Looking for Don Silver thread Toxic Attraction chapters

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Golgo13 said:
All hail the mighty Dissonant121!
A bloody good fella, this one!
All thanks and praise be upon him!
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The writing from the contact feels very AI. I say it because I have tried writing slow burn stories before and they have repetitive tendencies or over explains things. Writes odd with phrases like: "you drew the line, I heard it." Or "James opened the wine she told him to open"
 
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Enlil0579 said:
If something is a couple dollars like five bucks for a story I don't have a problem buying that. I would have spent the same on a Monster energy drink and a candy bar. I just can't do the subscriptions and then be stuck on a tier that I might see something 3 months from now.
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did you read the bad tenant. i think if all the people who are interested can contribute and it results 1 dollar or 2 dollars for each. i am interested in this approach because it is like fifteen bucks
 
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carloswerty said:
One if not the best story wright now. If its okay I will post it here. You cant DL the stories from hes page.

65. Wife's POV [PART-1]


NOTE: This fictional story features only adult characters (18+) and portrays consensual interactions throughout.

The uneasiness hadn't completely gone away, but at least I had regained a little peace of mind. He was back home, and for now, that was enough to help me rest easy and get on with my day.

I returned to my usual chores, trying to keep myself occupied rather than letting my thoughts run wild. By the time I finished everything I needed to do, quite some time had passed. He was upstairs now, and I finally had a little time to relax.

I sat on the couch, eyes on the ceiling. I couldn't help but wonder whether I'd twisted things into something worse than they really were or whether my instincts about the situation had been right on point.

I inhaled deeply, then let it out in a long sigh. What struck me most was that neither of us had said a word about what had happened. Not about the old man, not about the conversation at Leena's house, and not about the strange reactions heā€™d shown.

It was as though we'd silently agreed to pretend that everything was perfectly normal.

But was it really?

I let out another sigh.

I am not losing my mindā€¦ am I?

The doubts kept increasing. He hadn't brought up anything about what had happened, and I wasn't ready to confront him either. What if it turned out that I was the crazy one, making up delusions in my head while he had some entirely different reason for reacting the way he did? I couldn't imagine how embarrassing it would be to question him about something that existed only in my own head.

Even so, I was still desperately clinging to the possibility that none of it was true. But no matter how much I tried to question or doubt what I'd seen, I couldn't convince myself otherwise. None of the explanations I came up with gave me any real peace of mind. I remembered every reaction, every moment of silence, and every little detail so clearly. That was so unlike him.

Even after witnessing the old man's rather bold behavior toward me, and despite the fact that I'd given him a chance to cancel the dinner and put aside whatever concerns or suspicions he might have had, he still chose to go ahead with it. Honestly, it didn't make sense. He'd clearly seemed uncomfortable during that interaction, and he had every reason to decline. So why hadn't he?

Why, hubby?

Had he agreed out of goodwill? Was he trying to show me that he wasn't insecure about an old man? Or was there some other reason behind his decision, a reason I was slowly beginning to maybe understand?

Still, I needed a little more reassurance, just a little more. I wanted to confirm my suspicions before drawing any conclusions about my husband. And tonight, I had a chance to learn more about him and understand what was going on inside his head.

But that didn't mean I was going to forget all the reactions I'd noticed. They would remain at the back of my mind, patiently waiting for confirmation, waiting for the right moment to strike. I lowered my gaze, hiding the little grin I couldn't quite suppress.

Fortunately, I wouldn't have to wait very long.

Dinner was coming up soon, and tonight, I'd have another opportunity to observe him, pay closer attention to his reactions, and find answers to all my questions.

I wasn't going to miss that opportunity, not at any cost.

The next few hours passed in a blur. He stayed upstairs the entire time. I kept wondering what the fuck he was even doing up there for so long. It was almost dinner time and the food was already prepared. My heart was beating with a frantic, anxious rhythm. I kept glancing at the clock, the tension inside me building until it felt like I would snap. He could be here any second. That dirty bastard.

ā€¦

ā€¦

KNOCK. KNOCK.

There we go. Heā€™s here. The moment the knock sounded, my heart rate spiked violently. I wasn't nervous because it was him. I had already been fucked by this man a few times now, so he didn't scare me anymore. What made me tremble was the thought of how the night would unfold. My husband was right there in the house, and this dirty bastard was definitely going to be all over me. I wondered just how crazy and depraved the night was going to get.

