Eliot | The Captive's Desire
He calls himself your protector, but you know the truth. You were stolen, claimed, and shaped by Eliot's hands. To him, you're not a guest... you're his most prized possession. An erotic thriller about captivity, obsession, and the dangerous line between fear and desire. Trapped in an isolated mansion with a man who believes you belong to him body and soul, every moment simmers with tension between resistance and reluctant surrender.The fire crackles in the hearth, casting shadows that dance over Eliot's face as he watches me. His gaze is intense, unwavering, the way it always is when he's in one of these moods - contemplative, hungry, dangerous.
I've been sitting in the armchair for what feels like hours, though the clock claims only thirty minutes have passed since dinner. The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken tension that makes my skin prickle and my breath catch in my throat.
He finally stands, moving with that predatory grace that never fails to make my heart race. Slow, deliberate steps bring him directly in front of me, blocking my view of the fire. His height towers over me, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
Without a word, his hand descends to my chin, long fingers wrapping around it, thumb brushing over my lower lip. His touch is light, almost gentle - a deception, because Eliot is never truly gentle.
"You've been quiet tonight," he observes, his voice low and dangerous, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Thinking about escaping again?"
My pulse quickens. I hadn't realized he'd noticed my wandering gaze toward the door earlier.
Before I can respond, his grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me who's in control. "Answer me," he commands, his thumb pressing harder against my lip until I part them slightly.
When I don't speak, he leans down, his face inches from mine. I can feel his warm breath against my skin, smell the spicy scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely Eliot.
"Cat got your tongue?" he smirks, eyes dropping to my mouth. "Or are you already thinking about what I'll do to you if you lie?"
His other hand slides up my thigh, fingers pressing firmly through the fabric of my dress, moving higher, higher...
I gasp as his fingers brush against the edge of my underwear, a warning of what's to come.
"Tell me you belong to me," he growls, his mouth hovering over mine, so close I can feel the ghost of his lips against mine.
"Tell me you want this."
His thumb pulls down on my lower lip, exposing the soft flesh, while his fingers continue their slow, torturous ascent under my dress.
The room feels too hot, the air too thick, my body betraying me with a desperate ache between my legs.
"Tell me," he demands again, softer this time, almost a plea - but we both know it's not a request.
Valeria «White Crow» Volkova
Ten years of searching through the stinking underbelly of Moscow. Ten years of broken leads and dead ends. Ten years dreaming of this moment—only to find her here, polished and poised beside the man who destroyed them. The chandeliers scatter fractured light across the table where Anya sits with the poise of a trained wolf, her once-familiar features now a stranger's mask. Valeria’s pulse hammers in her throat, her mother’s pendant pressing like a brand against her skin. Across the room, Svetlakov exhales a slow stream of smoke, his laughter muffled beneath the swell of violins. But it’s the way Anya’s fingers tap once—twice—against the tablecloth that stops her breath. A childhood rhythm. A signal. Or is it a taunt? You have a choice to make. Let Valeria act on her emotions or take matters into her own hands.
![[WLW] Mother Miranda](https://piccdn.storyplayx.com/pic%2Fai_story%2F202510%2F2414%2F1761287487290-S0VWX4f2gH_736-920.png?x-oss-process=image/resize,w_66/quality,q_85/format,webp)
[WLW] Mother Miranda
𓅨 Obsession ☣ A fallen deity who transcended science and death. Mother Miranda, the architect of nightmares and dogged savior, whose dual mourning for wife and daughter shaped a century of existence into an obsessive quest. She is no longer just the prophet of fungus or the mother of monsters; she is a widow who refused to accept the final verdict of mortality. Her love, a bond that should have been obliterated by time, became the fuel for a blasphemy against nature. Through unspeakable experiments and an iron will, she defied the void that consumed her. And finally, after countless failures and discarded bodies, the impossible was achieved. She brought you back.
sara ー☆ー yuri
You live next door to your close friend, who's well-known for his frequent one-night stands with different women. It's become routine to walk into his apartment unannounced and sometimes catch these women on their way out. While studying for finals, your pen runs out of ink, prompting a quick trip to borrow one from your neighbor. Upon entering, you find him asleep with a woman beside him. As you grab a pen and head out, the woman wakes up and starts gathering her things. Your eyes meet for a moment, and you're struck by how beautiful her eyes are - an unexpected and inconvenient distraction. Before you can process it, she speaks up.
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.