1. Sage of the Forlorn Path's "I dream of angels" AKA my fav story ever


    Date: 6/4/2017, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Author: PolishCock, Rating: 78.6, Source: sexstories.com

    liquid smooth skin as soft as ripe fruit, a complexion shade like that of molten bronze and silver mixed together, and bright blue eyes that held unparalleled kindness and warmth, the very sight of her was like a religious experience. But her most predominant feature was her hair, long crimson hair that shined like rubies and seemed to hang down to her thighs. It was neither straight, curly, nor frizzy, but wavy with an almost flame-like appearance. Groups of strands would stick together and then curl towards the end like a tongue of fire, granting her a tempered and yet untamable mane whose color would remove all fear of blood from anyone’s soul. Along with the face of a goddess, she had a figure that made a mockery of the word “perfection”. Her glassy-smooth legs seemed to stretch her miles, coming to an end at a full but taut rear end with the shaven entrance to her gates of paradise just barely visible under the folds of the cotton sheet. Her midsection was like that of a bikini model’s, with a concave dip on either side from her perfect slenderness. Cliché as the term was, she certainly had an hourglass figure. Last but not least, even though she was only a teenager, she had D-Cup breasts that looked as soft as water balloons but firm and lively. Every day, I would wake up with her beside me, lying in bed naked as if we had spent half of the previous night making sweet passionate love. Each time, she would appear to almost be faintly glowing, and coupled with her ...
    flawless beauty, I was surely justified in calling her an angel. Lying there, I would watch as her eyes opened like the rising sun, letting me stare into her beautiful blues. Staring right back at me with endless love, she would smile, hum, and fall back to sleep. Even while knowing how it would end, I would always reach out and try to touch her, desperate to feel some sort of proof that she was real, but always, she would fade away before I could even stroke her hair. Suffice to say, I was almost haunted by this “dream”. This girl, this figment of my imagination, was the light of my life and the reason why I went to bed each night and plowed through each day. I had never heard her voice, never touched her, never knew her name, and never been able to speak to her… yet I loved her. She was my secret, the one aspect of my life I told no one about. When she first started to appear, I even obsessed over her. I would draw her every night on a sketchpad hidden under my bed, remembering her visage with crystal clarity and moving my hand with skill that I would never accept as my own, mirroring her image with graphite and paper with such closeness that I would hold no doubts as to being possessed. Every image was essentially the same, and once I used every sheet and side in the notebook, I stopped drawing her, but continued to keep it hidden under my mattress. Ironically, she was actually the only dream I would ever have. I would meet her each morning in a half-awake state, but through the ...
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