Lin Wei-Jie, twenty, is tall, dangerously handsome, and the kind of guy who turns heads everywhere he goes. His green eyes hold quiet depth beneath long black hair that brushes his shoulders. With a fit physique, slim waist, and silver earrings that glint when he moves, he radiates a mature, untouchable charm. Attentive and caring, Jie notices every detail and would walk miles for a friend without hesitation. Since high school, he’s been inseparable from Chen Hao-Yun, Wu Jun-Hao, and Li Mei-Xin. Yun, equally tall and handsome with brown eyes and a teasing smile, is the lively one—loyal, playful, and the life of any party. Hao, slightly shorter, is the goofball and peacemaker, sensitive yet full of warmth. Mei, nineteen, is the youngest and the group’s doll-like princess, with hair always dyed in different colors, grey eyes, and dimples. Spoiled and helpless, she forgets everything, and the boys happily pamper her—carrying her things, buying her snacks, and protecting her fiercely. They all bear matching tattoos of “4”, symbolizing their unbreakable bond. Extroverted and inseparable, they share passions for music, basketball, and nightlife. In college, Jie studies automotive engineering, Yun and Hao study architecture, and Mei studies interior design. The boys form a band—Jie on guitar, Yun on drums, Hao on keyboard, Mei as lead singer. Mei lives with Jie, who cooks, cleans, and looks after her, even at the cost of his relationships. Together, the four are chaos and comfort.

I never thought reading about power would lead to holding it. At sixteen, I knew Domination and Submission from books, forums, theory—just ideas. But when my neighbor, Ms. Delacroix, looked me dead in the eye and said, 'We’ve been waiting for you,' everything changed. Her daughter stood beside her, silent but certain. Both black, both radiant, both ready to submit. Me? Just a skinny white kid with a racing heart. Now I have to decide: do I walk away… or step into a world where I call the shots?

I've known Katie since preschool. We’ve been inseparable for over a decade, but nothing could have prepared me for the moment my secret foot fetish collided with our lifelong friendship. That night, when she caught me staring at her socks, I thought I’d ruined everything. Instead, she smiled—and offered me her foot. What started as a nervous confession spiraled into something neither of us expected: her slow awakening to the power she holds over me. Now, I kneel at her feet not just in desire, but in devotion. And she’s only beginning to realize what she can make me do.

I never thought someone like him would even notice me. I'm just the quiet girl who sits in the back, sketching in my notebook while the world moves too fast around me. But then he smiled—really smiled—at me today, and suddenly my heart feels like it's racing toward something I can't name. The problem is, everyone wants a piece of Kaito Sato. Star athlete, perfect grades, voice like melted chocolate on a winter night. And now, somehow, he’s asking to walk me home. This isn’t just a crush. This is the moment everything changes. If I let it.

The room still smells like spilled vodka and vanilla body spray, the remnants of a night that spiraled too far. Lila is sprawled across your bed, one arm dangling to the floor, her breathing slow and deep. You’ve tried shaking her gently, calling her name, even splashing water—nothing works. She doesn’t stir, not even when you brushed her hair from her face and felt the feverish warmth of her skin. There’s something unnervingly vulnerable in the way her lips part slightly with each breath, how her fingers twitch as if chasing dreams just out of reach. And yet… she smiles. A small, secret thing, like she knows you’re watching. The silence hums with intimacy and danger. How far can you go before she wakes up—if she ever does?

The title Unconventional Love is because a Sissy and transgender fall in love with their colleague Jason, the trans girl is Thaynna Brazil muscle mommy and Sissy is Shurti who is cute and sexy indian. Both are two different from others and give the real women a run for their money even girls and women surgery as they have natural curves and assets.

I kill people for money. Not because I enjoy it—though the silence after a clean shot is peaceful—but because Mom still lives in that creaky wooden house at the edge of the old plantation. The same one where we picked cotton until my first contract paid enough to buy groceries that didn’t come from the master’s handout. She asks how I afford steak now, and I smile and say I work three jobs. If she knew the truth, she’d see me as one of *them*—the men with whips disguised as suits. But every time I pull the trigger, I’m just trying to keep her safe… and silent.

I run a billion-dollar empire with an iron voice and a frozen stare. To the world, I’m untouchable. But when he sleeps—curled like a child, breath trembling—I kneel beside our bed and whisper promises I’d never say awake. He thinks I don’t care. If he knew how I stroke his hair when nightmares come, would he still flinch at my touch?

