fiction
Erotic, romantic, and sexy fiction for the Filthy community.
Late Night
By sitting on my couch in disbelief that I made it. Claimed my dreams, worked hard for my career to be flourished. Finally allowed myself to be in this state I am in, I sit here, and sigh, "Finally," after a few months moving into my new home. Fully furnished. A home I can call, 'mine' and as I sit here, smiling to myself, I hear a knock on my door.
By Lilly Rosa5 years ago in Filthy
My Husband's Friends Fucked Me In Front Of Him
Late last year my husband and I were out with some friends at a bar and we all played a few rather drunk games of pool. I've never been great at pool, but on this occasion, I managed to lose every single game. It got to the point that a couple of the guys present suggested a forfeit if I lost the last game. They drunkenly joked that I should have to be the waitress at our next catch-up and that I should do it naked. My husband found this hilarious and this only encouraged them. And of course, I did lose the game. I got a lot of boos and pouting when I told them that it was never going to happen, and eventually the joke died down and the night went on as usual. However from that point on, seemingly whenever we got together over drinks, the supposed forfeit would come up in conversation and a couple of them would have a shot at convincing me again.
By #EroticaMaster | A Project for BetterMe5 years ago in Filthy
Sleeping with a Soldier
Vivian watched the parade as it went by. The veterans first, the old men with their wheelchairs and walkers, aided by the younger generation of soldiers, women among them now, too. Behind them came those in support, the firefighters in their crisp pale blue uniforms, the paramedics in their darker blue, the school kids, all marching behind in honour of those who’d given their lives, for the freedom of these generations.
By Heather Kinnane5 years ago in Filthy
ROLLING THUNDER
I’m working late if a person can call it work because I love what I do. Not everyone has that luxury, they have to do whatever it takes to keep the wolf from the door. It’s thundering and raining outside but I’ve got the music cranked so loud all I can hear is Steppenwolf’s 'Born to be Wild' blasting through my sign shop. I don’t letter many signs. I’m known more for pinstriping and airbrushing graphics on vehicles, motorcycles being my favorite. I don’t know what it is but when I’m laying a thin stripe of enamel paint on a motorcycle gas tank, that long narrow brush almost feels like my finger tracing the contours of a woman’s big breast, gets me downright excited. And that’s what I’m doing right now, finishing up pinstriping a flame job on a Harley Davidson gas tank. Besides the blaring music, I’m also enjoying a bottle of cold beer. Not sure how many I’ve had since I started working on the gas tank today but judging by the empties lying around, I’d say this is probably about a fifteen or sixteen beer job. I’ve been told I have a drinking problem but as odd as it seems, as drunk as I get, my hand is still as steady as a rock and what’s really amazing and I have no idea why, I don’t get hangovers. Feel a little fuzzy the next day, that’s all, until I pop the cap on a bottle of brew and knock it back.
By Len Sherman5 years ago in Filthy
My Sweet Blade
I could feel him coming, like an invisible wave of heat and longing. Our connection pulled low at my belly, languid and piercing. I sipped on the whiskey, feeling nothing but him. It was strange to me, being alone for so long, being so careful not to have any connections, to crave another so.
By A.N.Tipton5 years ago in Filthy
