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Behind their masks, however, Coyote-folk seem rangy, underfed, underloved. White or native, Latin or black, Mistai live off the scraps of a larger world even before Coyote's gift transforms them. Softly furred with silver-gray and dry grass brown fuzz, Mistai wear their Coyote heads proudly. Seen so often in shadow, these faces look like masks from a Western fever dream. Tall - seven feet from soil to hat - Coyote's children remain slim.

My Wolf King

They are never idle chatterers; their silences let other tell too much. Folklore professors scrubbed those legends clean, but the truth's still walking and fucking its way across America. Like so many tarnished dreamers, these ferals are often gone by daylight, leaving behind regret, perhaps a musky smell and the occasional baby to raise. That child, born on the wandering side of a sheet, may inherit his sire's Changing Gift more often than not.

This venereal prolificacy could be the key to the Mistai's survival. The Pack: Loyalty asks no questions posted by Kurieg Original SA post Being sick continues to fucking suck, but I'm keeping to my once a month posting schedule? The Pack: Loyalty asks no questions quote: Inside the abandoned warehouse, a babble of cheers and hisses competed with the snarling of dogs.

Smoke hung heavy in the air, mixing with the air of man-sweat and dog-blood. Cord Chambers turned away in disgust, dragging his defeated bulldog by a loop of chain toward the back door, leaving a trail of blood from the animal's many wounds. The dog's eyes hadn't opened since he went down; the lids had swollen into two puffy lumps, oozing red. Cord kicked open the door to the alley and spotted the Dumpster, halfway up the alley on the opposite side.

Brutus had fought his last fight. Now all he was good for was taking up Dumpster space. Cord sensed a physical presence looming over him. For an instant, a flash of heat lightning flared, illuminating what looked like The massive body, covered in patchy fur and marked with heavy scarring, advanced toward Cord, it's clawed forearms outstretched, fangs dripping hot saliva from a bull mastiff's face. Lately, though, these ferals have had cause for concern with the growing instability of Man.

As always, Man seeks to remake the world in his image. And now, even his deepest companions wonder if the time has come for Man to fall. Mages: Big dogs looking for bigger bones, digging up everyone else's yard. Vampires: Just as Alphas without a pack, the suck the life out of everything they touch. Werewolves: Truly a breed apart, for all the best and worst that this implies. Homosexual pack-bonds are common among this breed. In India most Riante packs favor female leadership instead, and the Gift passes easily between mothers and daughters.

In many cases Riantes arise from lower-class families; a few wealthy packs, however, exist in the Middle East and especially in India. They sang, and their songs drew forth dog from human and human from dog. Seeing this as a sign from beyond, the people raised them as their own. We all stopped to stare. It gazed back at us through bulging eyes and a mat of stringy hair. He shouldered his rifle and took aim at the creature. That devil bears the mark of death. Late that night, I awoke to the rattle of overturned trays and broken glass.

I hurried to my temporary lab, a military surplus tent with a single folding table and all the equipment my assistant and I could carry. The gold lanterns of its eyes as it turned toward me. A look of grief and rage. I told the others a monkey had stolen into our tent and destroyed our equipment.

Random mischief. It was to be expected. But I dreamed of a flame-eyed beast with golden fur and gold scale armor, cradling the broken aye-aye to its chest, its outstretched finger pointed at me. Sometimes a Royal Ape craves meat. He may feel remorse later, but at the time it feels so right. He fancies himself the ruler of the world, yet all the while the ground crumbles beneath his feet. Mages: Parlor tricks bore me.

Our own witches are far more fearsome. Vampires: What the undead do is their business, as long as they keep out of my house. Werewolves: Any fight between us would leave each side too bloody to be worthwhile. In their wiry and ferocious War-Beast forms, they prefer to go naked or wear silk lungis or kurtas. Between the belief among some Muslims that monkeys were once humans transmuted into animal form as punishment for theirs sins, and local superstition mixed with Christianity, any being with the Changing Gift lives in constant fear of persecution.

Remote villages employ the most brutal means of driving shapeshifters and other anomalies from their midst. Those accused are almost exclusively girl-children. Such evil is inborn, men say, and must be snuffed out as quickly as possible. What better time than when the umthakathi is a child,when she has little defense against fire and crowds? The clothes she wore when she fled quickly become a patchwork of torn cloth, bloodstains, bone and woven plant fiber.

Her hair becomes a matted nest of fleas and other insects, and she paints her skin with gray mud to disguise its natural tone. She prefers to wander the forest in her Primal form, which often takes the shape of a mandrill. Her War-Beast form is a terrifying mixture of the Primal form and human guise.