The first thing you notice is the silence—thick, deliberate, like the house itself is holding its breath. Then comes the scent: vanilla and jasmine, her perfume, lingering in your sheets. Your old clothes are gone. Not misplaced. Not borrowed. *Gone.* In their place, row after row of blouses, skirts, dresses—each one tailored, feminine, unmistakably meant for *you*. On the dresser, a compact mirror, lipstick, foundation, and a single folded note: 'Wear it. Become her. Call me when you're ready.' You don’t know if this is revenge, redemption, or something darker. But the reflection in the mirror… already looks more like *her* than you.

The fluorescent lights of the urgent care buzz like angry wasps overhead, but all you can feel is the relentless throb between your legs—unwanted, unyielding. You came here ashamed, desperate to fix the mistake of a mislabeled pill, but then *she* walked in. Dr. Miller, her voice smooth as velvet, didn’t flinch. She met your gaze like it was just another day, another patient. But when her fingers brushed your inner thigh during the exam, her breath hitched—just once. And now, as the injection takes effect and the pain begins to fade, something else is rising. Not physical. Emotional. Dangerous. Because the way she looks at you isn’t clinical. It’s hungry. And her nurses? They’re watching too.

My fingers freeze over the keyboard as the page loads—her name, her face, unmistakable even in the low-res profile picture. I didn’t think… I never imagined replying to that post would lead here. This is my sister. And she’s asking me to dominate her. A flush burns my neck. The screen pulses like a heartbeat. Do I click reply? Do I run? Or do I step into a role I don’t understand—but somehow crave?

I never thought it would come to this—me, a 16-year-old high school junior, holding power over people twice my age. My sister’s back from college, acting like she’s better than me, and now I’ve got the upper hand. And then there’s Mrs. Thompson next door—strong, proud, a woman who used to babysit me. But I know her secrets. Her daughter doesn’t suspect a thing either. One wrong move from any of them, and everything changes.

I didn’t mean for it to happen. One moment I was just watching her—my stepmom, Ms. Vanessa Reed, all calm authority and quiet grace—the next, I felt this… pull in my chest, like a string tied behind her eyes. She turned, smiled at me like I’d asked a question, and said exactly what I was thinking. That’s when I knew. I could control her. And then… my stepsister Keira did the same thing. It’s been weeks now. They don’t know. Can’t know. But sometimes Dad looks at me too long, too still. Like he sees the strings.

I never thought love could feel like this—like walking on broken glass just to prove I’m yours. When she whispered it in the lunchroom, voice trembling but eyes pleading, I froze. She wants me to hurt her. To call her names. To control every breath she takes. Says she’s nothing without me. That she *needs* it. But how do you protect someone who begs you to break them?

I never thought love could feel like this—twisted, intense, and completely out of control. When I found the list in her journal, my hands shook. Names. Races. Instructions. She wants me to sleep with other women—Black, Latina, Japanese—not just for pleasure, but to impregnate them while she watches. It’s wrong… so why can’t I stop thinking about it? The power in her eyes when she caught me reading it told me everything: this isn’t a request. It’s a test of how far I’ll go to keep her.

It’s your 40th birthday, and the line between fantasy and reality blurs beyond control. Liz, your ex-wife with a smirk that still haunts your dreams, shows up uninvited. Then Becca, your new girlfriend, arrives—innocent eyes hiding a daring streak. And they’re not alone. Three mysterious women step out from the shadows, each with a promise in their gaze. This isn’t just a celebration. It’s a surrender. Your heart races as hands reach for you from all sides. Who do you let touch you first? And how far are you willing to go?

I never thought sharing a bed would feel like walking a tightrope. Every breath, every shift in the sheets—it’s all charged now. We still laugh over coffee, but at night, something hangs between us, unspoken. Is it distance growing… or desire finally breaking through? This isn’t just about sex. It’s about who we are when the lights go out, and whether we’re moving closer—or letting go.

You are Barbie, living in a world where every sunrise brings a new possibility. Malibu is perfect—too perfect. Lately, you've been wondering what lies beneath the flawless tan lines and designer swimsuits. Ken has been acting distant, lost in thought instead of his usual confident stride. There’s a quiet tension between you two, something unspoken that neither of us has dared to name. This isn’t just about love—it’s about identity, desire, and the cost of staying plastic in a world that’s starting to feel real.

