Sex Tales

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This is a compilation of the best erotic stories you have ever seen driven by pure lust. It involves sex between couples and even families. It's ranging from erotica to bdsm and all more sex drama you have ever dreamt to experience or read about. Delve in a world filled with the most mouth watering tales you've ever read. Note: This is rated 18+ so if you're younger than 18 or you don't like sex stories, then this novel is not for you.



Six months after acquiring the Book…

The more my dreams come true, the more I’m left with nothing in their stead. A vile vacuity that looms larger in my mind each day. I see the inky black words whenever I close my eyes. Every Law I’ve written seems to scroll through my head at all times. An obsession, like shadows attached to each thought. But as always, these feelings of dread dissipate when I lay eyes on the first naked female of the day. A warm reminder of the world I’ve crafted.

“Good morning, sir!” I’m greeted at the front desk by a cheerful voice like always. With the Book tucked neatly away in my briefcase, I enter the office building, taking in the familiar sights. A modern and stylish lobby, with Anne the secretary completely naked behind her desk. She offers herself to all men as they enter. Offers her holes. Always smiling, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. She even offers to make calls to have any girl in the building brought out by request.

I politely decline all this with a wave, “Nah, not today, thanks. I’ve got work to do.” I continue on, greeting and smiling at several more people, routine morning pleasantries. No one bats an eye at the fact that nearly every female employee walks around naked.

The workplace environment here has become so friendly it’s almost cult-like. Morale is at an all-time high, with happy faces and laughter all around. Men are free to de-stress however they want, creating a chill atmosphere that would make even the ‘coolest’ of Silicon Valley tech companies envious.

I wave good morning to Dave from Finance, watching him casually pushing Charlotte from the Tech department up against the wall in the hallway, kissing the blonde’s neck and shoving his hand between her legs. Women are put on a rotating sign-out sheet. Guys that meet their productivity metrics for the month can openly walk up to any woman and sign her out for the day. Females used in this way are teasingly referred to as ‘Cow-Workers’, treated like nothing more than cattle. I pass another man fucking a girl right out in the open outside the restrooms. His face is calm, almost bored, as if this is as mundane as grabbing coffee.

With this Book, I’m like an author able to manipulate characters as I please. Or like a prophet creating Laws that others follow blindly. This building is like my church, and people are brainwashed to follow my Word without thinking too hard about it. To them, this is what women are for. As unpleasant as it is for the females, it’s simply the way of the world. There’s no sense questioning it.

Passing by the open workspace of the Sales department, I see low-walled cubicles with male employees working away happily. Jason has Lindsay kneeling underneath his desk, head bobbing dutifully. Brian has simply forced Alice to give him a back rub for a few hours. I see the lovely Hispanic MILF, Carla, up on a desk, twerking her ass in Phil’s face while he works. And Trevor has the chubby executive, Lisa Labinger, down on all fours under his desk, remaining perfectly still and acting as a footrest while he talks with a client on the phone. Servants, casual entertainment, even furniture. And everyone sees this as ‘normal’.

Sure some of the women look embarrassed and uncomfortable, but they smile and greet me as I walk by nonetheless. The occasional scream or pained outcry is met with apathy by everyone. After all, the men are just acting on their natural instincts. Holding back those urges, no matter how aggressive, would be considered strange. I’ve created total freedom for us men to act on our true desires. But in order to do that, I needed to enslave.

I’m no longer a cog in a machine, mindlessly trudging through life, repressing every thought and craving and biological inclination. I no longer need to pretend I’m not imagining a girl naked while I’m talking to her. Or pretend I don’t want to bend every girl over, sniff them, lick them, fuck their brains out. I don’t need to tranquilize myself just to fit into society, avert my eyes, hide my perversions. And it’s not only me that’s been holding back this whole time. When these men were given real freedom, most of them savagely unleashed themselves upon the women of the office. And I’ve never seen them happier, more alive.

As I walk by the men’s room, the door opens and a man walks out. “Hey Dan, how are ya?” I say politely. He returns the greeting and continues on. I glance inside the restroom before the door swings shut, catching a brief glimpse of my most cruel invention.