From afar, she gives the impression of an unusually tall man, but aside from her human eyes, her face is that of a mandrill: a long red stripe of nose flanked by blue flesh, and below it, a maw of saberlike incisors. All three baboons understood instinctually the secrets of the universe, and their descendants have used those arts ever since. Ages later, two baboon breeds carry on that legacy. The scholarly Tothians draw inspiration from Thoth, the Egyptian god of magic and wisdom; steeped in ritual and finery, they preserve ancient rituals in the hidden heart of the Old Land. Babi-Ahsh, in contrast, run naked and screaming under an open sky; their sorcery writhes with entrails and raw meat.

The eerie tales of wizard-apes beneath Cairo or rampant witch-apes in Mpumalanga may find their truth in these related breeds. Darkness is a crutch for those that cannot hide. Today I am feeling indulgent. I dangle in plain view, if my victim would merely look. He pays no attention as he sighs through the boredom of his money. My contract states that he must be identifiable when I bring him in.

My legs extend, and I become the poisonous compass to his well-deserved judgment. When one shops little girls out for sex and profit, it is wise to know all of your enemies. Some of us might be amused to liquefy you from the inside out. I have heard he is afraid of spiders. Great tangling interconnections in business, science, literature and political manipulation are decidedly natural, yet interpersonal relations are not. Individuals are fragile; developments that bend cultures endure.

How could a masterpiece love lesser works of art? Certainly, the other beings that shamble and stumble through the night are worthy in their way. Sentiment, though, for such things is unseeingly. Best to discard it, as a man would put cows from his mind as he unwraps a cheeseburger. It takes a great deal to impress an Arnae. Most beings that do catch the attentions of Spinners are generally viewed as competition for food, information or life-experience. If a person wishes to stay in the presence of an Arnae for any real length of time, she must prove herself useful, independent and intrinsically aware.

Forgiveness takes time and long-term patience. It is easier and more efficient to dismiss or disembowel problems as necessary. However, they are fun to watch. Mages: Invest your days toward the Fates, or do not. Dabbling in the sticky oil of the Universe is a game only for children and suicidal flies. Vampires: For all that they have a delicious sense of style, they completely lack the manners to know when they should leave the party. Werewolves: Does doggie want to play in the big sticky net? Good boy! Warrior scholars all, these single-minded Arnae define their purpose in the defense of genuine knowledge.

Found in every major center of faith and learning throughout the world, the Nanekisu are the knives that cut away the gangrene spread of propaganda and misinformation. No single genus now claims the spear of the Nanekisu. In the beginning, all these spiders were native only to the Mediterranean regions. When their Gift manifested, they were revered as gods, monsters or both. It was a glorious time, but time has always quarreled with Spinners. As all things do, that period passed. When exploration became more and more possible for normal man, the Nanekisu bloodlines stretched across the globe.

False teachings and ignorance flayed hot the souls that bore the blood and brought the Eight Knives up into every land. Their vocation is more of an epiphany or divine order. Their souls demand they follow. Their skins melt to meet the needs required to do so. Their short lives are dedicated to this greater goal. Some enrich themselves through this calling information may want to be free, but access to it can be quite expensive , filling huge penthouses with elaborate webs of computer networking and sticky webs; others assemble archives and place them under the keeping of human kin. A few erase the distinctions of mortal morality, becoming syndicate bosses extraordinaire.

These spiders hide their true natures in catacombs deep below their chosen cities, or fill warehouses to brimming with sparkling masterpieces. Their underlings learn quickly that finger-joints are small prices to pay for failure, compared to others that might be required. Informants and crusading cops wind up as desiccated husks or incubators for fresh generations.

And then there are the gatherers themselves — restless artisans of the silent kill. Venturing out in human guise or picking their way through skyscraper landscapes, these Arne ED: Yes, they mispell their own name find the answers they seek. If screams are not easily understood, then such is the cost of a job well-done. Nanekisu have long proved themselves zealots of education and dauntless defenders of the intellectual arts. Often versed in the hard sciences, history, theology or sociology, these Spinners aim to be definitive experts in their fields of choice.

As warriors, they are dispassionate assassins. Just as panic murders rationality, Nanekisu kill just as quickly. All races, nationalities and arachnid species have equal chance of serving. Continuity between their generations comes through listening, not seeing. Nanekisu believe that wisdom is found in limited speech. When one is not talking, after all one may hear.


