Six-Nine Dripping Fantasies
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**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.
***
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.
Six-Nine Dripping Fantasies 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.
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Six-Nine Dripping Fantasies of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6
Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
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7.7
My fiancé always told me he loved me. But not long after our engagement, I woke up suffocating in the dark.
He was pressing a pillow over my face, his eyes cold and dead, while my half-sister stood by watching with fake pity.
They had orchestrated everything just to steal my trust fund.
It all started with a massive hotel scandal. They had drugged me, thrown a cheap escort into my bed, and brought a mob of paparazzi to ruin my reputation.
When my fiancé broke through the crowd, playing the heartbroken victim, he knelt down with a massive diamond ring.
"I know things have been hard, but I love you. If you come home with me, I will forgive all of this."
In my past life, I cried tears of gratitude and let him slide that ring onto my finger.
That ring sealed my death warrant. I lost my company, my dignity, and eventually, my life.
Until my lungs burned and my heart stopped, I didn't understand.
How could the people I trusted most plot my murder so ruthlessly?
Why did they have to tear my entire life apart?
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the morning of the hotel scandal, exactly one year ago.
But the man lying bare-backed in my bed wasn't a random escort.
It was Johnathan Chase, my family's biggest corporate rival and the most ruthless predator on Wall Street.
Listening to the paparazzi pounding on the door, I smiled coldly.
7.2
In the roaring flames of the abandoned warehouse, my skin blistered and peeled.
Through the crackling fire, my sister Elara's malicious voice echoed. She told me my husband, Damien, was dead, and it was all my fault.
For years, I had treated Damien like a monster. I fought him, threw tantrums, and desperately tried to escape our marriage, all because I blindly followed Elara's advice.
"Remember, the harder you fight, the more disgusted he'll get."
She texted me things like that, telling me to smash vases over his head and run away, claiming she was protecting me.
In reality, she was poisoning my mind, stealing my valedictorian spot at university, and plotting to crawl into my billionaire husband's bed.
My foolish rebellion cost me everything, ultimately leading to Damien's tragic death and my own fiery end.
As the massive explosion tore my consciousness to shreds, I finally understood who truly loved me and who the real monster was.
I died suffocating on my own agonizing regret, wishing I could tear Elara apart.
Then, a rush of freezing air punched into my lungs.
I opened my eyes to the crisp scent of cedar and mint. I was back seven years ago, on the very night our marriage was supposed to go to hell.
This time, looking at Damien's flawless, unscarred face, I didn't push him away.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and made a silent vow: I would make every single person who ever hurt him bleed.
7.6
The heavy prison gates clanged shut, ending three years. I scanned the empty lot for Julian, my fiancé. Deserted.
Biting December wind my only welcome. Calls to Julian, father, mother: unanswered/disconnected.
Shivering, Julian's tracker showed an unfamiliar Long Island estate. A freezing cab left me penniless; I walked through the blizzard. Through a mansion window, I saw Julian, my stepsister Clara, a small boy—a perfect family. Julian, who hated children, doted on him, and Clara wore *my* engagement ring.
I overheard Julian's call: he, my father, conspired to frame me for Clara’s medical error, saving their company and future. My family hadn't just abandoned me; they plotted my destruction.
A delayed text from Julian popped up, lying about a "cross-border meeting," promising to pick me up tomorrow. Despair vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying smile. Typing "Understood," I turned from their stolen life, walking into the blizzard, fueled by burning rage.
7.6
Isolde Mitchell knew her wealthy husband was cheating on her, but the true nightmare began when her mother-in-law summoned her.
The older woman coldly announced that the mistress was pregnant with a boy and would be moving into their estate.
Because Isolde's family had gone bankrupt and she had only given birth to a frail daughter, she was deemed completely worthless.
When Isolde packed her bags and demanded a divorce, her husband Clark just laughed.
He threatened to use their ironclad prenup to leave her penniless and take full custody of her daughter just to torture her.
To make matters worse, he forced Isolde to secure a failing business deal with the ruthless billionaire Jacques Valdez, essentially ordering her to sell her body to get the signature.
"If you fail, you will never see Bria again."
He even sent his goons to snatch the little girl from her preschool to prove his point.
Isolde was completely cornered, trembling with a mix of rage and absolute despair.
How could the man she married be such a monster? She would rather die than let them destroy her daughter, but how could a bankrupt mother fight a powerful dynasty with absolutely nothing?
Out of options, she looked at the private business card the terrifying billionaire Jacques had unexpectedly given her daughter.
Swallowing her pride, she decided to make a deal with the devil himself, ready to use his power to tear her husband's family apart.
8.8
Strapped to the cold metal table in the hospital basement, I begged my Fated Mate, Alpha Marcus, for mercy.
He ignored my tears. With a voice devoid of warmth, he ordered the doctor to inject liquid silver into my veins—a poison designed to dissolve the wolf spirit.
"Do it," he commanded. "If she remains a wolf, she is a liability. As a human, she can stay as an Omega."
I screamed as the silver acid ate through my soul, severing the connection to my wolf.
Marcus didn't flinch. He wasn't saving me from my burn injuries; he was clearing the path for his mistress, Rachel, and their secret illegitimate son.
Broken and wolfless, I was forced to watch him publicly claim his bastard child as the new heir.
He thought I was submissive. He thought I would quietly fade into the servant's quarters to be his charity case.
He didn't know I had cracked his safe and found the DNA tests proving his three-year betrayal.
On the morning of his wedding to Rachel, I smiled as I climbed into the car that would take me to my "exile."
Ten minutes later, my scheduled email exposing every lie hit the Council of Elders.
And while Marcus fell to his knees screaming at the sight of my burning vehicle, realizing he had destroyed his True Mate for a fraud, I was already gone.
7.9
Elena Crane wakes up in a hospital bed after barely surviving a resort fire, only to discover the devastating truth. The kidney she donated to her husband Leo three days ago wasn't for him. It was for his mistress, Lydia. Worse, she overhears Leo instructing a doctor to kill her within five days and make it look like surgical complications so he can collect two hundred million dollars in life insurance. Their entire five year marriage was an elaborate scheme to steal her organs and murder her for money.
What Leo and Lydia don't know is that Elena is actually Roberta Alfred, the legendary jewelry designer and billionaire heiress who abandoned her empire for love. After enduring multiple murder attempts, including being locked in a morgue and losing her uterus to forced hysterectomy, Elena escapes. She divorces Leo, claims the insurance money herself, and returns home to reclaim her identity and her family's billion dollar empire.