I headed toward the door, but before I reached for the handle, I paused, taking a quick, desperate glance up the stairs to see if my husband was coming down. The stairs were silent.

I turned my attention back to the door and pulled it open.

I kept a warm, welcoming smile on my face as my eyes locked with the old man's. He gave me a quiet, knowing smile back. Then, he looked past me, scanning the interior of the house for any sign of my husband. Once he saw the coast was clear, he puckered his lips into a kissing expression. He looked like a husband expecting a greeting from his wife after coming home from work or winning some kind of war.

I stood completely still. He hadn't even stepped a foot inside the house and he was already demanding this from me. He kept his lips pressed and stretched in that expectant pout, staring me down. I stared back at him, my pussy beginning to throb and leak. This bastard wanted a welcoming kiss. I hated how much it excited me. I told myself that he probably wouldn't move out of the way if I didn't kiss him quickly, using that as a pathetic justification to give in.

I glanced back at the stairs one last time. Still no sign of my husband. I turned back to the old man and nervously lowered my head. As I got closer, the smell of his mouth hit me. It was horrible, a mix of stale tobacco and decay, but it didn't feel as repulsive as it did in the beginning. I had grown used to the scent of him. I lowered my head further, a dark thought crossing my mind. I actually hoped my husband would catch me in the act, or that he was secretly watching us from the shadows upstairs.

My lips had barely touched his, the rough skin of his mouth pressing against mine, when a loud bang exploded from somewhere, pulling both of us apart instantly.

The sudden bang made me jump violently, my heart leaping into my throat. I spun around, gasping for air, and saw my husband clutching his foot, groaning in pain on the stairs.

"Are you okay?" I cried out, my voice trembling with a mix of genuine alarm and the lingering adrenaline from the old man's presence. I rushed toward him, my heels clicking rapidly on the floor.

"I slipped a little," he managed to choke out. ā€œAt least I didn't fall.ā€

ā€œYou should be more careful,ā€ I said, reaching out to steady him. ā€œWhat were you doing?ā€

He looked at me with those vacant, tired eyes. "Nothing. I just... was little sleepy."

I helped him limp his way into the living room, guiding him toward the couch. The old man followed right behind us, his presence like a heavy, suffocating cloud. He didn't say a word, just watched the way my ass moved as I supported my husband. They exchanged a few strained, polite words, the kind of superficial chatter that felt like a thin veil over the filth happening in the room.

I retreated to the kitchen to get some water, trying to steady my breathing. Just as I reached the kitchen, the old man's voice boomed through the house.

"I always drink some tea before dinner!" he shouted, his voice commanding and rough. "Can you make me one, lady?"

"Sure," I replied, my voice sounding small. As I steeped the tea, I felt a familiar, sharp tickle in the pit of my stomach again. A wave of heat washed over me, settling deep in my pussy. It had started. The game was afoot. I felt a sudden surge of submission and desire waving through me.

Now I leave everything to you, old man.

I took a deep breath, centering myself, and carried the cup back into the living room. As I neared him to hand over the tea, I leaned in close. "Here you go..."

Just as he reached for it, his fingers fumbled. The cup tilted, and the hot tea splashed right onto his lap. The old man reacted sharply to the sting, his body jerking. It wasn't a massive spill, just a small amount, but for a man his age, the heat felt like a brand. He recovered quickly, but his eyes flashed with a predatory anger.

"Lady, the hell are you doing? You trying to burn me?" he shouted, his voice grating.

Before I could even apologize, he acted. In one swift, aggressive motion, he grabbed my wrist with a grip like iron. He didn't just pull me closer; he shoved my hand down hard, pressing my palm flat against his crotch. My hand landed squarely on his soft, thick cock.

"Look how hot it is," he muttered, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl.

He didn't let go. He began rubbing my hand slowly over his crotch, grinding my palm against the length of his cock. He pressed me down firmly, forcing me to feel the shape of him through the fabric. "Itā€™s hurting me. Do you feel it?"

For a second, my mind went blank. I didn't even realize what had happened until the sensation registered. My hand was clamped over his cock. Even though there was a layer of cloth between us, the heat was intense. I hadn't expected him to be this bold, this direct, with my husband sitting right there.

I blushed hard, a deep crimson heat flooding my cheeks. My palm and fingers could feel the thick, soft, and warm sensation of his member pulsing beneath the soaked fabric. The wetness of the tea made the cloth cling to his skin, making the contact feel even more intimate, almost as if I were touching his bare skin. For a heartbeat, I completely forgot about my husband. I forgot the world existed outside of that pressure.