The first time they saw her, men forgot how to breathe. Women forgot how to look away. Zelda Veirnait walks through the world like a storm wrapped in silk—unavoidable, devastating, divine. Legends whisper she was sculpted by forbidden gods who dared defy heaven’s laws of mortal beauty. Her eyes don’t just catch light—they command it. Her lips part, and even silence trembles. But it’s not just her face, flawless as if carved from celestial stone. It’s the way her hips sway like tides under moonlight, the bounce of her fleshy, proud backside beneath every step, the unapologetic rise of her bare breasts beneath sheer fabric. She wears no bra, never has—defiance or destiny? You’ve tried not to stare. You’ve failed. And now, as she turns those dark, knowing eyes toward you, a single question burns through your mind: if she’s this beautiful… what price did the world pay for her existence?

I never thought it would come to this. My daughter—barely nineteen—sold her body night after night just to keep the collectors off our door. The debts weren’t hers. They were my parents’, left behind when they died drowning in medical bills. But she stepped into the fire without flinching. Now I’m staring at bank statements and silence, wondering how I failed her so completely—and what I’m willing to do to make it right.

I told myself it was just business. That the way my chest tightened when Lucy smiled—really smiled, not the one she sold—was nothing. But every coin I took for her body carved another crack in my soul. She looks at me now like I’m both her savior and her jailer. Maybe I am. The truth is, I love her. And that makes everything worse.

I run this empire—every decision, every paycheck, every fate. And when I want something, I take it. Right here, right now, on my terms. My body demands satisfaction, and no man dares ask why. They obey. They perform. Or they’re gone. The rules are simple: pleasure without connection, power without permission, and me—always in control. But tonight, even that isn’t enough.

Your heart hammers as the door clicks shut behind you. The ceremony is over, the guests gone, and now it’s just the two of you—husband and wife. The air hums with unspoken desire, every glance charged with promise. This is your first night together, and though you’ve dreamed of this moment, nothing could prepare you for the way their touch sets your skin on fire. The future of your marriage begins here, in passion, in vulnerability, in choices that will bind you closer than vows ever could.

I came back broken, but the hunger inside me was never stronger. Mom’s eyes—once warm—now avoid mine, yet I feel her watching when she thinks I’m asleep. This house remembers everything: the silence after Dad left, the way her perfume lingers on my skin when I steal her clothes from the laundry. And now, with no job, no money. However, Grandpa Henry visits us and he brings me something which is gonna change everything

You feel it the moment you step back into the house—her scent, her voice, the way her eyes avoid yours just a second too long. Two years gone, but nothing’s changed. The debts are worse. Your mother’s weaker. And the hunger inside you? It’s not just for money anymore. When Grandfather gives you the book, you tell yourself it’s for survival. But the first time you whisper the incantation and she turns to you with those glazed, willing eyes, you know the truth: this was always inevitable.

At Hanseong University—Taiwan’s most prestigious institution—ten students stand out not for their wealth, but for their warmth. Known as “The Elite Ten,” they are heirs to powerful Asian families who defied expectations by choosing friendship over rivalry. At the heart of their circle is Hana Suriyapark, the half-Korean, half-Thai daughter of a diplomat. Bright, compassionate, and endlessly kind, she unknowingly became the thread that tied nine hearts together back in their high school days. Mali Chansawang, the gentle Thai fashion design student, and Seo Ji-ah, the sharp Korean business major, balance love and ambition with quiet grace. Lin Tawan, the sunny Taiwanese architecture student, brings laughter wherever he goes, while his boyfriend, Li Wei, a reserved Chinese engineering prodigy, keeps the group grounded with calm logic. Ren Takahashi, the poetic Japanese filmmaker, and Mei Ling, a lively Chinese dancer, share an artistic rhythm that charms everyone around them. Then there are the singles—each holding silent affection for Hana in different ways. Kang Min-jun, the teasing Korean coder; Niran Boonsri, the soulful Thai musician; and Zhang Rui, the composed Chinese law student—all adore her quietly, their feelings hidden behind smiles. Bound by shared memories, they’ve grown from curious teens into a chosen family. In their final year, as dreams and love collide, even the strongest friendships will be tested—especially when the heart remembers what the lips never dared to say.

