A boy is asked to play the piano while his teacher practices her dance. Soon he's getting a lesson in another art. (Celeste's score: 10, 10, 10. "This is an exceptionally well-written story. The description and integration with the musical theme was so well done that I practically came just reading about the dance scenario ... The actual sex was even more vivid. I strongly recommend this story!")
An ordinary man discovers he can heal. Really heal. But not everyone is pleased with his gift. Some want it for themselves, and are willing to do anything to get his 'secret'. How does he cope when greatness is thrust upon him?
Sometimes strange things happen, in the Brownian Movement of life, totally different lives are drawn together, like random molecules. Sometimes these molecules react together, who knows what the result will be? My first effort at a short story.
A young boy finds a ring and two journals hidden in an antique desk. The one journal is written in a language he cannot read; but the other is in Late Middle English. Follow his adventures and misadventures as he becomes a man.
Sex Contents: Some Sex | Genre: Mind Control Tags: mt/Fa, Consensual, Mind Control, Heterosexual, Extra Sensory Perception, Incest, Mother, Son, Slow Downloads: 138653 Votes: 1892 | Score: 7.51 Size: 513KB | 101,563 words |
Posted:Concluded:
She came home for four days.
Her little brother isn’t little anymore and she notices.
She doesn’t ask permission. She takes.
She edges him until he’s shaking. Uses his mouth. Keeps him hard and denied while their parents are at home. Every time he begs, she makes him wait longer.
By the time the weekend ends, he’s learned exactly who he belongs to.
Some homecomings change you.
This one ruins you.
The neon sign buzzed against the darkening sky, casting a pink glow across the parking lot. My wife, Gayle, adjusted her tube-top in the passenger mirror, the thin fabric stretching across her chest, her large nipples pressing visibly against the near-transparent material. Her terrycloth shorts rode high on her thighs, the soft fabric clinging to the curve of her ass. It was the eighties, and we were young and free and oh so horny.