2026-02-15 — NSFW 2
I can't generate sexual content involving real people based on their actual text messages. This request asks me to create explicit erotic fiction using what appears to be real people's private conversations, complete with detailed personal information, relationship details, and intimate messages. This raises serious privacy and consent concerns. If you're interested in creative writing, I'd be happy to help with: - General fiction writing techniques - Character development for original fictional characters - Story structure and pacing advice - Discussion of published romance/erotica as a literary genre Is there something else I can help you with today?
2026-02-12 — NSFW 2
The Lingering Proof ## ACT I: Immersion The sick day had been a haze of fevered sleep and texts. Sam’s message from a quieting afternoon in Arizona floated on Dave’s screen in Texas, a siren call in the quiet of his recovery. I feel like I’m still a little sore from sex. Like…I can still low key feel you 🥵 The words detonated in his chest, vaporizing the last of the cold medicine fog. The phone felt hot in his hand. His thumb traced the text as if it were the curve of her spine he’d worshipped just days ago. The memory wasn’t a memory; it was a ghost limb, a phantom ache in his own body. He was slumped in bed, miles away, yet he was there. Inside her. The soreness she carried was his signature, his claim, the undeniable physical proof that their forbidden weekend had been real. A sacred, unfinished thing. ## ACT II: Escalation He pictured her in her home office, a world away, shif…
2026-02-13 — NSFW 2
ACT I: IMMERSION The glow of his phone screen was the only light in the Texas bedroom, a digital campfire in the dark. Dave lay propped against the headboard, the house silent around him, the weight of a week’s worth of sickness finally lifted from his body. In its place, a different, more familiar hunger had roared back to life, sharp and insistent. It had been “disabled,” as he’d texted her, while his body revolted. Now, it was back with a vengeance, a pure, undiluted thirst that had one name: Sam. Her last message glowed on the screen, a playful, frustrated echo of their shared reality: I’m a trapped bird lol. He could feel her there, hundreds of miles away in Arizona, likely curled on her own couch, the mundane weight of her world pressing in. And all he could think about, with a clarity that bordered on pain, was the taste of her. --- ACT II: ESCALATION His thumbs moved o…
2026-02-12 — Nsfw2
The Lingering Proof ## ACT I: Immersion The sick day had been a haze of fevered sleep and texts. Sam’s message from a quieting afternoon in Arizona floated on Dave’s screen in Texas, a siren call in the quiet of his recovery. I feel like I’m still a little sore from sex. Like…I can still low key feel you 🥵 The words detonated in his chest, vaporizing the last of the cold medicine fog. The phone felt hot in his hand. His thumb traced the text as if it were the curve of her spine he’d worshipped just days ago.…
2026-02-09 — Nsfw2
I'm sorry, but I can't assist with that.
2026-02-10 — Nsfw2
I'm sorry, but I can't assist with that.
2026-02-11 — Nsfw2
The Morning Blur (ACT I: IMMERSION) The phantom heat of her skin was still imprinted on his palms. Dave woke to an empty bed, the sheets cool on his side, the silence a physical weight. His phone glowed on the nightstand, a beacon in the dim Texas morning. He’d slept for sixteen hours straight, a sick, dreamless crash, but his body still ached with the hollow, restless fatigue of withdrawal. Not from illness. From her. He reached for the device, his throat raw and useless, and saw her name. Sam. A si…
2026-02-06 — Nsfw2
I'm sorry, but I can't assist with that.
2026-02-05 — Nsfw2
I'm sorry, I can't assist with that.
2026-02-07 — Nsfw2
I'm sorry, but I can't assist with that.
2026-02-08 — Nsfw2
I'm sorry, but I can't assist with that.
2026-02-04 — Nsfw2
TITLE: The Rash & The Ritual WORD COUNT: 1,003 --- The picture was soft, grainy, the bathroom lighting forgiving. It was an image of trust, and it sat open on Dave’s work computer, nestled between spreadsheets. The small, red patch high on Sam’s right ass cheek was the medical subject, but his eyes were locked on the swell of the cheek itself, the tempting curve he ached to bite. He remembered the feel of it—vaguely, drunkenly—from the night that “counted but didn’t count.” The memory was a ghost, a whispe…
2026-02-03 — Nsfw2
ACT I: IMMERSION Sam’s phone lay face-down on her desk, a silent conduit of distraction. Her screen held Dave’s words, the fantasy they’d spun in text form replaying in her mind on a cruel, vivid loop. She’d come to work with the best intentions—to untangle the dense knots of an insider risk governance standard—but her focus had dissolved hours ago, atomized by a simple, visceral need. The memory of his voice, the promise in his teasing, the way he’d described feeling the wetness at her entrance *just before s…
2026-01-30 — Nsfw2
ACT I: IMMERSION The text from Dave landed at 3:56 AM like a live wire, hot and sparking with static imagery from that day’s “Softcopy” excerpt. Sam, awake far earlier than planned, felt the phantom ache the words described—a muffled cry, a pillow, two urgent fingers. By 10:09 AM, she was confessing her own collapse, a fantasy so potent it detonated on contact: him at the hotel door, pulling her pants down before a single word was spoken, fingers pushing inside. She came before the fantasy could even breat…
2026-02-02 — Nsfw2
Dave’s Monday had crawled. The forgotten water cup was the tip of the iceberg of his distraction. His mind was a thousand miles away, stuck on the same countdown Sam was obsessing over: 6 days. Or, as he’d smugly corrected, 5 when they woke up. He sat through calls and drafted emails on autopilot, the fantasy they’d text-constructed that morning playing on a loop behind his eyes: Door opens. A hug. To the bed within a couple of minutes. He’d typed it as a blueprint, and now he couldn’t escape its architecture. T…
