I stared at the three books I had spread out in front of me, debating which one I should do. I have started each of these three books, but never ended up finishing them. I got distracted by life and new books that I made up. But I couldn’t just ignore them forever. So here I am debating which one I should be writing.
I couldn’t use the quilt for this one because. Well. I really did not want those men to follow me into these kinds of books. I spared a glance at the quill I had taken out. At first, I was going to write a different book, but I got distracted by these.
Since these are books I would never do with the quill. There isn’t any other way to write them except by hand. With just a drop of ink. The quill allows me to go into the book and write it while I’m playing the character in the book. I had found it in an old antique shop, and I had always wanted to learn how to write with a quill.
So I bought it. The quill looks old but sturdy. The bottle still contained ink. I thought it was just an old quill. But as soon as I dipped it in ink and pressed it to the paper.
I had found myself in the book that I had just been about to write. Of course, it wasn’t just me in the book. Ever since the first book I had entered. Three men have followed me into each book. Claiming that the quill was theirs and that they needed it back.
They are the reason I don’t want to go into any of these books using the quill. I really don’t want them to see these books. Nor do I think they would appreciate being in them either. Pushing those thoughts away, I slid my focus back onto the three books in front of me. My focus wasn’t on them for long, though.
Soon enough, I got distracted by a knock on my door. I shifted, sliding off my bed. Being completely careful with the papers on it. Since I was being so careful with my papers. I didn’t notice that I had knocked over the ink bottle until it spilled all over one of the books. I froze because the ink bottle, which I had knocked over so many times, had never spilled before.
I had assumed that the magic it contains stops it from spilling. As I stood there, frozen. I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was going to happen. Usually, the ink would immediately transport me into the book when it touched the page. However, this time I did nothing. The ink had just spilled.
When nothing happened after a second. I turned back in the direction of the door. What made me get up in the first place was someone knocking at my door. But when I took a step in the door’s direction. The familiar feeling of falling into a book surrounded me.
One second, I was walking in the direction of my door. Next, I found myself completely naked on my hands and knees in a bed that I didn’t recognize. A man’s hand skimmed my ass before he gripped my hips tightly. His cock pressed against the entrance of my pussy. His weren’t the only hands I felt on me.
A large hand gripped my hair and jerked my head upwards. I found myself staring into the dark brown eyes of my book character. Fox. Fuck, the ink spilled onto my book, 1001 Dark Tales. Of the three books, this one was the worst.
He teased his cock on my lips. Tracing them with the head of his cock. In the book. Since Fox was mute and refused to rely on his twin, Bear. He made up symbols between himself and Raven to tell her to do different things.
His tracing his cock on her lips meant he was asking her to open her mouth. Of course, I do. I had already written part of the beginning of this story. We have to follow the text exactly. I wrote this entire scene already, but we can improvise once the words are done.
Fox pushed forward, slowly filling my mouth. The head was already too big, but he didn’t stop there. Bear, the other twin, gripping my hips, guided the tip of his cock to the entrance of my pussy. Before he could start filling my pussy. The entire scene was gone, and I was now standing in front of the three major pains in my ass, as I like to call them.
Two of them were twins, like Bear and Fox, and from the looks they were giving me. The twins were probably their characters. Despite only two of them being twins, the third male wore the same clothes and mask.
“What the fuck was that?” One twin snapped, and despite the faceless mask, I could feel him glaring at me.
“What was what?” The third ass asked with concern in his voice about how upset he sounded.
The other twin, who thankfully spoke up for his brother. “The scene we came into was a… a sexual scene.”
As those words left him, all three of them turned in my direction, probably wanting me to explain. I wrap my arms around myself.
“I didn’t choose this story; the ink spilled onto one of my books.”
“That’s not possible,” another voice spoke up, one that I had never heard before.
I spun towards the voice and came face to face with a fourth man. He had the same clothes and mask as the others, but I could tell that he was someone a lot more important than the others.
“Oh, goodie, there’s now four of you,” I muttered under my breath before I answered him. “I thought so too, but it happened. I would have never used the quill on this story.”
“And what exactly is so wrong with this story?” The additional pain in the ass asked.
“Nothing,” I snapped before any of the other three could respond. “It’s just that this book has a thousand and one stories in it, and I doubt the thre-I mean four of you have the time for that.”