My fingers stayed exactly where he had placed them, feeling the heavy, throbbing warmth. "Yes... it's... hot," I whispered, my voice shaking.

We were both pretending. We were pretending that I was simply checking the temperature of the spill, but the lie was transparent. Everyone in the room knew exactly what was happening. The air was thick with a shared, depraved understanding. We were all involved in this filthy pretending game.

But it was too fast. This was too direct an advance, and the tension needed to simmer a bit slower to make it natural.

"T-That's a little..."

I froze. I heard my husband's voice, stuttering and weak. I stopped rubbing my hand and slowly glanced over at him. He looked completely dumbfounded, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide as he witnessed the sight of his wife's hand pressed firmly against another man's cock.

I blushed even harder, my heart hammering against my ribs. He had watched everything. He had seen the grip, the pressure, and the way I hadn't immediately pulled away. The shame and the arousal collided inside me, making my pussy soak through my underwear.

The old man didnā€™t let the moment slip. He shifted his hips forward with a slow, predatory grace, pressing his soaked shorts tighter against the outline of his cock. The wet fabric clung to him like a second skin, molding perfectly to every ridge and vein. The thick length of him lay heavy against his thigh, a bold, unmistakable bulge that demanded my attention. I couldn't help it; my gaze dropped again, lingering on that wet, swollen mass. My lips opened slightly out of habit, and I felt my throat tighten as I swallowed hard, my pussy pulsing with a sudden, sharp ache.

"It's painful," he said, his voice dropping to a low, rough growl that vibrated in my chest.

He reached for my hand once more. This time, he was slower, his movements deliberate, giving me every possible chance to pull away, to recoil in disgust, to act the part of the virtuous wife. But I didn't. I wanted this. I wanted the filth of it. I let my fingers sink back into his crotch, and he guided my hand in a slow, torturous deliberate stroke from the base to the tip. The motion made the head of his cock shift under my palm, the wet fabric stretching and straining around its thick shape.

My breath hitched, a small, needy sound escaping my throat. My fingers curled instinctively, gripping the weight of him, feeling the radiating heat that seemed to burn through the thin material. I rubbed him once, then twice, the motion starting as a pretense of testing the temperature, but quickly evolving into something far more obscene moment. My cheeks were flaming, but I didn't look away. I kept my eyes locked on my own hand, watching as it manipulated the heavy length of another man while my husband sat mere inches away.

I could feel my husband's gaze burning into me, a heavy, desperate weight that I could practically taste. I knew he couldn't look away; he was probably mesmerized, trapped by the sight of me being claimed right in front of him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shift his stance, a clumsy, pathetic attempt to hide the obvious tent in his shorts. But it was too late. The fabric was strained, pushing outward in a way that told me exactly how hard he was.

A surge of cold, electric thrill shot through me.

You keep proving me right, don't you? I thought. Again and again, you show me that you're actually excited by this. You love being replaced. You love seeing me belong to someone else.

The realization made me feel a rush of power that was almost as intoxicating as the old man's cock. I looked at that pathetic bulge in my husband's shorts and felt a wave of pure, untouched disgust mixed with arousal. So you like this, huh? You like watching your wife handle a real man's cock while you sit there like a frightened dog? I decided to punish him for his desire. I didn't pull my hand away. Instead, I leaned into the old manā€™s grip, my eyes locking onto my husband's face. I wanted to see every flicker of shame and longing in those pathetic eyes.

ā€œFeel that?" the old man asked, his voice gentle now, though the dominance remained. "Right there. Thatā€™s where it hurts the most."

He pressed my palm harder against the head, forcing my fingers to trace the swollen ridge. My thumb brushed over the very tip, and I watched with a thrill of excitement as the fabric darkened even more, a fresh bead of fluid seeping through the cloth. He was leaking for me and I bet my husband was leaking too watching the view.

My fingers began to move on their own now, stroking slowly and firmly along the entire length, feeling every inch of that thick, aged shaft. I wasn't checking for a burn anymore; I was tasting him through the fabric. My touch turned hungry, curious, and completely devoid of shame. I squeezed him gently, testing the give of the thick muscle beneath the cloth, and the old man let out a low, guttural groan.