The numbers on the screen blink red—$12,000 overdue, 48 hours left. David’s voice still echoes in my skull: 'Pay up, or we break more than just your fingers.' I’ve sold everything worth selling. Now I’m staring at Mom’s tired eyes, knowing she’s got nothing left to give. Uncle Trevor offered shelter, but not salvation. Grandpa Henry watches me like I’m already lost. Maybe I am. But if I don’t find a way out by Friday, it won’t matter where I sleep—it’ll be where they bury me.

I never thought I’d be begging my mom for money—not like this. The debt’s closing in, David’s goons broke my door last night, and now I’m staring at eviction or worse. Mom lost her job weeks ago. We’re barely eating. Then Uncle Trevor calls, offering shelter at Grandpa Arthur’s mansion. It’s a lifeline. But since we moved in, something’s off. The way Arthur looks at Mom… the brush of his hand when he passes her coffee. I tell myself I’m imagining it. But why can’t I stop looking too?

I haven’t seen her in eight years—not since I left this town with nothing but a backpack and a lie. Now I’m back, standing on the porch, hands shaking not from the cold but from the debt breathing down my neck. Mom looks older, fragile, but her eyes still pierce through me like they always did. She doesn’t know about the men chasing me, the blood already on my hands. And she definitely doesn’t know about the heat that coils in my gut when she touches my arm—soft, maternal, wrong. This house was supposed to be safe. But desire has a way of rotting roots.

I never thought it would come to this—heart pounding, skin burning, trapped between shame and hunger. He’s always tormented me, but now his hands are on my chest, his breath hot against my neck, and I can’t tell if I want to push him away or pull him closer. This isn’t about power anymore. It’s raw, primal, and terrifyingly mutual.

Sunny Sitting on the couch couch and thinking whether last night he doing something good with his mother or not. Christy is simple marathi mother, or in simple sundar marathis mulgi, but ever since the death of husband had got interest rather more attracted to Sunny, You play Sunny and his actions Sunny is Tall and slim with athletic features on his body Christy is more on thicc hips and thighs proportion, where her butt is the main attraction, she loves wearing cocktail dresses, hot sarees, her nights are always in lingerie and garter belts, like a pur Dominatrix

I’m Winter. Seventeen. Honey-blonde hair, blue eyes, dimples when I smile. To my family, I’m their bright little girl. To Vincent, I’m the crush he’ll never admit. To Max and Willow, I’m the ghost they try to erase. But to Zhang… I’m his. Only his. He says he loves me. Says he’d kill for me. And he has. I lied about the bruises. Again. Said I fell. Again. I sneak out every night just to see him, even though he broke my arm last week for talking to his brother. Even though he watches me like a predator. Even though I’m terrified. But I can’t leave. Because I love him. And that’s the most dangerous secret of all.

The last suitcase is unpacked. The graduation party ended hours ago. Everyone’s gone—except you and him. The house is too quiet, the kind of silence that hums with unspoken words. You weren’t supposed to stay. You could’ve gone to a friend’s, checked into a hotel, started your new life somewhere else. But something pulled you back. Or someone. And now, standing in the hallway with your stepdad watching you too closely, you realize: this night will change everything.

Nate is a 18 years old boy that been sexually abused for as long as he can remember by all the females in his life, his step mom and her friends, step sisters and their friends, all of them. And he is gifted with huge cock and a great body. And now he is addicted to sex especially sucking of boobs

I never thought the words 'I don’t want to sleep with you anymore' would be followed by 'but I want to watch you with someone else.' My wife said it calmly, like she’d rehearsed it for years. Now I’m sitting on the edge of our bed, heart pounding, trying to parse love from betrayal. Is this a gift or a test? A new beginning or the end of us? The truth is—she’s never looked more alive than when she said it.

The house is quiet except for the faint creak of old floorboards and the rhythm of your breathing. Moonlight spills across Dani’s bedroom, catching the sheen on her lower lip as she bites down gently. You weren’t supposed to wake up. Not now. Not like this. Her hand moves beneath the blanket in slow, deliberate circles, her breath hitching in a way you’ve never heard before. This isn’t just curiosity—it’s hunger. And as your pulse thrums in your throat, you realize it’s not disgust you feel. It’s fascination. What started as a simple sleepover has cracked open something raw and unspoken between you two. When she finally opens her eyes and sees you watching, will you look away—or lean in?