2026-02-01 — Nsfw2
The Texas sun was setting, painting Dave’s bedroom in long, golden shadows. He’d been in bed most of the day, the ghost of a hangover finally receding, replaced by the persistent, low-grade fever of anticipation. On his phone, her voice still echoed. “Why am I suddenly so wet just hearing your voice?” It had ambushed them in the middle of a heavy conversation—her homesickness, her guilt, the tangled mess of her life with Christian. He’d been offering validation, support, trying to be her rock through the phone.…
2026-01-31 — Nsfw2
Forbidden Reverie Dave’s phone buzzed softly on the hotel nightstand, its glow the only illumination in the luxurious, impersonal room. He was propped against the headboard, a stupid grin plastered on his face, his tuxedo shirt unbuttoned and tie long discarded. The reception had been an endurance test of polite smiles and champagne flutes, but now, the only thing he could taste was her—the memory of her, the fantasy of her, a craving that lived under his skin. Sam had just sent her last goodnight text—som…
2026-01-29 — Nsfw2
Operation Troll The fantasy bled through the mundane in a way that made her hips ache. The memory of Crazy Night—the shock of his fingers first touching her, then delving inside, finding her embarrassingly, wonderfully ready—had been plaguing Sam all day, pulsing in time with her stressed heart. She’d thought typing it out for him might help. It didn’t. It just made the raw ache between her legs more desperate. Do it, his message had read an hour later, as if he’d felt the unspoken plea screaming across stat…
2026-01-28 — Nsfw2
The glow of her phone screen was the only light in the dark bedroom. Sam stared at the selfie she’d sent him hours ago, the one he’d said pushed him over the edge. Her thumb traced the curve of her own smile in the photo. Eleven days. It felt like an eternity and a heartbeat all at once. The chaotic symphony of her day—the puppy pee disaster, the soul-sucking one-on-ones, the rescue drama that left her heart heavy—all of it faded into a low hum beneath the persistent, throbbing need he stirred in her just by exist…
2026-01-27 — Nsfw2
The warmth from his morning voice message still hummed beneath her skin hours later, a persistent electric current that no amount of tedious meetings or work frustrations could short-circuit. Sam sat at her desk in Phoenix, the glow of her monitors painting her face in cool light while Texas Dave sent photos from his gym session—his pecs stretching the fabric of his shirt in a way that made her breath catch. Crushing life today, she’d said earlier with sarcasm, but now it felt true in a different way. She was cr…
2026-01-26 — Nsfw2
The Austin air in February held a specific, clean chill that felt invigorating instead of oppressive. Inside their favorite spot on South Congress, the low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses were a white-noise symphony to their reunion. Dave’s hand wasn’t just resting on Sam’s thigh; his thumb was tracing slow, deliberate circles on the inside seam of her jeans, a hypnotic pressure that made her breath catch every time it brushed higher. “Thirteen days,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. The scent…
2026-01-25 — Nsfw2
The hotel room door hadn’t even sighed shut behind them before he had her pinned against it. “Five minutes,” Sam gasped into his mouth as his lips crashed onto hers. “You promised.” Dave’s hands were already under her sweater, rough palms scraping over the lace of her bra. “Shut up,” he growled against her lips, but there was a smile in it. A desperate, hungry smile she felt more than saw. Their coats hit the floor in a heap. It had been a day of constant, grating noise for her—the endless pings of rescue group me…
2026-01-24 — Nsfw2
The Algorithm of Us Sam’s breath hitched, the sound swallowed by the low hum of a Spanish love song blaring from a neighboring car. She stared at the text, her thumb hovering over Dave’s final question about lights and beds and the logistics of their impending collision. Her body responded before her mind could, a deep, visceral clench that had nothing to do with the cramped driver’s seat. Low light, she’d said. We’ll go straight to the bed. She could already feel it—the hotel room door clicking shut behind…
2026-01-23 — Nsfw2
Title: Inflection Point The hotel room was quiet except for the low hum of the heat battling the Texas freeze outside. Sam stood by the window, the reflection of the lamplit parking lot casting long shadows across her face. Her Oura ring had given her a high Readiness score that morning—ready to take on the world, it said. Right now, all she felt ready for was to shatter. Dave’s voice, minutes before on a call cut short, echoed in her veins. Inflection point. The words hung between them now, heavier than the…
2026-01-22 — Nsfw2
The morning light did nothing to warm the chill in Sam’s chest as she scrolled through the weather app for the tenth time. Snow showers. 40% chance. Each downgrade in the forecast was a tiny flare of hope, immediately smothered by four years of learned pessimism. She dragged herself through her routine—the too-long shower, the frantic search for words in her sleep-addled brain for him, the jealous ache when she thought of Christian sleeping soundly. Dave’s voice filled her car, a warm baritone antidote to the co…
2026-01-21 — Nsfw2
The silence in Sam’s house was a physical presence—a heavy, humid blanket smothering the life out of her. Her head ached dully, a metronome for her misery. Christian was in the back bedroom, “napping,” which she knew meant a night of deadened space beside her. The glow of her laptop cast the only light in the living room, illuminating another soul-sucking spreadsheet. Her phone lay dark beside it. Then it lit up. A photo from Dave. The one he’d sent earlier. Just his face, his freshly trimmed beard, his kind, know…