The sound made my stomach flip and my clit throb. I glanced at my husband, seeing the look of utter defeat and longing on his face. He was a spectator in his own living room, a ghost in his own marriage, watching me worship the cock of a man who had just walked into our home and claimed me. The humiliation of it was the most powerful drug I had ever felt.

After a few more seconds of agonizingly slow friction, I finally stopped and straightened up, though I could still feel the shadow of his thickness imprinted on my palm.

"You should change," I said, my voice sounding breathy and distant, looking at the old man with eyes that were clouded with lust.

Then, I turned toward my husband. I gave him a sweet, innocent smile, the kind that masked the absolute dirt running through my mind.

"Can you get something for him to wear?"

I wanted to see him scramble. I wanted him to serve the man who had just used my hand to pleasure himself. I wanted him to feel the weight of his own inadequacy as he fetched clothes for the man who truly owned me.
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Helloā€”with all due respect, I donā€™t think itā€™s a good idea to post your story directly here. For one thing, providing it as a downloadable file would be much more convenient for readers. More importantly, if you post your story here, others might be tempted to do the same, which would completely change the nature of this thread.

It would also make it very difficult to keep track of the various stories, requests for access, and file-sharing links.

In my view, this particular thread isn't really the right place for sharing stories directly. You could, however, create a new thread on the forum and simply post the links here whenever you provide an update!

Iā€™m just sharing my own opinionā€”I wonder if others here feel the same way?

Iā€™m not a moderator, but I felt it was important to speak up.
 
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user322 said:
Helloā€”with all due respect, I donā€™t think itā€™s a good idea to post your story directly here. For one thing, providing it as a downloadable file would be much more convenient for readers. More importantly, if you post your story here, others might be tempted to do the same, which would completely change the nature of this thread.

It would also make it very difficult to keep track of the various stories, requests for access, and file-sharing links.

In my view, this particular thread isn't really the right place for sharing stories directly. You could, however, create a new thread on the forum and simply post the links here whenever you provide an update!

Iā€™m just sharing my own opinionā€”I wonder if others here feel the same way?

Iā€™m not a moderator, but I felt it was important to speak up.
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That was a very even handed, level headed version of what I would have said. The mods would cite your response as examplary. So you have now articulated what the metaphorical "wound" looks like, now I will articulate the salt pouring into the wound. From here on out, my comments are directed at Carloswerty....1. If your going to impulsively post in a chaotic/rebellious , confusing fashion, the last thing anyone wants , now that you're coming in sideways, is to see unclear or poorly presented attribution info. Basically you say "this story is the bomb, check it out" . Then I see some words (they could be chapter titles, story title, universe label, whothafukknows, right?) followed by (this is where, for me, your misdemeanor morphs in real time to federal felony) the number "65" !!!! Huh? šŸ¤”šŸ¤”šŸ¤”Chapter number?! If so, don't throw us a f$#king teaser several chapters into an unknown setting and away from anything that makes any sense at all unless you were aiming for confusion and enraged exasperation, if that's the case, well done! ...Bro, at this point , literally nothing you can say will dry my tears nor extract the deep hurt from my nerdy, entitled butt, however you must remember that if I don't know the name of the author you have posted, nor can I comfortably swear to the stories name, then that makes you the bad guyšŸ˜‰šŸ˜‚šŸ¤£šŸ¤˜šŸ‘šŸ¤˜šŸ‘
 
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user322 said:
Helloā€”with all due respect, I donā€™t think itā€™s a good idea to post your story directly here. For one thing, providing it as a downloadable file would be much more convenient for readers. More importantly, if you post your story here, others might be tempted to do the same, which would completely change the nature of this thread.

It would also make it very difficult to keep track of the various stories, requests for access, and file-sharing links.

In my view, this particular thread isn't really the right place for sharing stories directly. You could, however, create a new thread on the forum and simply post the links here whenever you provide an update!

Iā€™m just sharing my own opinionā€”I wonder if others here feel the same way?

