Can Kids Enjoy Scary Xmas Stories Safely?

This isn’t your merry little Christmas , it’s your dirtiest one yet. Dirty Christmas unwraps every forbidden fantasy you’ve ever wanted to taste. From strangers under mistletoe to sinful nights by the fire, every page drips with heat, hunger, and raw, unapologetic pleasure. These short stories are filthy, fast, and meant to leave you breathless, one by one, they’ll melt your holiday spirit into desire. If you’re not into adult, mature, and explicit erotica, don’t open this book. But if you’re ready to sin in red and gold… welcome to your next obsession. You can also check out my other erotica book (Deep inside)

A holiday of raw, dirty pleasures. A collection of forbidden desires brought to life. A Christmas spent in Sin and dirty fantasies. A collection filled with hot, passionate and steamy sex. Are you ready for this rollercoaster of undiluted and unfiltered tale that'll leave you breathless, aching and sinful?. If you're not 🔞 kindly scroll past this book.

As Christmas drew near, my little sister claimed she’d seen Santa Claus in the house. “He had four legs, real long, like dead branches. He crawled on the floor like a dog. His mouth was full of teeth, and I saw him with my own eyes, climbing out of the chimney. His bones were making this clicking, clacking sound.” The Santa she described was nothing like the legends. My parents and I thought it was just her imagination. Until I posted about it online. A user named “NocturneNotes” insisted my sister wasn’t lying, and that the thing was dangerous. Panicked, I asked him what we should do. He gave me three rules: “On Christmas Eve, from 11:30 PM to 2:00 AM, the entire family must ‘sleep’ by the Christmas tree.” “You can’t actually fall asleep, or you’ll die in your sleep.” “No matter what you hear or feel, you absolutely cannot open your eyes or stop pretending to be asleep. Once it hits 2:00 AM, it will leave on its own.”

I woke up in a penthouse dressed up for Christmas, having no memory of how I got here. With a stranger sitted beside my hospital bed, his dark eyes watching me like I was something precious he was afraid to lose. He says his name is Damien Cross, my husband. He says we were in an accident two weeks before Christmas, and that I've forgotten everything about our perfect life together. But nothing felt right. The staff won't meet my eyes. My phone had no history. And when I found a journal hidden behind wrapped gifts in my dressing room, the handwriting is mine, but the words were a warning: Do not trust him. Leave before Christmas. You know what he did. Damien surrounded me with holiday magic, kisses under the mistletoe, and planned romantic surprises beneath twinkling lights. He's everything a husband should be: protective, tender, devoted. Yet his love felt like a cage decorated with ribbons and bows. The closer we got to Christmas Eve, the more I remember fragments of another life. Arguments,Fear,Betrayal. One night I tried to run from him in the snow and never made it out. Now I have until Christmas Day to uncover the truth about my past before Damien's version of our love story becomes the only one that matters. Because the man who saved me might be the same man I was trying to escape.

Wendy Lloyd's first love, Hudson Clark, treats me like a walking blood bank. Because of that, I end up dying in the rented apartment Wendy has given to me out of contemptuous pity. Today is the third day of my death. My six-year-old son, Terry Heath, finally realizes that something is wrong with me. When he accidentally cuts his finger from playing with his toys, I don't coax him at all. When he tears open a pack of cookies and feeds one to me, I don't stop him at all. When he lies in my arms and grips me by the hem of my shirt while calling out to me softly, I don't respond to him at all. Feeling rather uneasy, Terry finds my phone and calls Wendy. "Mommy, why is Daddy still asleep?" Wendy responds by sending a photo of her and Hudson enjoying a holiday feast together. She then says coldly, "He's just asleep, not dead. Today is Christmas Eve, so I'm very busy right now. "Tell that arrogant father of yours that he's only free to visit me whenever he's ready to acknowledge his mistakes." After that, the call ends. Terry is left feeling stunned for a long time. Finally, he digs out the last cookie from the trash can and snaps it in half. Then, he feeds it to me again. "Daddy, let's eat."

Miss the blood boiling thrillers that you used to enjoy? Every night, we have a horror story to send you into the sweet, scary dreams.