Six-Nine Dripping Fantasies
**WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT 21+**
+
+
My name doesn't matter. My filthy urges do. I came home from work. The bedroom door was half open. My husband was there, pounding into some woman on our bed, his c**k slamming in and out, deep and rough.
I should have screamed. Instead my p**sy clenched hard. I stood frozen, watching every thrust. My hand slipped under my skirt on its own. Fingers circled my cl*t as he f**ked her right in front of me.
He glanced over. "You like watching my c**k stretch her?" I rubbed faster.
"Don't stop," I whispered. Then I came shaking, eyes locked on him pounding her.
***
69 Dripping Fantasies is sixty-nine raw taboo stories. Wives catching husbands cheating and getting soaked instead of angry. Step-family secrets whispered in quiet. Glory holes that fill fast. Honeymoon wife swaps sparked by one dumb dare. Older rich men taking total control. Professors crossing every forbidden line. Husband's best friends sneaking in. Strangers who follow, then f**k hard. Group nights in dark clubs. Cucks cleaning up every last drop.
***
I'm on my knees. One thick c**k buried deep in my throat, making me gag. The woman behind me squeezes my t*ts until it hurts so good. Her tongue between my ass, teasing, no c**k has filled my p**sy or a*s yet. But I'm trembling, dripping, seconds from squirting everywhere. Two massive black c**ks wait their turn, and her presence makes it filthier... hotter.
I never knew I craved this so badly.
***
No soft romance. Just dirty yeses where no should be. Sixty-nine stories. Sixty-nine surrenders. Read if you're brave. These pages might leave you wet, jealous, horny... or secretly think of your own filthy fantasies when nobody's watching. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 1
My pupils widened when it moved on its own. The thick black shaft gave one slow, heavy twitch right in front of my face.
It was so close I could feel the heat coming off it, like a living thing breathing against my skin. The skin looked impossibly smooth, stretched tight over all that hardness, deep dark brown, almost black, shining a little under the light.
Right at the fat, swollen tip there was that small slit, pale inside like a secret mouth, already leaking one clear drop that hung there, trembling, ready to fall. I wanted to catch it with my tongue before it dropped.
Pale blue veins stood out everywhere, thick and raised like ropes under the dark surface. The biggest one ran straight along the bottom, pulsing slow and strong, feeding right into that wide, angry head.
Every time his heart beat I could see it jump a little, making the whole length lift and settle again. It looked powerful. Heavy. Too big to just look at.
My mouth went dry and wet at the same time.
I couldn't blink. I didn't want to.
My breath came out shaky. "Please..." I whispered, not even sure what I was begging for yet, just more of it, closer, filling my pussy. I wanted it in me. Its huge length against my tight hole, stretching me wide. I would die for it.
My hand immediately flew under my skirt, my eyes glued to it as I watched while I prepared myself. But before my finger could reach under my laced panties, a voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and that's when I saw it for what it was.
It wasn't a black cock like I thought. It was a sausage. One that was on the plate my colleague had now picked up.
"Huh?" I asked. I hadn't heard a word she said.
"Your lady client is here. She's asking for you." She repeated, then turned and walked away to serve her customers, leaving me catching my breath.
You're probably wondering what's wrong with me. I swear I'm not a whore who sees a cock in a sausage, but I have a reasonable explanation.
It all started a few weeks ago. I was cleaning the male bathroom when a dark-skinned handsome man walked in. He asked if he was in the right room and I said yes. He didn't give me a chance to show him to a stall or tell him I was busy cleaning, he immediately pulled down his trousers and there it was: exactly what I just imagined a few minutes ago.
His thick, huge black cock.
I'm a typical white woman. I've never even imagined being with a black man before, but right there my pussy ached and I knew I wanted it in me.
Well, I've been imagining it ever since. In fact, I even cancelled my date with Jerry, the guy I was in the talking stage with, because all I could think about was that BBC inside me.
"Millie, good to see you," I said to the woman who's been strangely coming here lately. All she does is ask for me.