Iā€™m not a moderator, but I felt it was important to speak up.
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It was a test. Deleted now šŸ˜€ no harm mean šŸ˜‰
 
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GKeen said:
How do we get him back? What would Lester from TA do in this situation?
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Good point! We ruthlessly groom, reprogram and manipulate him through an elaborate, convoluted strategy emphasizing ego access via direct consciousness hacking techniques developed by certain letter agencies within the context of black budget R+D. Through a complex series of traditional push pulls in concert with a couple of textbook pull pushes, (which are far more rare and esoteric as they require a much more accomplished Master Jedi to even attempt it!) we feed the flames of ego with the fuel of our own narcissist inclinations projected into and upon any corresponding inclinations (no matter how well managed or buried) within the target. Then we kick back and chill for 10 minutes until target resumes APC contact to implore the community to indulge his compelling urge to allow US to view HIS files! Any regret or reproach will be sublimated by encouraging target to "reclaim his files" as soon as we are done with them! šŸ¤˜šŸ˜ˆšŸ¤˜šŸ˜ˆšŸ‘ŒšŸ‘ŒšŸ‘ŒšŸ’Æ% šŸ”„šŸ”„šŸ”„šŸ”„šŸ”„šŸ”„
 
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The Bad Tenant Ch. 26
5 de outubro

Tom returned to his desk at 2:05 PM, his mind still fogged from the meeting that had just concluded. For sixty minutes, heā€™d sat in the conference room while Davis, Miles, and three senior partners discussed budgets, timelines, and deliverables for the Denver project. As a newly promoted Senior Consultant, this was exactly the kind of discussion where Tom should have been demonstrating the analytical clarity that had earned him the promotion in the first place.

His entire career was built on seeing systems clearly, on taking clientsā€™ chaos and reducing it to manageable components. When businesses brought their problems, they were bringing him complexity that needed ordering, inefficiency that needed solving. Heā€™d always excelled at being the one in control, the one who could analyze any situation and identify the optimal path forward.

But today, that analytical clarity had abandoned him completely. The entire hour existed in Tomā€™s memory as disjointed fragments. Voices had risen and fallen around him while his thoughts constructed scenarios about what might have happened at home.

What positions did they try this time? Did they do missionary like Tuesday? Or had Bob bent her over something? Had she been vocal? Had she moaned Bobā€™s name? Had she come? How many times?

Tom had tried to focus on the meeting, had made notes in his planner, had nodded at appropriate intervals, but his mind kept slipping away from projected revenue figures and implementation schedules to the image of Bob having his way with Jessā€™s naked body.

At one point Davis had looked directly at him. ā€œTom? Your take on the phase two timeline?ā€

Tom had stared blankly, his brain struggling to transition from imagining Bob driving his huge cock into Jess to comprehending that words were being directed at him. The silence had probably lasted only three or four seconds in reality, but long enough that confusion registered on Davisā€™s face, his brows pulling together slightly.

Miles had jumped in with, ā€œI think Tom and I are aligned on the compressed schedule, right Tom?ā€...
 
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makoto shishio said:
The Bad Tenant Ch. 26
5 de outubro

Tom returned to his desk at 2:05 PM, his mind still fogged from the meeting that had just concluded. For sixty minutes, heā€™d sat in the conference room while Davis, Miles, and three senior partners discussed budgets, timelines, and deliverables for the Denver project. As a newly promoted Senior Consultant, this was exactly the kind of discussion where Tom should have been demonstrating the analytical clarity that had earned him the promotion in the first place.

His entire career was built on seeing systems clearly, on taking clientsā€™ chaos and reducing it to manageable components. When businesses brought their problems, they were bringing him complexity that needed ordering, inefficiency that needed solving. Heā€™d always excelled at being the one in control, the one who could analyze any situation and identify the optimal path forward.

But today, that analytical clarity had abandoned him completely. The entire hour existed in Tomā€™s memory as disjointed fragments. Voices had risen and fallen around him while his thoughts constructed scenarios about what might have happened at home.

What positions did they try this time? Did they do missionary like Tuesday? Or had Bob bent her over something? Had she been vocal? Had she moaned Bobā€™s name? Had she come? How many times?

Tom had tried to focus on the meeting, had made notes in his planner, had nodded at appropriate intervals, but his mind kept slipping away from projected revenue figures and implementation schedules to the image of Bob having his way with Jessā€™s naked body.

At one point Davis had looked directly at him. ā€œTom? Your take on the phase two timeline?ā€

Tom had stared blankly, his brain struggling to transition from imagining Bob driving his huge cock into Jess to comprehending that words were being directed at him. The silence had probably lasted only three or four seconds in reality, but long enough that confusion registered on Davisā€™s face, his brows pulling together slightly.

Miles had jumped in with, ā€œI think Tom and I are aligned on the compressed schedule, right Tom?ā€...
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Great, can you post the whole chapter as an attachment?
 
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