Ever wanted to write your own XXX story, but felt stuck?
Not sure how to start. Or what happens next?
Here’s your chance. Read the story so far. Take a moment. Imagine where it could go next.
Then write the next part and send it in.
Try to follow the same tone, structure, and writing style. Keep it feeling like one continuous story. If the team loves what you’ve written, we’ll add it to the main story.
Aim for no more than 1,000 words. And remember. Leave a little space for the next writer to jump in.
After The Party
It was 2 am, and the party had turned sour fast. Her boyfriend dumped her without warning. No argument. No buildup. Just cold words and a flat look.
Less than five minutes later, she watched him grab her best friend by the wrist and pull her toward an empty bedroom. No shame. No hesitation.
That was it.
She didn’t shout. Didn’t cry. She just walked out. Straight into the rain.
Fuck, she muttered. The cold hit her skin instantly. She was definitely not dressed for this. Barely dressed at all. A tight mini dress. A thong. Heels clicking too loudly on the wet pavement.
Marc said she looked like a whore. Said she got off on attention. Said she teased him on purpose.
Bullshit.
She wasn’t ready to lose her virginity. That was it. She sucked his cock almost every day. Did things she wasn’t even comfortable with. Hell, she’d blown his mate once because he told her to. And still it wasn’t enough.
No. This was on him.
She kicked off her heels and started jogging. The street was empty. Too empty. The rain smeared the lights, turned everything into shadows that stretched and shifted.
The dress rode up immediately. Clung to her thighs. Her ass flashed every time she stumbled. She kept tugging it down, fingers slipping on wet fabric, a tight knot forming in her chest.
After a block, she stopped trying.
Getting home mattered more than staying decent.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the car until it pulled in front of her, cutting off her path. The window rolled down.
“Hey,” the driver called over the rain. “Do you want a lift? You must be freezing out here.”
She was.
And suddenly, the street didn’t feel empty anymore.
She slowed to a stop a few feet from the car. Rain ran down her face, into her eyes, down her bare legs. She hugged her arms to her chest, suddenly aware of how exposed she was. How alone.
Every warning she’d ever heard tried to surface at once. Don’t get in cars with strangers. Don’t trust men who stop this late. Don’t make decisions when you’re emotional.
She looked at the driver again. Mid-thirties, maybe. Normal enough. No leer. No obvious threat. Just a man, dry and warm behind glass.
Her teeth chattered. She couldn’t stop it.
The rain had soaked through her dress completely now. The thin fabric clung to her skin like a second, colder layer. Her nipples were hard, aching. Her thighs numb. Her fingers stiff.
She imagined the rest of the walk. Forty more minutes. Maybe longer. Empty streets. Dark corners.
Fuck this, she thought.
She stepped closer to the car. Close enough to smell the warmth inside.
“Okay,” she said, hating how small her voice sounded. “Just… just a lift, alright?”
The door unlocked with a loud click.
She hesitated one last second.
Then she climbed in, slamming the door shut behind her, cutting off the rain—and whatever instincts she’d decided to ignore.
He didn’t say anything. Just turned the heat up and smiled at her.
“I’m going to make the seat wet,” she apologised.
He glanced down, an amused, arrogant smirk tugging at his mouth.
“I didn’t know I was that good,” he said. “At least not that quick.”
She followed his gaze and felt a spike of dread. Her dress was still bunched up around her waist, her damp panties fully exposed.
Understanding hit her all at once.
She snapped her legs closed, heat flooding her face as she turned away, wishing the rain had washed her a little cleaner than it had.
The locks clicked.
Sharp. Final.
The sound cut through her faster than the heat ever could. She turned toward the door, fingers already reaching for the handle. Pulled.
Nothing.
She tried again. Harder this time. The handle didn’t move.
“Hey,” she said, forcing a laugh that sounded wrong in the small space. “You can stop here. I’m good. I just needed to warm up.”
The car eased back onto the road.
Her stomach dropped.
“Seriously,” she said, louder now. “This is fine. You can let me out.”
He didn’t answer. Just kept driving. One hand on the wheel. The other relaxed on his thigh. The radio crackled softly, absurdly calm.
She twisted in her seat, yanking the handle again. Still locked.
“Please,” she said. “I don’t know you. I shouldn’t even be in here.”
He glanced at her then. Just a quick look. Not angry. Not rushed. Almost curious.
“Relax,” he said. “I’m just taking you somewhere warmer.”
Her heart hammered. Too fast. Too loud.
“I don’t want warmer,” she said. “I want out. Now.”
The road stretched ahead of them, empty and dark, rain streaking across the windshield like it was helping him disappear.
She wrapped her arms around herself, breath shallow, voice cracking as she tried again.
“Just stop the car. Please.”
He didn’t.
And that was when she realised this wasn’t a misunderstanding anymore.