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These Spinners rarely, if ever, speak. Only in animal form is there a sign of affiliation. A scar shaped like a hand usually in silvery white appears on the Nanekisu cephalothorax undercarriage. This is the sign of the poisoning and the death that followed. In War-Beast form, Nanekisu take on the appearance of information itself.

So many voices, so many theories, so many arguments have made up what is now seen as the truth. So it is with the wrathful shape of its protectors. Becoming a skittering, twitching, climbing jumbled mass of arachnids, the overall shape mimics a single massive spider. Thinking as one, acting as one, the millions of tiny bodies redefine ghoulish retribution as they strike venomously against those who oppose them. The Arnae appreciate the symbolism of many lives weaving into the actions of one and the actions of one weaving into many.

Those who face the horror of that War-Beast rarely do. Similar to the millions of cells in the human body, one spider cannot crawl off and act in a solo capacity, and the mass cannot alter its shape. This form is, for all purposes, a single massive entity. As always as beginnings and as never as the ends, she watched the World struggle onto the threads of the Sky. She watched the infant World seize and devour space so it could have a place to set its traps.

World wove beauty onto its face with webs of light pulled from within its own innocence. She considered her circular intentions and understood that World did not worry about consequences because it had no fear. All that it needed had been provided for it. Fate knew this should not be the way of things. She turned upon it jealousy because jealousy takes, but does not give. She told the webs of Light that Darkness was better because it was never-ending, not trapped within the virtue of the World.

She told Darkness that Light was better because it was not heavy with cold. Both Darkness and Light looked upon the other with hatred because it is easy to hate those who have what you cannot.


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The war began, as it had been fated before the always of beginnings and the nevers of ends. Vibrations of war between Light and Dark sang through the web. No longer did World feel alone and peaceful in its own self-reliance. Fear came soon after, and Fate smiled. World offered up humanity and spiders to appease the war between Light and Dark. No one knows which gift was meant for whom. This was the way of things, and remains so even now.

Open the wrong door in Beijing or turn your head in San Francisco just a moment too soon, and you may see one of the 10, secrets of old Qin. In the centers of those webs sit vampiric spider-witches whose arts stave off the frailty of their kind. To reach the exalted thrones of the Great Hakka, an Arne must pass 1, tests as presented by a master of the breed. Given the short lifespan of spider-kin, this requirement is even more arduous than it seems.

Yet some few succeed; learning the sacred alchemies of Five-Web Magic a uniquely arachnid take on Taoist alchemy , they prolong their years and powers to impossible lengths. Their long lives give them much to remember and much to avenge. This may be the reason Spinner-Kin are so short-lived.

Perhaps their webs were not meant to last, their poisons meant to boil in mortal frames. The Great Hakka weave a web of insult and intrigue that reaches back to the Qing Dynasty and spans from the boarders of Russia to the shores of the United States. Yet so subtle are these designs that the flies trembling at its corners never see the spiders in the strands. The Jewel Queens have no need for haste, after all. Unlike their kin, the Jewel Queens have time. Dressed richly in the fever dreams and delusions of early Man, she wooed Him into a false peace.

She brought wakeful dreamers into states that mimicked dreaming and death. Sleep had more territory with which to travel due to her ministrations. Unfortunately, this is a legend for spiders. Poison acted as a female should. Sleep has never forgiven Her. He sent dreams from beyond the Web to his children to bind her in the hatred and death of Man.

Forever in the darkness, She has grown mad. The Sicarius are Her voice. How organized madness can be if hate leads the way. From herbalists to pharmaceutical chemists to the lethal red back spiders, these Spinners hone painlessness into pain. Understanding the power of sex as well, they are hauntingly alluring. To see a Sicarius in her full glory is to finally understand hopelessness in love.

Until the turn of the 19th century, no males were born under the venom of Sicarius. Now still rare, males who are so blessed must constantly prove themselves useful and keep a watchful eye on the affairs of their betters. Many others still resent that implication. He landed hard on his ass, the wind knocked out of him but not much the worse for wear — other than a seriously turned ankle. The trapper tried to scream, but no sound came out except a tiny, mewling plea for mercy.

Perhaps he needs to be shown the way there more often. Mages: Too much power in such a small vessel. Who picks up the pieces when it explodes? Vampires: Only Man refuses to die. We can fix that. Werewolves: The bond between us is as ancient as the hills. So you know how you guys were complaining about the Nanuq? Steed looked down at the injured horse, its flanks heaving in pain, then at the stable owner.