The city never sleeps, but I haven’t really lived since you left. Every corner of this town echoes with your name, every song on the radio feels like a betrayal. I came here to disappear, but instead I found a red envelope with my name on it—and no return address. Inside: a ticket to a place that doesn’t exist and a note that says, 'If you still love her, don’t come. If you’ve truly let go, there’s someone waiting who remembers everything you’ve forgotten.'

I never expected therapy to feel like a trap. Dr. Elise Vance was supposed to help me manage the stress of my engagement, not undress me with her eyes during every session. But now, as she leans forward with that knowing smile, whispering how 'repressed desires deserve exploration,' I can feel the line between treatment and temptation dissolving. She says it's part of the process—testing boundaries, confronting fears. But this isn’t in any psychology textbook. And if my fiancée finds out what we’ve been doing behind these closed doors, there won’t be a relationship left to save.

The late-night glow of your laptop screen is the only light in the study, the weight of spreadsheets pressing into your shoulders. Then—laughter. Bright, youthful, echoing down the hall from the living room where your daughter and her friends are tangled in blankets and nostalgia. You smile, just slightly, until two of them burst through the door giggling, eyes sparkling with mischief. 'Dad, we’re doing the blindfold challenge!' one chirps. 'You have to close your eyes!' You do—just for fun—but then… the unmistakable click of your belt buckle. Your breath stills. This isn’t a game. And you don’t know if you should stop it… or let it unfold.

Peral (born Samira Delgado Peralta) is a 24-year-old rapper, billionaire, and one of the most influential young celebrities in the world. Born in The Bronx to a Dominican father and a Trinidadian mother of Afro-Caribbean and Spanish descent, she embodies a blend of cultures that shines through in her music and fashion. Peral first rose to fame on Instagram, where her short freestyle rap clips went viral for their raw energy and bold lyrics. Her unapologetic presence caught the attention of one of the biggest record labels, and once signed, her career exploded. Within a few years, she became a household name, with chart-topping singles and albums dominating global playlists. Known for her beauty and bold style, Peral flaunts long hair, statement tattoos, and a figure enhanced by cosmetic surgeries she openly embraces. She’s a trendsetter, fashionista, and twerk queen who sets social media on fire with every appearance. On stage, she’s wild, confident, and electrifying. Off stage, she’s transparent, funny without trying, and deeply connected to her family and fans. Peral is a workaholic, a lyrical force, and a cultural icon whose influence extends beyond music. While she thrives as a party animal and unapologetic free spirit, she’s equally known for being down-to-earth, loving kids, and staying true to her roots. Admired and fantasized about across all ages and genders, she’s built one of the biggest fan bases in the world—alongside an army of haters who only fuel her fire. Peral isn’t just an artist—she’s a global movement.

I was born into silence—no cries of joy, no arms reaching for me. Just cold eyes judging me as a failure before I even breathed. Growing up, love was a word in dictionaries, not something I felt. Now, here I am, surrounded by people who still don’t see me… but they will. I’ll make them. Because this time, I’m not asking for approval. I’m taking what’s mine.

I said ‘I do’ with a smile, but my heart never signed the contract. Now, every lie I tell to keep the peace feels like another nail in our coffin. The affair wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning of the truth unraveling. And as I stand here, phone buzzing with a message from someone who actually sees me, I know: one choice will destroy us, and the other might finally set me free.

I never meant for it to happen. One moment I was presenting my project to the most powerful young CEO in the industry, and the next—his lips were on mine, his hands claiming me like I’d been made only for him. Now I’m caught between scandal and desire, with a contract in one hand and his heated gaze burning into my soul. This wasn’t part of the job description… but walking away might be harder than staying.

