hours. His brother, his wife, his son...
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So, where to start?

Name’s Ed. Edward to my parents. Ed to everyone who doesn’t treat me like a four-year-old piece of shit. My story isn’t particularly a normal one, although I guess if it was, it wouldn’t be much of a story. But I guess you’re wondering what the super, awesomely amazing thing that I have taken the time out of my day to tell is. Well, it kind of is amazing, but all good things come to an end. But, I’ll get to that later. Don’t want to ruin the story before it’s even started, do I?

The Creeper. Quite an apt name to describe myself, to be perfectly honest, even if it does contain a bold resemblance to the giant green penises within that god-awful game called Minecraft. Ahem, anyway, the name is kind of related to my story. Or completely related, I guess. You see, throughout my life, I’ve been a bit of a creep. Not in a complete beta-fag, following girls around with pit stains and braces, trailing them until they recognise my existence kind of way. In fact, to be completely honest with you, I’ve never been bad with girls. I mean, I lost my virginity at 13, so I guess that’s not too bad of an achievement, eh? Anyway, enough bragging. The reason for the name is sort of derived from my ahh… hobbies. Ever since I got my first phone (or at least, phone with the nifty little camera on it), I’ve been a fan of taking creep shots. Y’know, sneaking dirty pics of people in public without their knowledge or consent, to then take back to my home and have a glorious fap to. Weird, but nothing too abnormal to create a story about, right? Wrong.

Taking creep shots is generally looked down upon, but to some people it’s a good thing. It helps other people to get their dick hard, so it’s really a good thing. Although, the sort of creep shots I take probably shouldn’t be shared with anyone. Ever. But I’m fine with that. I’m generally quite a selfish person anyway. But I can hear your voices screaming at me to tell you the mystery shots that I could possibly take. I assume a lot of you have guessed this already anyway, but I’ll comply nonetheless. They are girls. Little girls. Lolis. Whatever you want to calm them. I would hover around parks and wait for these girls in short skirts to reveal their cute little butts after swinging around on the monkey bars. Oh the panties. They were perhaps the biggest turn on for me. Pink was best. The girlier the better. And there I’d be, with my phone out, sneaking every shot possible. Then I would travel home just awaiting that amazing fap.

Anyway, you know the name, but not the game. So, I’ll tell you my story. I guess the best place to start would be when I was 13. At this point, I wasn’t even remotely close to being interested in little girls. I was simply interested in any girl my own age, much like any other guy. Ironically, it was the involvement with a girl my own age that actually got me into girls much younger Message too long. Click here to view the full text.

MF Dubcon Beast(ish) Generic Fantasy Setting

I finished setting up my tent and let out a sigh of contentment. I had a few more hours of light left, and the first stage of my camp was nearly ready. Over the next day or two I’d have to set up workspaces for butchering and skinning, but I’d gotten a basic latrine, tent, and firepit set up.

It would do for the few months I would spend in the area hunting. I would have loved a cabin, but that was just asking for nosey gamekeepers to start asking questions. Like, “have you paid taxes on those,” or, “Don’t you know it’s illegal to hunt deer on the king’s land,” or my least favourite, “Does this sword in your gut hurt?”

Such is the life of a poacher. Don’t worry, it’s not actually that dangerous if you follow a few basic rules. Such as no permanent dwellings. I was in a valley owned by a lord of advanced age, no longer interested in hunts. He had few gamekeepers or wardens on his payroll, and those that he did have weren’t the type to pull steel over a few skins.

I set up a pot to boil. I’d do something easy tonight, it had been a long hike out here. Porridge, made sweet with a bit of honeycomb and some dried fruit.

I continued to busy myself with arranging firewood, and bedding and so on, when I heard a cry off in the distance. It was the direction I had set a few rabbit snares earlier, just for eating rather than the pelts, but much too loud to be a rabbit. I frowned. Rabbit snares really didn’t catch anything substantially bigger.

I shrugged and strung my bow. I figured I had better investigate. I strapped a large butchering knife that I’d used a few times against boars (and few more times against people) and a few arrows before taking off.

I had set the traps not very distant, figuring that I’d set new ones after a few days once I’d scouted the area better. Something was making a racket, and was definitely larger than a rabbit.
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