Stranger Than Lust
Lunch time. While her coworkers headed to the cafeteria, Julia locked her screen, slipped in an earbud to keep up appearances, and opened her phone. Destination? An erotic story website—her secret oasis, where five minutes of reading could turn an unbearable day into something… alive.
She just wanted a quick relief, a heat rising between her legs that would, for a moment, silence the voice of her boss, Mr. Carlos—who was, by luck or misfortune, also her brother-in-law—always demanding reports with the tone of a soap opera heartthrob. Married to Clara, her older sister—the “perfect” one who always had the life Julia never could—Carlos was the kind of man who used slang like “you chillin’?” to sound young, but only came across as a middle-aged uncle trying too hard at a barbecue. Julia rolled her eyes just remembering their last meeting, but the site was there for that: to erase everything.
The site loaded with its plain interface, no bells or whistles—just a list of stories and their catchy titles. The first one on the list was “White Queen”, by an unknown author. Curious, Julia clicked. The first line was already different: “How would I define myself? A warlock. I admit, a mediocre one. I don’t create my own spells or magical objects. My specialty is researching those crafted by true warlocks.” The writing was immersive, almost literary, with a narrator passionate about magic, talking about used bookstores, antique shops, and a certain Scepter of Manfred that brought chess pieces to life—like the White Queen, described as an “exuberantly beautiful woman” in a “gown that flowed like a river of silk”…
After a few lines, Julia snorted.
“What the hell?” she muttered, scrolling down to see: 0 stars, 0 comments, 1 view—hers.
“Not what I need right now.”
She went back to the list and clicked the next story: “Fucked in the Supply Room”, by RedMoon. A site classic, with 800 stars and comments like “Came in 10 seconds, queen!” It was exactly what she needed. The opening line didn’t disappoint: “The cutie, wearing lace panties and high heels, got into the elevator. The horny guy from the supply room, dying to fuck me.” Julia smiled, her hand already sliding beneath her skirt, her heart racing. “I started flirting with him—a tall blond guy with curly hair. I asked for a ream of paper, he placed it on the counter and brushed my hand with not-so-innocent intentions…”
The girl’s adventure with the supply clerk unfolded quickly into a sex scene. Julia slipped her hand into her skirt, fingers on her clit through her panties, imagining herself in the supply room fucking a stranger. She closed her eyes, fingers working.
“Ahhhh!!!” Julia came hard.
“Taking a little nap on your lunch break, Julia?” said Carlos, surprising his employee-slash-sister-in-law.
Julia froze in shock, then realized the cubicle protected the view of her self-satisfaction. Carlos probably thought it really was just a nap.
“Hey, Carlos. I’ll be down to lunch with you in a sec.”
The rest of the day unfolded as usual. Monotonous. By late afternoon, Julia needed to print some reports but had no paper. No one in the department did. “Go down to the supply room, grab some for you and for us.”
“Oh, what a pain,” she thought. But she went.
The elevator descended to the second basement floor. If the upper floors were the portrait of mediocrity, the basement floors looked like the Upside Down from Stranger Things. At the supply room, there was no one at the counter. Julia rang the bell, called out, clapped her hands—until finally a guy appeared. A tall blond guy, with curly hair… Déjà vu.
“I need three reams of paper,” Julia said. “I actually need more, but three’s all I can carry alone.”
“I’ve seen you around. You must be from audit.”
“Yeah. And you must be the… supply room.” (laughs)
“Almost no one comes down here. It gets lonely.”
Julia couldn’t explain it, but suddenly her dull day had some color. When the blond guy handed her the reams of paper, their hands touched, something flared inside her—he pulled her in and they kissed. More than fast, he dragged her into a small room, sat her in a chair, and dove beneath her panties. He ate her out with intensity. Her heart raced. He pushed her against the wall, his hot breath on her, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy. And soon after, a delicious climax for both.
Julia rode the elevator back up, balancing the paper, thinking about the coincidence: the story she read earlier playing out exactly.