"Nice to see you too, Ayda. I'll have the usual." She smiled and I nodded, pushing the menu back to my chest since she clearly didn't need it. I almost turned to leave when she caught my hand.
"Did I forget something?" I awkwardly cleared my voice.
"No, I just... my husband and I are throwing a house-warming party and I would love it if you came." She said it kindly.
My friends and I outgrew each other years ago, most of them have better jobs while I'm still struggling as a waitress. This woman has been so friendly since she started coming here, but I just didn't know how to tell her I wasn't into making friends... especially when she was part of my problem.
"I'm so sorry but-"
"Please. We're new and really trying to make friends. You know how it is for black folks." She pouted and I couldn't help but agree. "Thank you. I'm sure Lucan will be happy to see you."
"Who's Lucan?" I asked.
"My husband. You two met, remember that night when-"
"Yeah, yeah, I do." The memory was still very fresh because, remember the black cock I haven't stopped thinking about lately? Yep, it belonged to her husband. I actually met her too when she followed him into the bathroom and found us, her husband's cock all out and me staring at it. I thought she would be mad, but she was very cool about it.
Too cool, if you ask me. Since then she's been trying to get close to me.
"I'll be there," I said, swallowing hard. Actually, I don't know why I just said that. Clearly I can't keep my mind off her husband's cock.
What's going to happen when I come face to face with him tonight? Because even now I still want to feel it in me. So what the hell have I just gotten myself into?
Damn, Ayda. Now you're fucked.
You may also like
8.6
I was the untouchable Mafia Queen, but my reign ended in the blood-soaked depths of a damp dungeon.
My half-sister, Kelsey, drove a rusted, sharpened spoon into my chest, screaming about the unfairness of fate.
In my past life, my father sold me to the ruthless Don Dante Blackwell as collateral to pay off his debts.
To survive, I took a black-market fertility drug, birthed his heir, and clawed my way to the throne through sheer ruthlessness.
But in the mafia world, a pregnant woman isn't a queen; she's a walking target.
I survived countless bombings and poisonings, only to be betrayed and slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand. I had sacrificed everything to secure our survival in the empire. Why did my blood and tears only earn me a rusted spoon to the heart?
Opening my eyes again, I am seventeen, sitting in my father's drawing room.
Two black velvet boxes sit on the mahogany table.
Kelsey greedily snatches the box containing the fertility drug, her eyes gleaming with feverish triumph.
"I'll take this one, Papa."
She thinks she is stealing my golden ticket to the crown, completely unaware that she just chose a death sentence.
I lower my gaze, letting my eyelashes mask the cold, lethal amusement pooling in my eyes as I take the remaining box.
Inside is the detailed psychological profile of the Don's dead fiancée.
This time, I won't be a breeding mare fighting off assassins. I will dissect the devil himself.
7.4
I thought my life was over when my sister died, leaving me to raise her two babies in a world that wanted to swallow us whole. Then I made the mistake of a lifetime: I left a bold, humiliating voicemail for the one man I should have feared most.
Anton Oryolov.
The ruthless king of the Oryolov Bratva. A billionaire monster who rules the city with ice in his veins and blood on his hands.
I expected him to fire me. I expected him to destroy me. Instead, he gave me a choice that felt like a death sentence: sign a contract and become his.
The rules were simple. I belong to him. I live in his shadows. In exchange, he protects the children. But as the doors of his mansion locked behind me, I realized the "forced proximity" wasn't just a business arrangement. It was a cage.
He thinks he can use me as a pawn in his dark mafia games. He thinks the children are just leverage to keep me in line. But he's starting to look at me with a hunger that isn't in the contract, and I'm seeing a man beneath the monster that I never expected to find.
In the Cruel Paradise of the Bratva, loyalty is a lie and love is a weakness. Our deal is signed in ink, but it's going to end in blood.
He owns my signature. He owns my safety. Now, he wants my soul.
