Ma/Fa Stories

Harley Duran, failed sharecropper, lost the farm he "cropped" on. He was blsack listed with the big owners and could find no work anywhere. He, his young wife and their baby wandered the state while he looked for work, any work. There was none to be had. Then, one day a railroad bull tried to kill him and his fortunes changed. Sorry, no twelve inch dicks here.

A Brody Brown Story
Brody's life in Georgia is winding down, as he and his mother prepare to move across the country. He yearns to be with Mia and Shay, but is sad to leave Cassie behind. As if a move and teenage romances weren't tough enough, Brody has to deal with a new set of personal challenges, ones that threaten everything he holds dear, including his view of himself. The sequel to 'A Winter's Warmth'.

How much does a choice weigh? For some, freedom is a new key; for others, it is the girl who felt like home. In a shared silence, between the walls of a shared apartment, the things left unsaid began to outgrow the things they dared to speak. Is desire mechanical, or a spark that burns the bridges of a lifetime? Between a lesson and a loss, they crossed lines that can never be undrawn. A story of skin, ghosts, and the heavy price of finally knowing.

A ruthless CEO ensnares her young trainee in a relentless spiral of nylon-clad domination. Foot worship, smothering, rough fucks, and depraved insertions blur pain and ecstasy until vulnerability binds them in eternal, filthy surrender. Dark, visceral female-led erotica.

Kazuma fumbled, in an alternate reality, James didn't. One shot story. James didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Probably wouldn't have even if the ice hadn't been there. Lalatina's body was warm and tight around him, her wet heat gripping his cock with every thrust, and through the clear ice he could see every agonized expression on the king's face, and some terrible, unforgivable part of his brain found the whole situation darkly hilarious. NOT edited by Steven, he's busy working on the New World.

A nameless road unspools forever under Elias Moreau’s tyres. Naked, half-hard, he drives toward Isolde—pale, raven-haired, eternally waiting, sex glistening in headlights. Each encounter is slow, deep, wordless release on warm tar, yet she recedes again. No end, only endless want, her scent on the wind, the next curve calling him forward.