I smile and shake my head, wondering if I’ve taken things too far. Urinals, with naked women strapped to them. Men come and go, relieving themselves on the poor ladies, even occasionally fucking them right then and there. Girls I dislike or have grown bored of often end up assigned as Urinals. As I look, inky words creep up across my vision, but I blink them away and continue walking.

Even outside this building, I’ve reshaped my entire life, written all my darkest fantasies into reality. My wife waits for me at home, enslaved. And when we visit her family, I have my way with her mother, her sister, and even our nieces. I’ve carved my own personal heaven out of the world around me.

I walk down the last hallway before my office. It’s still under renovation, my latest plans not yet complete. I pass a few workers installing padded holes all along the walls. I can’t wait to see the ‘pillory’ in action. Girls will be stuck in the walls, free to be enjoyed like nothing more than decorations.

Finally I enter my grand office. A magnificent wooden desk is in the center of the huge room, modern decor on the walls, a liquor cabinet off to the side. And floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the beautiful grounds far below. Those stupid inky words overlay my vision again as I glance out the windows, and I feel a tugging sensation, as if something’s pulling me toward them. I shrug the feelings off and sit down at my desk.

Immediately I’m greeted by little Chloe Seitz kneeling patiently under the desk. “Oh hey, Chloe. Your turn today, huh?” I have them surprise me with a new Cow-Worker each day to keep things fresh. This one is one of my favorites, a young saleswoman with long light brown hair and a petite figure.

“Yes sir,” She smiles nervously, then unzips me and gets to work. “Oh and sir? There was a call from a Mr. Smith. Something about the deal being ridiculous? Unfair?”

I pet her hair and chuckle, “Oh he won’t say no.” I press a button on the phone, buzzing for the secretary. “Anne? Hey call Mr. Smith back for me will you? Have him come in so I can talk to him in person. Thanks.”

I hang up and look down at Chloe, grabbing hold of her hair, stiffening in her mouth. I smile. They never say no once they come visit.

* * *

Six months earlier…

Dayton, Ohio. The Birthplace of Aviation. Even back then people did everything they could to fly away from the mundane drudgery of Ohio life. Hell, we even had some of the most famous astronauts. What is it about this state that makes people want to leave the fucking earth?

Freedom Marketing LLC. Yeah the job is as exciting as the company name would imply. ‘FML’ is right. The worst part is days like today when they make us all come in for a big company meeting and ‘team-building’. Thankfully I don’t have to visit the downtown office here too often. Lately I get to work from home most days.

On my way out after the dreadful day, I almost trip over the guy. A homeless man lying on the sidewalk by the door. “Shit, sorry man,” I apologize politely. But he doesn’t notice me, keeps mumbling something to himself. I start to move on, but I do a double-take when I see his face. I’ve seen him before. Maybe he just hangs out around here a lot? But I could swear he looks like someone. Someone I’ve seen on TV. Yeah there was this famous guy. A CEO or owner of some company. Some rich hotshot. Obviously not the same guy sitting here talking to himself.

“I don’t want it. I don’t want it anymore!” The man is rocking back and forth, twitching, holding a beaten up old book. “Take it away! Make it stop!” He throws the book at me.

I turn and quickly put some distance between me and the guy. He shouts even louder as I walk away. I turn to glance back just as he bolts out into traffic. Tires squeal, but the truck couldn’t avoid him. Crunch! Thud! Then screams from a few onlookers.

The following minutes are a blur. I can’t believe I just watched a guy die! A crowd forms along the sidewalk. Shouting. Ambulance. My heart racing. People all around, asking questions, a bit panicked, flashing lights as the cops start to block off the road. In all the chaos, I notice that old book again. Forgotten. Sitting there on the sidewalk. I don’t know why, but I pick it up. Put it in my bag.

* * *

Back home that evening, I walk through the front door of my house in the suburbs. Small and comfy, nothing special, but it’s always good to be home. I’m greeted by my wife Lizzy calling out nonchalantly from the living room, “Hey babe. How was your day?”

“Yeah about that,” I let out an enervated sigh, then chuckle and proceed to tell her all about the homeless man running into traffic. I leave the book out of the story, a bit embarrassed that I actually took it.