8.5
"And that is the reason why I said those words. I like your fear, not because it is a normal thing. I love it because deep down you are a monster like me, schiava. You fear me on a primal level, you can feel my power and dominance, and you know you aren't the strongest here. So you don't fear Renzo Valentino the human, you fear the monster that lurks inside."
My life changed the night of my birthday. What started as a funny dare ended with blood and having a price on my head.
I thought Renzo was the hero who saved me that night, but he was the devil who owned me forever.
I, Misha Yakov, princess of the Russian mafia became Renzo Valentino's slave.
He broke me, tortured me, and molded me into something new, something I hated and craved at the same time.
I, Misha Yakov became my master's pet.
8.5
"You don't get to hurt me and then make me responsible for how guilty you feel about it."
"Friends don't stand next to you, learn everything about you, and then use it to get close to the one person they know matters."
Aria thought she knew two things for certain: she was going to graduate with her best friend, Iris, by her side, and she was in love with her boyfriend, Liam.
One kiss changed everything. But as the secrets of their "before" come to light, Aria realizes the betrayal didn't start at a party or in a moment of weakness. It started weeks ago, in the conversations she wasn't part of and the moments she wasn't invited to.
Now, Aria has to decide if she can find herself again in the wreckage of the people she trusted most-or if some bridges are meant to be burned
7.8
Elena Voss was sold like a debt receipt.
Her greedy aunt and uncle handed her over to Damien Blackthorn-New York's untouchable billionaire tech mogul by day, ruthless Mafia Don and Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack by night-to settle a family debt they never asked her to pay.
The moment their eyes met in that rain-soaked alley, the fated mate bond ignited like wildfire. For one reckless night, he claimed her body and soul, whispering "mine" against her skin while the Moon Goddess sealed their destiny.
Then came the betrayal.
On their first anniversary, he paraded his pureblood fiancée through their penthouse, let her kneel for him in the study while Elena watched from the shadows, and divorced her in front of the entire pack.
"Wolfless trash," he snarled. "You were never more than payment."
Heart in pieces and two tiny heartbeats growing inside her, Elena fled. She vanished into Seattle's gray drizzle, changed her name, cut her hair, and built a quiet life as a single mother. She swore the Blackthorn name would never touch her twins-Leo and Luna, the secret heirs he didn't even know existed.
Five years later, the children's first uncontrolled shifts rip through their small apartment like lightning. The only place that can teach them control and keep them hidden from rival packs is back in New York-back under Damien's shadow.
The Alpha Don who once threw her away is now obsessed.
The fated bond never died; it only waited. He feels her every laugh, every tear, every protective growl she gives their children. He'll burn his empire, his alliances, and his pride to drag her back.
But Elena isn't the broken girl he discarded anymore.
She's a mother with claws.
A luna who learned to bite.
And this time, if he wants her forgiveness, he'll have to beg on his knees.
Pregnancy. Divorce. Secret babies. Billionaire alpha. Mafia power plays. Revenge that burns slow and sweet.
Some bonds can't be broken.
Some rejections come with claws.
And some second chances are paid for in blood.
8.1
I'd lived as a mafia queen, ruling with quiet strength, only to discover my entire life was a lie. My husband, Dante, secretly divorced me three years ago, then married our timid nanny. I wasn't just betrayed; I was a dead ex-wife walking, a ghost in my own home.
A mafia daughter, I expected routine at Rossi's law firm. But Rossi, pale and sweating, handed me an envelope: Dante's divorce judgment, signed three years ago, and his marriage certificate to Gia, our nanny.
Truth slammed me: Gia poisoned me for years, causing infertility, making her bastard son the sole heir. Hidden, I watched her force Dante, the Underboss, to kneel, drink hallucinogenic tea, and profess devotion. She smirked.
This was calculated murder: my existence, my legacy. Rage burned, but clarity struck: disappear, or vanish into the Long Island Sound.
From a hidden phone, I called Luca, the underworld's elite cleaner. "I need a top-tier scrub. Target is myself," I commanded. "Get me out of this hell. I'd rather die than be his taxidermy specimen."