The next morning, Julia opened her eyes with a strange weight on her chest, like the day had already gone sideways. Still in bed, the memory of the supply room hit her like a punch: the blond guy, curly hair, just like in the story “Fucked in the Supply Room” by RedMoon, taking her against the counter, the lust exploding. “Fuck, that was real,” she thought, heart pounding. It wasn’t just the orgasm—it was the coincidence. The guy was from the story, down to brushing her hand over the ream of paper. “How is this possible?” she muttered, staring at the ceiling. Part of her wanted to laugh, part of her was scared, and a third part—the horny one—wanted to know if it would happen again.
At work, the gray cubicle was the same hell as always: stacked papers, blinking monitor, spreadsheets draining her soul. Carlos, the boss-brother-in-law, showed up at 8:30 adjusting his tie.
“You good, Julia? Where’s that report?” in that cheap soap-opera heartthrob voice.
She forced a smile, thinking of Clara, the “perfect” sister who married this idiot. “If only she knew how unbearable he is,” she muttered, typing soulless numbers. But the memory of the supply room kept popping up, distracting her. She’d find herself staring off, imagining the blond guy, the heat of the moment, then scolding herself: “Focus, Julia, this is insane.”
When the clock hit 12:03, monotony had already won. Julia locked her screen, popped in the earbud, and opened her phone—the erotic story site blinking like an old friend. She clicked on “I Fucked the Big Black Guy in the Supermarket”, a new story by RedMoon.
“The cutie, in a short skirt, grabbed a frozen pizza, and the tattooed Black guy in the aisle pinned me down.” Julia bit her lip, her hand already sliding beneath her skirt. “Let’s see if this shit happens again,” she thought, half-laughing, half-nervous, both aroused and curious.
Julia left work that day with her head spinning, the weight of the gray cubicle and Carlos, the wannabe soap-opera hunk, still clinging to her skin. “You good, Julia? Where’s that report?”—his voice echoing. “Let Clara deal with this idiot,” she thought, tossing her purse into the car. The supply room was fresh in her mind. The lust and the panic from that “how-is-this-real?” feeling returned. Today’s story, “I Fucked the Big Black Guy in the Supermarket,” read during her lunch break, echoed in her head. “Coincidence, right?” she laughed, nervous. She even tried taking a different route to avoid temptation, but she really did need to stop by the supermarket to grab something for dinner.
The store was quiet. Cold lights lit up nearly empty aisles. Julia grabbed a cart, tossed in a frozen pizza and a pack of pasta, trying to focus on her shopping. But the “cutie” from the story, pinned by the tattooed Black guy, wouldn’t leave her mind. “It won’t happen again. I’m imagining things,” she told herself, heart already racing.
In the cleaning supplies aisle, she reached for disinfectant. A man appeared at the other end—tall, Black, tattooed arms, tight shirt hugging his muscular chest. Just like the guy from the story. “No fucking way,” she thought, her body flushing hot. He gave her a sly look, a half-smile.
“Looking for something, babe?”
His deep voice hit her hard, and Julia shivered.
“I’m… good,” she stammered, her hand frozen on the cart.
He moved closer, his cologne enveloping her, brushing his arm against hers as he “grabbed” a bottle of detergent.
The flirtation was instant. Julia thought about running, but the lust screamed louder. “This is the story. It’s happening again,” she thought, biting her lip. He pulled her to the back of the aisle, behind a stack of detergent boxes, and kissed her with a hunger that made her knees buckle. His hands moved under her skirt, tearing her panties with a swift yank. Julia moaned, grabbing his tattooed shoulders as he pinned her to the shelves. His cock, hard and hot, slid in deep, and she gasped, her heart exploding.
“Fuck me, go on,” she whispered, surrendering. He fucked her hard, fast, each thrust rattling the shelves. Julia came in an instant, a muffled scream against his chest, and he came soon after, his hot breath on her neck.
Minutes later, Julia was adjusting her skirt, her cart abandoned in the aisle. The guy had vanished like smoke. “What the fuck is happening to me?” she thought, trembling with lust and fear, and rushed to the checkout, her mind spinning: “How is this happening? What’s the next story? Who the hell is this RedMoon, and how does she know what’s going to happen to me?”
The next day, Julia had already embraced the bizarre as reality… and was kind of into it. The idea that the stories she read became real by the end of the day fascinated her. Was she losing her mind? Tell someone? Who would believe her?