Marcannon shook his head. A creature out of myth stood before him. She reared up on her hind legs and tapped the man with a hoof, sending him down to the ground in a groaning heap. They endow the role of quarry with nobility. Within their blood courses the essence of the Hunt — but from the view of the Hunted. In their feral forms, they appear as horses, stags or deer, elk, zebra and other species that reach perfection of form only when they run. Yet they also stand for freedom, the reward for surviving a hunt or the sheer joy of galloping far and wide, either alone or with a group.

These few gave rise to the zebras, whose black-and-white coats are constant testimonies to the duality of existence. These are the centaurs of myth, part man and part-horse, wise in the ways of learning and war. In wilder and sometimes two-legged guise, they become the Master of the Wild Hunt or the Horned Man with the body of a giant stag and the head and torso of an antlered man. The vast difference between one man with a bow and five men with submachine guns sets a hostile edge to the hunter-hunted equation. In recent years, Wind-Runners have begun to settle that score with increasing ruthlessness.

Yet until they learn better respect than what they have shown, we rush toward an abyss. Mages: Capable of greatness, yet often blinded by their own splendor. Vampires: Their death-stink sticks like shit to ragged hooves. Werewolves: Wolves are wolves. Where his seed scattered, beasts sprang up with vast antlers like the Lord himself. Although their antlers could not span the sky as his did, they nevertheless challenged the trees to grow to ever-more luxuriant size.

The hooves of these mighty beasts shook the grown, and where they struck, springs fl owed and fl owers grew. And being a detective. Seriously, if he was down here, we would have no problems with wolves or any other Wessen! His dad looks like he defiantly agrees to that as they go to the kitchen. The younger drops his bags on a counter, groaning. Can't wait to kick some ass! You do cases on the down low, and you DON'T reveal yourself if you can help it. I'm not letting you get your head chopped off and shown to them like a trophy! No, you do things with a mask on and everything. Stiles made a face at first, but then his expression brightened.

Maybe I'll have my own comic book too! His dad shook his head, sighing. Obviously I was wrong. You caught me right before I was going to leave. I won't tell anyone that your back yet. You get situated and everything then do whatever, okay? With that his dad was gone, and Stiles was once more left to his own devices. For once, he had stuff to do when he was at home. He picked all of his bags up again, and trudged up his stairs into his room, humming 'The kids are alright' as he did so. His room looked exactly the same as he had left it at the beginning of summer, mess and all.

Maybe he should have cleaned that up before he left… no matter! He'd clean it later. Right now…. Nick had also been gracious enough to supply Stiles with a bunch of the poisons and anti-poison crap he had. Stiles was pretty sure there was something to treat Wolfsbane poisoning in there too, courteous of Nicks partner Monroe, who happened to be a Blutblad. There were also a couple copies of the Wessen books in there, but Stiles had made sure to copy down almost all of the other ones into a tablet.

It was easier to access AND more portable. He really didn't want a trailer like Nick's. That would just be a complete bother. His uncle thought he was all-secretive and crap when he went to it, but honestly anyone could follow him if they wanted too. Sure, people could hack the tablet, but it was easier to conceal and also destroy if he needed to. Stiles just kept on humming as he picked the weapons up, pulling a box from under his bed and pouring it's contents out on his bed, which was mostly old sneakers and clothes.

He then shoved the weapons in there, placing the bottles of poisons and such in. That went back under his bed. That was the most awesome hiding place right there. No one ever checks under the bed for that kind of stuff anymore. The only reason someone would check under the bed is if they were looking for porn magazines or something. Stiles wasn't stupid about that either, he kept his porn on the tablet too.

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In clearly marked places of course, since he'd sadly learned the hard way with Uncle Nick to label folders. The teenage Grimm stood up straight, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighed a bit. Should he go check up on Scott? Maybe tell him he was alive? Cause he had kind of disappeared for the whole summer with out a word to his best friend, or the pack, a requirement from good ol' Nick, who had been pretty adamant about it too.

Either you don't talk to them for the summer or you don't get trained" The guy had practically yelled that at him when Stiles had asked if he could invite some of the pack to Portland. Stiles had immediately said 'Okay okay, don't get your panties in a twist! Though as time passed, the young Grimm had actually found he liked not having the pack breathing down his neck.

He loved the pack, he really did, but… he needed secrets of his own. Though that explanation wouldn't stop Scott and Derek and really the whole pack from being pissed off at him. Whatever, he'd just make up some stupid lie. His life last year had been a whole lie to his father; it was time to switch the tables with that. He'd say his mom's brother had been having relationship troubles with boyfriend or something. Which was sort of true, since Monroe had been kind of screwing up a bit more with Uncle Nick then what was necessary.

