The Kingdom of Hunger
Chapter 3: Cereal Escalation
by Jonathan ‘Fanfic Fetishist’ Spires
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Middle of the Night…
Jazzlyn’s quarters...
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“AH! FUCK! YES!!!” Jazzlyn screamed in sheer delight, wiggling in pleasure as the man was sucked up her ass, his legs disappearing with a heavy slurping sound. “Ooooh… Oooh FUCK…” she said. She caressed her belly, feeling the three she had already co

Lilian arrived with a breathless laugh, her cheeks flushed from the walk. She was wearing a light, oversized cardigan that didn't quite hide the generous curves of her figure, a fact that often made her the center of attention in any room she entered, though she usually navigated the world with a quiet, unassuming grace. She sat down on the park bench, sweating.
 
The most vivid image of Lilian’s childhood was not a birthday or a holiday, but the sight of a giant oak tree in her grandmot

"If you touch my flashlight one more time, I am claiming your bag of marshmallows as a tax," Chloe murmured, her voice thick with the kind of sleepiness that only comes after a ten-mile hike.
 
The four girls had spent the afternoon arguing over the map and laughing until they couldn't breathe, but by ten p.m., the exhaustion had finally won. They had set up their camp in a secluded hollow where the pines grew so thick they seemed to knit the sky shut. It was the kind of spot tha

"If you keep staring at that map, the ink is going to migrate onto your forehead," Jenny said, leaning over the picnic table with a grin.
 
The town of Oakhaven was famous for its annual solstice fair, a sprawling chaotic mess of homemade jams, livestock judging, and amateur poetry readings that drew crowds from three counties over. It was the kind of place where people wore linen shirts and forgot to lock their front doors. The air smelled of fried dough and damp earth, and the

Mr. Henderson spent every Tuesday morning polishing a collection of vintage brass telescopes that he never actually used for stargazing. He liked the way the cloth felt against the metal and the specific, rhythmic clicking of the lenses as he adjusted the focus. He was a man of precise habits, the kind of person who organized his spice rack alphabetically and ironed his socks, living in a house that smelled faintly of old parchment and peppermint. To the neighborhood, he was simply the quiet man

Forbidden Fruit

(Preview)





The light coming through the blinds was that bruised, late-September orange, striping across the rumpled fitted sheet and sweat cooling on Lucy’s ribs. She was lying on her stomach, her cheek mashed into a flat pillow that smelled like cheap laundry detergent and stale dab smoke. Her back was long and pale, marked with red pressure creases from th

Old Grizel spent most of her Tuesday mornings polishing a collection of silver thimbles that didn't belong to her. She did this with a level of intensity that suggested the thimbles were the only things keeping the ceiling from collapsing, rubbing them with a piece of greasy wool until her knuckles, which looked like gnarled ginger roots, pulsed with a dull ache. Grizel didn't care much for the other two in the cottage, nor did she care for the damp smell of peat that clung to the curtains, but