As she sat in her gray cubicle that morning, she wasn’t thinking about reports, her annoying boss-brother-in-law, or spreadsheets—but about what surprise RedMoon would bring her today. She started projecting her own fantasies: the hot doorman? Both doormen? A threesome? The curiosity and horniness drove her to open her old friend, the story site, even before powering on her work computer.
As she read RedMoon’s new story, her gentle smile faded into a grimace of disgust and horror. The title alone hit her like a punch to the gut.
“No!”
A quick scan of the text deepened her panic.
“No! A thousand times no!”
“Fucked by My Brother-in-Law at the Office” My brother-in-law is also my boss. Every day, he comes to my desk asking for a report, asking to have lunch together, but I always knew he had other intentions. One day, after hours, the lust outweighed family loyalty and professionalism and…”
“No, RedMoon!! Not this!!”
The story then described a delicious and intense sex scene at the office after hours. Julia knew exactly what that meant for her. She knew the stories became real by the end of the day. She had to fight that fate. She had to find RedMoon.
Julia took a deep breath, her phone trembling in her hand. If RedMoon held the key, she’d find her—no matter what it took.
“Good morning, Julia,” said Carlos, the brother-in-law boss. “I’ll need you to stay late today.”
“Carlos, I can’t today!” said Julia, grabbing her things and running, fleeing that fate.
Still in the elevator, Julia combed through the story site, looking for some way to contact RedMoon. There was a private message option—but who knows if or when she’d read it.
Once outside, she walked a few blocks, just in case someone from the office spotted her. She sat at a bakery, frantically scrolling on her phone. Finally, on one of the oldest stories, she found a blog—very outdated… but there was an email: RedMoon@pix.com.br.
“RedMoon, my name is Julia. I exist. What you write in your stories actually happens to me in real life. Please… change the ending of today’s story, I’m begging you!”
Done. Now she had to wait.
Her phone rang. It was Carlos. She ignored it. And ignored the next five calls. Until a message arrived from him:
“Julia, are you okay? The presentation for the Rio team is today at 2 PM. I hope you haven’t forgotten. We’re all counting on you!”
“Oh my God! That’s today! I totally forgot.”
Julia thought about faking illness, locking herself at home, ditching everything. But that presentation really was important—even for her. She had to go back to the office. The faster she got it done, the sooner she could escape that “prophecy.”
Julia entered the office at 1:55 PM, heart pounding like a drum. The meeting room was already full, PowerPoint slides open, and Carlos, wearing a red tie and his usual “heartthrob” smile, waved at her with a smug expression that made her stomach twist.
“Julia, you saved the day!” he said, as if she’d done him a personal favor.
At 2:15, 2:30, 3:00… 3:15—Mr. Antônio just wouldn’t shut up. The big-shot director from Brasília had taken the mic and launched into a heartfelt monologue about how beautiful it was to see teams from different regions united under one vision.
Julia wasn’t listening. Not a word. She kept glancing at the time, mentally screaming. “He’s going to make me late! He’s going to fuck this all up!” She refreshed her inbox every thirty seconds.
And then—finally—a new email. RedMoon had replied.
She ignored the comment, connected her laptop, and started the presentation, her voice trembling slightly. While she talked about graphs and targets, Carlos’s eyes seemed to drill into her, shifting from the screen to her cleavage, her legs, as if he was reading the forbidden story in real time.
Julia looked at Carlos—he actually did look good today. Maybe he’d dressed up for the event. Or maybe it was something else. She knew the truth: it was the story. She needed to read RedMoon’s reply. If the story hadn’t been changed, “that” was going to happen.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Julia began. “Just a minute.”
She couldn’t wait any longer. She had to read that email:
“Hahaha… very funny. I love when readers feel like they’re really inside my stories. I can write a custom story just for you—just send me $100. Kisses, RedMoon”
A whirlwind of thoughts flooded Julia’s head. “What is this? A scam? A conspiracy? Is RedMoon doing this on purpose? But for five hundred bucks?” Nothing made sense.
The one-hour presentation was delivered in fifteen minutes. The Rio team thought Julia was nervous or maybe unprepared. Carlos and the other colleagues assumed she was sick. Julia just wanted to run.
At the end of the presentation, Julia grabbed her things and prepared to leave without looking back.
“Julia!” shouted Carlos, forcing her to turn around.