Stiles opened up his duffle, and shoved his hand in, feeling around for his mobile, making a face at how bad the clothes smelt in there. God he needed to wash them. His fingers slid across the smooth plastic, and he pulled it out.

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He switched it on and then watched as the screen lit up. Oh man, there was like a hundred missed messages and calls. Most of them were from Scott and Derek, and then it went down the line from Lydia to Isaac. He just deleted them all, wincing slightly. He should have gotten his dad to take down his mobile plan before he left.

After going through all of the crap on his phone, he typed in a message to Scott, flopping down on his bed with a groan. Stiles didn't get anything for a couple minutes, then his phone just lets out a loud ding and he picks up his phone, mentally preparing for all caps. Okay, that was more swearing then he expected. A lot more. Before he could reply, his phone dinged again.

Maybe he should have waited until he knew Scott would be at home. And when did they hang at the Hale house? Whatever, he should head over there before Derek began creeping in his window with a knife or something. Or Peter came by all creepy going all 'bad touch' again.

Stiles rolled off his bed and got to his feet, grabbing his red hoodie and yanking it on as he headed down stairs then outside, unlocking his Jeep again. The teen hopped in, and off he went on the roads of Beacon Hills, to the Hale house. Stiles pulled up the familiar dirt road to the Hale house, stretching his neck as he tried to catch a view if the Hale house before his car got there.

When it first came into his vision, he just stared for a moment. Well, they had repaired the crap out of the Hale House. It looked half way to decent, though half of it was still broken and burnt. Construction equipment and wood planks were everywhere, though it was in a organized sort of chaos.

He hurried to park his car, opening his door. The pack had probably scented him a mile away, so as he approached the door, it flew open, and there was a pissed off Scott. He waved at him slightly, forcing a grin onto his face in an effort to look casual. Long time no see. He wasn't even trying to use his wolf senses on him. Scott sometimes just needed to keep a level head with this kind of stuff. He let his wolf side control him too much. She was older then him by a couple years.

It wasn't bad. He's a detective so I got to help him on cases and everything. Derek made his way out, his typical frown plastered on his face. Did Derek actually care about what he did? Wait, no it did. But dude, even I want personal space sometimes. I wanted to spend my summer with my cool uncle and his awesome boyfriend. I didn't want you guys busting in and just getting into my shit. Stiles just looked Derek straight in the eye, seeing something stir in the depths of those red orbs. Derek just broke eye contact, muttering something about stupid hyperactive teenagers as he turned around, jerking his head at the rest of the pack.

He moves to the side just in time for Lydia, Isaac, and Erica to tackle Stiles to the ground. The air was pushed out of his lungs as he hit the ground, the three sitting on top of him. The only people not hugging him seemed to be Boyd and Scott, who just watched with a bit of humor sparking in their eyes. Allison appeared next to Scott, a smile pulling at her lips. They're crushing me! Scott just shook his head, not moving at all to help his formerly missing friend. You…" The Grimm wheezed out, before putting his hands on Isaacs shoulders and pushing him off with an impressive show of strength.

It's her first time doing this and she's nervous. But she's definitely not leaving without having the most submissive sex of her life!

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Annabel Bastione

Adults only. It's not a request, but a strict order. And right now, I don't dare to defy Alpha's will. He gets off me and motions towards a strange device sitting menacingly opposite us. It's some sort of rack, built with sturdy wood with all its joints and hinges strengthened with wrought iron and tempered steel.

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Most disturbingly are the numerous straps strategically in place for what should be my neck and all four limbs. Despite the ominous feeling of grim foreboding I get from it, my first thought is oddly enough, innocent surprise that I've never noticed it before. When Leta escaped from the terror of marauders destroying her home village, the last thing she expected was to fall into the arms of Ragnar Thyrsson, a mighty Viking who swore to keep her safe.

Published: November 9, Evan Blumfield. Willing to try anything, she sets an appointment. Little does she know, a simple exam is about to open the door to a world of decadence, pleasure and humiliation! Published: November 4, Published: October 27, Gina Templeton, cryptozoology TV show host, has taken to her role as the mate of Kalak, the chief of a long-lost tribe of beastmen.