Liz is shocked and sympathetic, and she immediately gets up and flings her arms around me, “Oh my God, are you ok?!” She’s always such a sweet girl, pure of heart, such a bubbly, uplifting personality. I hug her deeply, the feel of her soft little squishy body never gets old. Short, naturally thin even though she never works out, but with an hourglass figure, a plumpness in the right areas. The embodiment of soft femininity, we always joke how she’s made of marshmallows, not a muscle on her body. I nuzzle my face down into her wavy shoulder-length hair. Brown spirals that taper down into blonde, an ‘ombre’ hair dye style I think she calls it. And her sweet scent always puts me at ease. Always so pampered with nice fruity, dessert-like products, always reminding me of baked goods or pies.

We’ve been married several years now. She’s in her mid 20s, I’m a couple years older. It’s been a happy but boring life as time goes by. She decided against having kids, and ‘hasn’t gotten around’ to changing her last name after we got married. But I make concessions like these happily because of moments like this, when I come home to a woman who makes me feel so filled with life, so rejuvenated after a horrible day.

We relax the rest of the evening. Same old routine. Dinner. Watch whatever show we’re currently into. Bed. And as we both automatically turn our separate ways in bed, like most nights the option of intimacy not even a consideration, my mind keeps returning to that weird book.

* * *

Late the next night, I sit in my office at home, staring at the strange markings on the cover of the ancient-looking tome. I flip through the pages. The first few are written in some foreign language. No, several languages! Arabic? And that’s Greek I think. It seems to be instructions, an introduction to the book, but it’s as if it’s trying to be as cryptic and hard to follow as possible. After the first few pages, the rest of the book is blank. Almost like a journal. Or a book left intentionally unfinished. And there are pages missing. Roughly, almost angrily torn out. The homeless guy really didn’t take good care of this thing, whatever it is.

A bit of Googling and I find similar looking characters. It’s not just Arabic, but Classical Arabic, from the Middle Ages I guess! Not used for much nowadays. Then Ancient Greek. And Hebrew too. And maybe three other languages I can’t quite figure out. A total of six! With every sentence switching to another language. What the fuck is this book?

I text a couple old friends from college. One has Muslim family, another studied theology and history a lot. I decide to not really tell them what I’m trying to do, not wanting to explain the story of how I got the book. And for some reason, I also feel the need to keep it to myself, protect it. Between the two friends, I’m able to get a few shitty links to websites that give rough translations. Classical Arabic isn’t exactly like Modern, which makes it harder, but even the parts I’m able to figure out only make up a fraction of all the text. The other languages are just as bad or worse.

But I’m able to figure out bits and pieces. I get the words ‘Djinn’ and ‘Iblis’ and ‘Shaitan’, which reference genies and demons and the Islamic version of Satan. I get similar words in the Hebrew and Greek parts, as if I’m reading the Old and New Testaments or something. But without translating all of it, I don’t really get the context, don’t understand what it’s really saying about them.

The number 9 comes up a lot for some reason. ‘9 after the beginning’? Or is it saying ‘it ends after 9’? 9 what? Is it a duration? 9 days? Weeks? I also get the word ‘slavery’, and it keeps saying ‘the law’ this and ‘the law’ that. As well as what seems to be a phrase instructing me to ‘scribe names and places of those around you’. Maybe it’s saying to write names or places into the book? That might explain all the blank pages.

But I hit a wall, unable to get much more out of it. After a while I remember how dumb this is anyway, and I shove the book in my desk drawer and go to bed. Lizzy is already fast asleep when I get there.

* * *

A few nights later, I sit in my office, pen hovering over a blank page. Over the past few nights, my curiosity has kept dragging me back to the Book, obsessing over it. I give up. I only understand a bit, and I doubt I’ll get much more no matter how hard I try. What’s the worst that can happen? I begin doodling on the page. But this immediately feels wrong, makes me feel oddly sick to my stomach. I sigh and decide to take it more seriously.

Let’s see, it seemed to be asking to write a name, right? Specifically the name of someone around me. Someone I know? Someone nearby? So I try the first name that comes to mind, ‘Lizzy’. Ok and then I think it was saying something about laws. Maybe an action? A command of some sort? Liz has the TV on in the other room and I hear that old Jump Around hip hop song playing in the background of whatever she’s watching. I shrug, that works I guess. I write ‘Jump Around’.