Six-Nine Dripping Fantasies
**WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT 21+**
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Chapter 6
I know what you're thinking. Kate going with him is a bad idea. You just touched yourself to his photo a minute ago, what will you do standing this close to him? Well, I guess we're going to find out. I said yes immediately.
"Great. Put on a jersey. It's windy outside." He almost turned to leave when I stopped him and asked what he meant.
"Just that... the party is at four. It's still twelve." I bit my bottom lip and looked away. God, he was so hot.
"Yes, exactly. We don't have much time."
"Much time?"
"We need to make you look the part. A lot of my judgy friends will be there." He said it casually, then turned and walked away, leaving me gasping for air.
I rushed to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, brushed my teeth. I didn't have much time. I hurried downstairs.
"Where's your jersey?" he asked the second I reached him. He'd been waiting.
"I didn't bring any." Honest. Everything I packed barely covered my body.
Enzo didn't reply. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. "It's a little cold outside." I slipped it on and followed him, drowning in his cologne. It hit me like a drug, woodsy, expensive, masculine. My clit tingled instantly, a sharp pulse between my legs.
Outside, his driver opened the door for me. Enzo slid in on the other side. He gave an address and the car pulled away. I sat rigid, thighs clamped tight together. Hearing him give orders in that low, calm voice was too hot. My pussy clenched just from the sound.
"So, how is school? Ready for your SATs?" he asked.
I cleared my throat. "Good. School is good."
He nodded and talked about his own school days. But I wasn't hearing words. I stared at his lips, full, firm, imagining them on my neck, sucking my nipples raw, buried between my legs. I bet they'd burn. I bet he'd leave me marked.
"...So?"
"Huh?" I snapped back. He'd asked something. His stare said he knew exactly where my mind was.
"What field are you going into at college?"
"Oh. I'm still deciding."
"We offer an internship here."
"I'm bad at numbers. I can't do finance." But the thought of being near him every day, watching him work, smelling him, maybe sneaking into his office, made my thighs squeeze harder.
"Of course." He nodded, reached for his phone, and the conversation died. Thank god. I turned to the window and finally breathed.
We arrived at a high-end salon. They dolled me up: hair washed, styled sleek and sexy. A stylist brought dresses. Enzo picked a red off-shoulder one, tight, low-cut, hugging every curve. When I stepped out of the fitting room, he looked me over slow.
"You look gorgeous." His voice dropped. "That's the dress." He told the stylist. She nodded. I went back to change, heart hammering.
When I came out, they were gone. I stepped outside, he was paying. We both got what we wanted.
The ride home was quiet. Weird. But we made it back. Sophia and Brian were already there.
"Where did you go?" Sophia asked. She was in her dress already.
"She escorted me to see my designer," Enzo said, stepping in. He'd taken a call outside. "I hope you don't mind, but Kate is going to be my date tonight."
Sophia looked suspicious but nodded. "Okay, um, get ready then. We have to get there before Mom."
Before I could speak, Enzo cut in. "I prefer we arrive together."
"Your grandmother and her husband are going to be there. I'd like to get on her nerves, just a little." Sophia nodded. Then Brian appeared in his suit. Sophia's eyes lit up. She waved quick and they left without looking back.
"Wow. Seems we have the house to ourselves again." I said it nervously, biting my lip.
"Appears so." He answered, coming toward me.
I stood behind the kitchen counter. I thought he was heading for the fridge. Until he stopped right behind me. His body heat hit my back like a wall.
"I can smell you," he whispered. My spine stiffened. "In the car, I smelled you-wet, needy" His voice dropped lower. His hand slid to my thigh-slow, deliberate. I was in tiny shorts. His fingers slipped under the hem in seconds, brushing bare skin.
"Um..." I bit my lip harder.
"Do you like my touch?" he asked. I didn't see why I should lie. I nodded. "I want to hear you say it, Katherine. Use your words." His breath burned against the back of my neck. "Say it."
"Yes." I closed my eyes. "I like it."
"How much do you like it?" His fingers hovered, not moving yet. My whole body ached for it. If my teeth weren't on my lip and I wasn't wide awake, I'd think this was one of my dirtiest delusions. "Tell me where you want me to touch you."
I reached back, grabbed his hand, and guided it down, straight to where I was soaked and throbbing.
"Right here?"
"Yes, Papa. Right there." I moaned loud as his fingers found my dripping pussy, slick, hot, ready. His other arm locked around my waist, pinning me against the counter. "Oh fuck!" I cried when he slid one thick finger inside, slow, stretching me, curling deep to hit that spot that made my knees buckle.
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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."