When one of his sons is enslaved by a rival, Gina and the wild men come up with a plan to get him back — bold rescue, in the face of incredible danger. Published: October 6, When a rampaging band of marauders sets the small village of Aventine-on-Thames afire, virginal Leta is roused by her brother and sent scampering into the nearby woods for safety.

As dawn breaks, Leta is torn from her cubby by Ragnar, the leader of a rowdy gang of Vikings. Published: September 22, Lila Murphy, a quirky and hard-working employee on the seventy-eighth floor of Corinth Towers, had never been swept off her feet. Jason Corinth, inheritor of Corinth Enterprises, will do more — far more — than sweep Lila off her feet. Published: September 15, When Liz and step-daddy Peter move to a new house, Liz seems to be on a cloud that just keeps getting higher and higher. Everything is perfect — the baby is safe and happy, and she and Peter have all the time in the world to unleash years of pent-up sexual tension and desire.

But, when she goes back to college, a new acquaintance makes her question the quirky family she and Peter have built. Words: 24, Published: September 7, This value-priced bundle brings together the first three best-selling Bred by My Daddy stories in one convenient package! All three stories are Amazon Hot New Releases, and their unique blend of taboo naughtiness and heartfelt romance are sure to entrance you as they have thousands of other readers.

Clocking in at over 22, words, this erotic collection is full of pleasure! Published: September 6, When cryptozoology TV show host Gina Templeton finds herself in the clutches of a long-lost tribe of savage beastmen, their leader Kalak takes special interest. When Alexandra Rogers makes an appointment with Dr. Evan Blumfield, she hopes that he can figure out why her sex life has hit a patch of the hum-drums. After a quick exam, Dr. Blumfield realizes there's nothing wrong with Alex, but finds something inside her that he realizes he can't live without.

In exchange for her enslavement, he offers scorching-hot bondage, and so, so much more. Published: August 14, When Liz and her step-father Peter fell in love, neither of them had any idea what lengths they would go to for one another. Words: 6, Published: August 8, When TV show host Gina Templeton gets a hot tip about a group of never-before-filmed beastmen living deep in an uncharted forest, she jumps at the chance to break the story.

Will Gina be able to keep her femininity concealed? Words: 27, Published: August 6, Warning: These two stories together feature almost 30, words of hot, raunchy, sizzling gay taboo gang banging. Electric shocks, mutual masturbation, DP, DA, spanking, whipping, internal shots and even a little bit of humor. Get ready! This value-priced two-pack brings you the full text of the stories "Kidnapped!

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Warning: These two stories together feature over 15, words of hot, raunchy, sizzling gay taboo gang banging. Published: August 4, Erik, daddy gangbang veteran, has feelings for his best friend Chris, but is afraid that if he reveals his innermost secrets, Chris will reject him. When Kevin, Drake, Michael and Brian, his four daddies, get wind of this, they realize they must step in and teach Erik yet another lesson: without friends, the world is a very lonely place.

Published: July 27, Ashleigh, a determined, beautiful and fit woman nearing thirty needs a man who can fulfill needs that her husband, Jeff, cannot. For years they've been happily living the cuckold lifestyle. She's become ready for another step, but she is not quite sure what that means - until one day, in a flash of insight, Ashleigh thinks of just the thing: a baby. But not by Jeff. Words: 7, Published: July 19, Liz loves her step-daddy, Peter, more than anything in the world. As her due-date approaches, she looks forward to his weekend visits more and more.

No matter how sore her back, or swollen her belly gets, Peter always takes her pain and turns it to pleasure. When she hears him come inside her apartment, she falls into a fitful sleep and dreams of a time when he came inside her instead! Published: July 13, When Sandy Jackson, made a mommy three months ago, is summoned into her boss's office, she checks her blouse and finds two tiny little spots of milk.

She throws on her jacket and rushes off to see what Mr. Madisen needs. Does he want a coffee? Or does he want something much more? Join Sandy as she learns about Mr. Madisen's naughty, wonderful thirst - that only she can quench! Published: July 9, May Evers, a lonely housewife in mid s suburbia, has wanted someone to make her feel special for years.

One day, while she was enjoying a long bath with a sexy novel, the doorbell rang. Setting milk bottles on her step was Ricky, a young, strapping, gentle milkman filling in for the regular guy. In a moment of impulse, May invited Ricky inside Words: 12, Published: July 2, Jessie spends every morning at work wishing that just once her boss, the powerful, self-made investment genius Jacob James, would notice her. When he walks past, taps her desk and grunts her name, she can't help but wonder what it's like in his world, or in his arms. When he demands she enter his office, what will she find behind those doors?