“Mr. Antônio would like to have coffee with us.”
The office was pulling her in. She couldn’t get away.
“Okay. Can I stop by the bathroom first?” Julia asked, and Carlos nodded.
It was just an excuse to reply to RedMoon’s email.
“Look, I don’t know how or why you’re doing this. But I need you to change the story ASAP. How much do you want to meet me today? I hope we’re close. It’s urgent.”
RedMoon wanted $1,000, which Julia agreed to pay on the spot. They arranged to meet at a nearby café. That’s where Julia planned to run.
Leaving the bathroom, Carlos and Antônio were waiting. She walked straight for the exit.
“Julia! Julia!”
Julia… snapped:
“It’s my life! I want control over my own life! I’m not staying here.”
Everyone looked at Julia, stunned.
She reached the elevator but hesitated—what if destiny trapped her in there until after hours, right when it was supposed to happen? Julia took the stairs—ten flights down—and walked determinedly to the café. She was going to confront RedMoon.
**************************************
Fernanda stared at Julia, shocked by what she was hearing.
“I had no idea any of this was happening,” Fernanda said—also known as RedMoon.
Fernanda was young, 23 years old, very pretty. Blonde, green eyes. She thought about sex all day, and that’s where her story ideas came from. 80% made up, 20% based on her own experiences or those of people she knew. Of all the things Julia expected, this was the most unexpected. RedMoon was just an ordinary girl—no powers, not a scammer.
Julia told her everything: the deal with her brother-in-law, her sister, how it felt to see the stories come true.
“How is this happening? I thought you were some kind of scammer. Or a time traveler. Or a witch.”
“I honestly have no idea,” Fernanda said, still stunned.
Fernanda was none of those things. When the conversation started, she thought Julia was joking. The $1,000 and the desperation in her eyes convinced her otherwise. The stories she wrote were becoming real in Julia’s life. She refunded the payment, opened her laptop.
“I’ll rewrite everything, Julia,” Fernanda said. “Trust me.”
She took a deep breath, fingers flying across the keyboard. But Fernanda’s dirty mind couldn’t help but think of a juicy twist. The whole thing was just too surreal not to have a filthy, wild ending. From the middle to the end, she wrote with a wicked grin on her face.
Julia watched Fernanda type, her fingers moving like lightning, but finally relieved. Her fate was about to change.
“Finished!” Fernanda said. “Want to read it?”
Julia hesitated.
“Yeah, I do.”
Julia started reading… her eyes widened, her mouth went dry.
“YOU’RE INSANE!!!” Julia shouted, outraged.
“I know—it’s delicious, right?”
“THEY’RE COMING HERE?!”
“If what you told me is true, yeah, it’s written.”
“No way! It’s not going to happen! YOU’RE COMPLETELY CRAZY!”
Fernanda’s story: “CAFÉ ORGY I met a new friend at a café near work. By an incredible coincidence, while we were talking, her sister and brother-in-law walked through the door. They recognized her and came over to chat with us…”
Julia dropped the laptop, her heart pounding, voice echoing through the café:
“YOU’RE CRAZY!!! THAT’S MY SISTER AND MY BROTHER-IN-LAW!!!”
Fernanda burst out laughing, her green eyes sparkling, red nails tapping the screen.
“Relax, babe. Keep reading! It’s so good!”
Julia trembled, the text on the screen burning. The café door chimed, and Julia froze.
Fernanda’s story: “The brother-in-law, a guy in a red tie who thinks he’s a heartthrob, and the sister, a bubbly blonde, sat with us. He asked, all concerned, if the friend was okay—but his eyes locked onto mine, green like emeralds. The sister too, with a naughty little smile. The flirting caught fire…”
Carlos walked in, tripping over the rug, red tie crooked.
“Julia?!” he said, confused, adjusting his shirt.
Clara followed behind, laughing loudly, her purse bouncing on her shoulder, blonde hair messy like she’d already had a drink.
“Sis, you’re here?!” she said, hugging Julia.
They sat at the table, and Carlos, with that classic soap-opera tone, asked:
“Everything alright, Julia? Everyone at the office was worried.”
But his eyes were glued to Fernanda’s, locked on her bright green gaze.
“Wow, what gorgeous eyes, girl!” Clara chimed in, biting her lip with a cheeky grin.