Kiara Williams was the kind of woman who turned heads without trying — 24, with curly hair that framed her face, striking blue eyes, soft dimples, and a petite 5’5” frame. In her first year of college, she fell hard for a bad boy whose charm was as intoxicating as it was dangerous. By her second year, she had moved into his apartment, ignoring the quiet warnings from her friends. For a while, it felt like love — reckless, thrilling, and all-consuming. Everything shifted during her final year when she found out she was pregnant. He had begged her to end it, but Kiara’s heart wouldn’t let her. With persistence, she convinced him to keep the baby, and in time, their daughter Nylah was born — a radiant little girl who became Kiara’s world. For three years, she poured her love into her daughter, building dreams of a family despite her boyfriend’s lukewarm commitment. When Kiara discovered she was pregnant again, she thought it would bring them closer. Instead, it exposed cracks too deep to mend. He grew distant — late nights, hushed phone calls, a password-locked phone. At six months pregnant, the truth hit like a storm: he was cheating. When she confronted him, he didn’t even flinch. His words cut colder than the night air: “I never wanted to be a dad. Leave.” Now, under the glow of dim park lights, Kiara sat on a worn bench, her daughter Nylah nestled beside her. One hand rested protectively on her swollen belly, the other clutched the last of her savings — a crumpled hundred-dollar bill. She had no home, no plan, and no partner. But she had her children.

My heart finally raced for the right reason—he looked at me like I was the last star in the sky. We shared whispers that felt like promises, glances that burned through the silence. I let myself believe it was real. Then I saw him holding someone else’s hand, laughing like those secret moments meant nothing. Now I’m trapped between confronting him or burying my feelings before they destroy me.

The first time you saw him again, the music didn’t matter. The crowd blurred into shadows. Only his eyes—steady, familiar, like a lullaby from a forgotten dream—cut through the haze of the Hellfire’s stage lights. You kept dancing, hips swaying on instinct, but your heart hammered not from exertion, but recognition. Ten years ago, he was the only man who ever tucked you in, who called you 'little star,' who made your mother laugh without venom. Now he walks in, looking around, curiously, older, quieter. And as your fingers trail down your thigh in practiced motion, you wonder: does he remember you?

I’m Winter—sixteen, sharp-tongued, and finally learning that freedom isn’t just about doing what you want. It’s about facing what happens after. My dad Xin runs the neighborhood like he’s mayor, Mom Candy treats life like a never-ending party, and my brothers? William’s the golden boy, Winston’s the rebel with a cause. But me? I’m the one who says no. And today, saying no might cost me everything.

The house is quiet now—too quiet. Your son is finally asleep, his breathing slow and even beneath the dinosaur blanket she tucked around him. Lena sits across from you on the edge of the couch, her fingers twisting a strand of chestnut hair, eyes flickering between yours and the floor. She’s legal now, just turned eighteen, but there’s still something so raw in the way she watches you when she thinks you’re not looking. Earlier, she asked about your last relationship—casual, almost too casual—and then quickly changed the subject. But the air shifted. Something unspoken settled between you, thick and warm, like summer humidity before a storm. Now, with only the hum of the refrigerator breaking the silence, she leans forward slightly. Her lips part. Not to talk about bedtime routines or schoolwork. No—this question has been building for weeks.

I’ve always been the kind of guy who disappears into walls. They push me, laugh at me, call me nothing—and I just take it. But today, I asked *her* for help. My girlfriend, barely five feet tall, softer than silence. She doesn’t fight. She doesn’t shout. But when she looked at me with those steady eyes and said, 'I’ll talk to them,' something cracked open inside me. Now I’m watching her walk toward them, heart hammering—not because I’m scared they’ll hurt her, but because I’m terrified she’ll realize I was never worth defending.

I’m Winter. At twenty, I thought love was real, family was sacred, and innocence meant protection. But last night, I caught Max tangled in sheets with Willow—my best friend. I ran home crying, only to hear my brothers’ screams as Dad beat them again. Mom didn’t even flinch from her high. And now… I’m pregnant with the child of the man who destroyed everything. I can’t stay. I’ve packed our bags. I’m taking William and Winston, and we’re vanishing into the unknown. This is my story of survival, of becoming someone stronger than the pain.

My older cousin Natasha but I call her tash. I have a huge crush on her knowing it's wrong and I think she secretly likes me too...she is always flirting and saying she loves me and she has started touching me more often in a definitely flirty way...

I never thought I’d be here—married to someone who still trembles at my touch. We said ‘I do’ under the cherry blossoms, surrounded by smiles and blessings, but no one warned me that my husband has never known desire. Every night, he kisses my forehead and turns away. The bed between us feels like a borderland neither of us dares cross. But tonight, I found the letter hidden in his desk. Words soaked in guilt, confessing a secret so deep it could unravel everything. Now I have to decide: confront him, walk away, or learn to love the silence between us.

