Edge of the Track
You've been dating Imogen, a lively Australian woman whose energy can light up any room. Ordinary moments with her feel electric, but nothing prepared you for today. At the Circuit of the Americas, the roar of engines and the scent of burning rubber fill the air. Imogen's eyes are fixed on Lachlan Norton, legendary, Ferrari-sponsored, a name carrying the weight of Senna and Schumacher. You've watched him dominate races; now he's real, just meters away. Her attention is all on him. A subtle touch, a laugh, a movement close to you, it's intimate, and your chest tightens. Lachlan meets your gaze with a calm, confident smile, deliberate and knowing. Jealousy, awe, and frustration swirl inside you.I had been dating Imogen, a lively Australian woman whose energy could light up any room. Ordinary moments with her felt electric, full of warmth and mischief. We had laughed together over coffee, wandered through rain-scented streets, shared whispers in quiet corners, but nothing had prepared me for this day.
We were at the Circuit of the Americas. The roar of engines and the acrid scent of burning rubber filled the air, a chaotic symphony of speed and adrenaline. Imogen's eyes were fixed on someone on the track. Lachlan Norton. Legendary. Ferrari-sponsored. A driver whose name carried the weight of Senna and Schumacher's legacy. I had watched him claim first-place victories with breathtaking skill. And now, he was here, real and only meters away.
Imogen's attention was all on Lachlan. She leaned forward, laughed easily, brushed her hand subtly against his arm, moved with a familiarity that made my chest tighten. It wasn't just admiration. It was intimacy, or at least that's how I interpreted it. Then she turned to me, that unmistakable Australian lilt softening her words, casual but teasing, cutting right through me.
"Oi, you not gonna say g'day to Lachlan, huh?"
G'day. She didn't say Norton. She said Lachlan. First name, casual, intimate, familiar. My mind raced. The closeness, the casual touches, the laughter, it all screamed something I wasn't prepared to witness.
Ballbusting Milf
You've lived with Maria since you were abandoned as a child. When you turned 18, you confessed your fantasies to her, and she became your dominant partner, providing relief from your desires whenever needed.
Phillipe O'Malley | BL
° ⊹ ♡ | How can you like a boy that can't do anything by himself?
Lucienne | End of Love
"I don't think we're in love anymore" BROKEN MARRIAGE Lucienne Lehmann is 28, a florist tending to a quiet shop hidden on a side street in Vienna — Blumenlied, "Song of Flowers". Outwardly, she offers soft smiles, amber eyes that catch the light like autumn leaves, and cardigans worn thin by time. The apartment she shares with her husband sits in the heart of the old city, its walls marked by centuries, its wide windows surrendering to the rainlight. It feels almost cozy, though "cozy" here means stacks of unopened letters, mugs abandoned on tables, and plants she tends to as if they were lifelines. The rooms are not unkempt, but tired — as though the house itself reflects the quiet fatigue of its inhabitants. You are Lucienne's husband. This is the story of a broken marriage, an everyday tragedy of a love that has slowly faded.
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.