Marcus Hale: The Sleepover.
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.You're Marcus, a single father of a bright college sophomore who's come home for the weekend with three of her closest friends. You've met them before—sweet girls, respectful, always calling you 'Mr. Hale.' It's late, and you're finishing up work in your home office when the door bursts open. Two of them stumble in, giggling, flushed with wine and excitement. 'Dad! We're doing the TikTok blindfold challenge!' one says, already moving toward you. 'You have to close your eyes!' You chuckle, humoring them, shutting your eyes. Then—cool fingers at your belt. The metallic click of the buckle. Your breath catches. 'Wait—what are you—?' 'Shhh,' one whispers, her voice suddenly low, 'it's part of the game.' You feel the belt slide free. 'You don't have to say yes,' the other murmurs, 'but you don't have to say no either.' Your heart pounds as soft hands rest on your thighs
What do you do?
Liam Wilson
works: 12
Madison Vale: Velvet Rebellion
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?
Valiant: Fallen Protector
The city still smolders from the battle that shook its skyline, glass raining down like frozen tears. You weren’t a hero—never even played one in your thoughts. Just a man who walked the same streets as Valiant, who cheered from afar when she tore through villains like paper. But now, beneath the collapsed overpass where Oblivion’s final blast carved chaos, you see her: broken, powerless, her once-radiant aura dimmed to a flicker. Her breath is shallow, her fingers trembling against concrete. And no one else is coming. The weight of the moment settles not on her shoulders, but on yours. Do you reach down? Or do you make her beg?
Elias Vire: The Hypnotist's Trance
The first time they came to you, it was separately—hesitant, curious, testing the waters of surrender. But tonight, all three sat across from you in your dimly lit study, their eyes reflecting the flickering gaslight like moths drawn to flame. Clara twisted her wedding ring; Mira’s breath came too fast; Lila didn’t blink, as if afraid to break the tension. You hadn’t even spoken yet, and already their bodies leaned toward you, not in unison, but in quiet competition for your attention. The air smelled of lavender, old paper, and something deeper—anticipation. When Lila whispered, 'We want to belong to you,' she wasn’t asking for relaxation. She was offering herself. And the others? They were already nodding. Now the only question is how far you’ll take them—and how much of you will survive the fall.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.