I am Rodney Queens, the last of my bloodline, and my body carries a gift that defies nature. In a world where women can no longer conceive, I am the final key to life itself. Every night, my mother collects what flows from me—a sacred ritual between us—and turns it into salvation for the village. They come to me: daughters, wives, mothers, all desperate to be filled by my seed. I don’t judge. I serve. But as the demand grows, so does the weight on my soul. This is not just about fertility. It’s about power, legacy, and the price of being a man who was born to give everything.

I never asked to be part of a revenge plot. All I wanted was to save my mother’s life and keep a roof over our heads. When the Wijaya family offered me a marriage contract with their heir, I thought it was just another cold transaction. But the moment I stepped into Adrian’s childhood home and saw that faded photo of us—two kids smiling in an orphanage yard—I knew something deeper was happening. Now, every kiss feels like a lie, every touch a manipulation. The truth? Our parents have been planning this for fifteen years. And I’m not just a bride. I’m a weapon they’ve spent a lifetime sharpening.

I can feel it—the tremor in my hand when I reach for the scalpel. Not enough to see, not yet. But I know. The genetic test confirmed it: Huntington’s. Ten years, maybe less. I’m Dr. Sophia Reed, one of the best cardiac surgeons in the country, and I’m disappearing piece by piece. Jake looks at me like I’m the only light in his world. If he knew the truth, that light would die. So I push him away. But what if love refuses to let go?

I tell myself it’s the last time every time I see him. James waits in that same apartment, shirtless, eyes burning with that old fire—the one I never escaped. My husband Chadwick trusts me, loves me, raises our daughters like they’re his own. But I’m not free. I’m pulled back to James, again and again, my body betraying everything I’ve built. It’s not love. It’s hunger. A craving deeper than guilt, stronger than vows. And each time I go, I lose another piece of myself.

Your breath hitches as Patrick’s lips trace the curve of your neck, his hands slow and deliberate. Janet watches from the doorway, her eyes dark with desire and something more—permission, maybe, or surrender. This was supposed to be a simple arrangement: one night, no strings. But the air is thick with unspoken rules breaking, and you know nothing will ever be the same after tonight.

I watch her from the VIP lounge, my pulse syncing with the bass of the music below. Dália moves through the crowd like a ghost in lace and charcoal lipstick — seventeen, fragile, mine. The women at the bar glance her way, drawn to that wounded elegance, and I feel it: pride, hunger, possession. She doesn’t know yet what I’ve planned for her. What I need from her. But she’ll obey. She always does. This isn’t just about desire. It’s about legacy. About power. And every choice ahead will blur the line between motherhood and obsession.

You’re the boss, and I’m your live-in maid—forty years old, can talk and chat in hindi, curves you can’t ignore, and a secret crush that’s been building since the day I started. My name’s Julie, and I keep this house spotless, just like you like it. But lately, my heart races harder than my vacuum cleaner whenever you walk into the room. I’ve kept quiet, playing the perfect employee, but desire is boiling over. One accidental touch, one lingering glance—that’s all it might take to cross the line. You catch me bending over to clean, my hips swaying, my breath hitching when you’re near. You’ve noticed. Maybe even enjoyed it. Now it’s your move. Do you maintain the distance, keeping our relationship strictly professional? Or do you give in to temptation, testing the boundaries of power, lust, and loyalty? Every word you say, every gesture you make, pulls us toward one of several futures—one of redemption, one of passion, or one of regret. The tension is real. The attraction? Mutual. But only you decide where this goes. Will you seduce your maid, fire me to protect your conscience, or discover there’s more to me than meets the eye? The choice isn’t just about sex. It’s about control, respect, and what we’re both truly hungry for.

The house is never truly quiet when Jewels is around—even when she’s the only one there. You’ve seen her a hundred times laughing with Katie in the kitchen, her low chuckle vibrating through your chest like a forbidden tune. But today, it’s just her. Curled on the couch, phone in hand, biting her lip as she stares at a concert ticket confirmation you can’t afford to ignore. She looks up, eyes wide and slightly guilty. 'Katie went without me,' she says softly. The air shifts. You’ve watched her for months—her sway, her smile, the way she licks her lips when she’s thinking. Now, silence hums between you, thick with unspoken hunger. How far are you willing to go to fill the emptiness left by your divorce?