“You two aren’t bad yourselves,” Fernanda replied with a wink.
Julia’s stomach turned. “This is the story!” she thought, panic rising. “Am I going to have to fuck them? With Clara? With Carlos?!” She wanted to run, but destiny was closing in—just like in the supply room, the supermarket.
Fernanda’s story: “The tension rose, the brother-in-law brushing my leg under the table, the sister caressing my arm. The friend was freaking out, thinking she’d be dragged into a family orgy—but I had a different plan. The barista, a strong, tattooed guy with that ‘he fucks good’ look, approached, and I pointed: ‘That one’s for you, babe.’”
Fernanda laughed, seeing Julia’s dread.
“Relax, keep reading!” she said, as Carlos, without shame, pressed his knee against Fernanda’s under the table.
“Your hair is so soft!” Clara murmured, fingers gliding down Fernanda’s arm.
The flirtation burned hot. Julia was sweating. Fernanda pointed toward the counter, where the barista—a tall, muscular man in a tight black T-shirt, tattoos curling up his neck—was wiping a cup with a wicked smile.
“That’s him, babe,” Fernanda said, showing the story. “That’s your happy ending.”
Fernanda’s story: “While the brother-in-law and sister pulled me into the corner with greedy hands and hot kisses, the barista led my friend to the counter. He pressed her against the espresso machine, tore her skirt with hunger, and fucked her so good she screamed louder than the moans of the other three.”
The air in the café grew dense—thick with espresso, sweat, and desire. Carlos and Clara dragged Fernanda to a corner, a tiny table wobbling under their weight. Carlos, his tie on the floor, kissed her neck, hands roaming her waist, murmuring like he still wanted to keep up the heartthrob act. Clara, eyes gleaming with lust, pulled Fernanda’s hair, unbuttoning her blouse with nimble fingers, her breasts exposed under the dim café light.
“You’re delicious,” Clara whispered, her mouth pressing against Fernanda’s, tongues tangling in a hungry kiss.
Cups toppled, a coffee pot spilled, black liquid running across the floor like ink. Fernanda moaned loudly, Carlos’s hands groping her ass, Clara biting her shoulder—the three tangled together, shirts ripped, laughter mixing with gasps. Chairs creaked, and the floor turned into a chaotic ocean of glass and coffee.
Julia surrendered to destiny. The barista was already beside her, the heat of his body enveloping hers. His scent—cologne and caffeine—filled her senses. His brown eyes locked onto hers, deep and commanding.
“Want a latte… or me?” he asked, voice low and gravelly.
Julia trembled. The barista lifted her up, strong hands on her waist, and pressed her against the counter, the warm espresso machine against her back. Her skirt rode up, panties torn and falling to the sticky floor. He kissed her neck, teeth grazing, and she moaned, knees buckling. The barista unzipped, his cock hard and hot against her thigh, and slid in deep, every thrust shaking the counter. Cups clinked, the machine hissed. Julia clung to his shoulders, muscles taut beneath her hands, tattoos writhing under her fingers.
“Fuck me,” she whispered, surrendering completely, lust wiping out her fear.
He flipped her around, bent over the counter, her ass exposed, and pounded her harder, rough and relentless, her moans echoing through the café. Julia came with a hoarse cry, her body convulsing, pleasure blacking everything out—Clara, Carlos, the fear. The barista came moments later, his hot breath on her ear.
In the corner, the trio reached their climax. Fernanda, topless, rode Carlos, sprawled in a chair, his face melting in ecstasy. Clara, on her knees, licked Fernanda’s neck, her hands flying between bodies.
“More, more!” Clara moaned.
Cups shattered, the floor was a sea of coffee. Julia collapsed into a chair, panting, the barista zipping up. Clara and Fernanda kissed, sharing Carlos’s cum, their lips glistening under the café’s dim light.
*********************************************
Fernanda spent the night at Julia’s place. Being the naughty girl she was, she wrote more steamy scenes starring her new friend. Now RedMoon’s stories had even more life.
At some point, they did wonder if there was a logical explanation for why this was happening… but until they found it, they simply enjoyed the stories that wrote themselves into reality.
But maybe that one story Julia had skipped over—the first one—held a key to everything?
Maybe…
