This entire series was put up for nomination and is full of stories. Though Fakers putting in their own stories are nice and we all love the sexiness and adventure, these will be just as good and shall be up for reading. ENJOY! :)

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If you wish to put in a story and be chosen and put up on the mainstreet then you can put your stories up in Daily Sex Story. Can't wait. :)

Looking at the gun I knew that it had been inevitable from the beginning. As certain as the sun would rise and, as she sat silently in the corner, I knew that she knew this as well. If I turned my head to look at her she would disappear as if she were never even there at all, so I watched her from the corner of my eye, watched her watching me through her one good eye, and quietly I wept. I wanted so badly to look upon her face just once more, no matter how badly broken the bones were, no matter how she continued to bleed black from the deep gash on the top of her head, the dark droplets leaving tell tale stains upon the floors that could never be scrubbed out.

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1.1 Nathaniel J. Costin (+1)

Better late than never was a saying that had always caused the young woman in the room, who’d been there for one and a quarter hour now on the nose, a great deal of mental agony. It was the dismissiveness of it, the rude, backhanded way it could be said that could say volumes about the person who spoke it, depending on the inflection of their voice. As far as Sylvia Monroe was concerned however, she would certainly not be keeping company with type of person that would say such a thing, regardless of the how or the why. Certainly Mr. Harold Stupski would have agreed with her had a bullet not gone through his skull exactly an hour and twenty seven minutes go.

She found, having gone through his things while blood and cerebral matter dribbled from the back of his skull and onto the polished granite tile of his extremely well designed master bathroom, a man of very fine taste who was by all accounts just as punctually insistent as she was. He had calendars and logbooks written in very neat, small, but perfectly legible hand writing, detailing every moment of his waking hours and timers set to match; his morning alarm went off at four thirty, his workout room (which had a fantastic view of the city she had to admit) was set to begin cooling at four so that it would be ready for the exactly half an hour workout routine, carefully detailed in his daily planner of course, followed by a shower in the master bathroom he was currently retiring in, whose floors began to heat at precisely four fifty two am, and then morning coffee and the modern day equivalent of the paper which a name brand e-reader in the higher of price ranges, the machine that served former of which would begin brewing at quarter after five while the latter was left out on the table and could be turned on at its masters leisure.

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Want to read more of this story? Click Here! --> Monroe: 1.1 Nathaniel J. Costin (+1)


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I had a lot of options left for the night, it was only half an hour past midnight so all the bars and clubs would still be lively, the streets as well were no doubt filled with drunken revelry, especially in the Bass district where I’d bought an apartment recently, listed under a pseudonym I used when I didn’t want the military to know what I was up to. They frowned against us Specials owning property of our own, but I couldn’t stand living in the compound full time.

The road leading out of the desert was, not ironically, deserted. I let the car drive under guidance control while I started fiddling with the operations menu using a key I’d gotten from a tech friend of mine. It was an older car, so after only a few minutes I’d managed to hack into the driving controls and switch it from assisted autopilot to manual control; as soon as I did Jane the computer appeared on my dash looking very stern and transparent.

“Warning: You are attempting to override this vehicles safe mode. Use of manual control on public highways is unauthorized and poses a safety risk to-“

“Later CJ.” I said with a grin as I disabled her program. The console flickered red as it attempted to alert the authorities, but the key was already taking care of that problem as well.

The car began to slow since the AA was turned off. I took control of the wheel and pressed my foot to the gas, accelerating until the desert landscape was flying past me in a blur. Cars couldn’t faster than five miles above or below the listed speed limit for that road with safe mode on, with it turned off I was flying down the highway at a hundred and sixty easy, drifting the curves, and weaving between the lanes just for the hell of it. I rolled down the windows and let the night air blow around me, because you couldn’t really feel the speed until it was screaming in your ears and trying to rip the hair from your head.

A popular saying in the Bass district is “It’s all fun and games until the cops show up” but honestly, that's really where the fun begins for me. The key I used on the car must not have been as high tech as my friend had told me it was, something I would go and have a talk with him about, because I was suddenly seeing red and blue light flashing ahead of me getting very close, very fast. A new face flickered to life on my dash, tinted red which meant I was in trouble with the local authorities.

“Slow down your vehicle and pull over.” The head of the police sergeant said loudly, his voice booming from all of the speakers in the car. I sighed, pressing some buttons to see if I could turn him off, or at least put him on mute. When that didn’t work I decided a game of chicken was in order. He was still coming my way, getting closer every second. I pressed the accelerator until it was touching the floor and kept in a straight line on the wrong side of the road, aiming for him. “By the order of the Las Vegas police department; PULL OVER.”

“Yeah… I’m not feeling that.”

Closer, closer; I was seconds away from impact, the adrenaline was pumping through me and I licked my lips in anticipation. The dash board flickered with black and yellow stripes and a red warning band as the vehicle’s computer sensed that a crash was imminent. I began to count backwards in my head; five, four, three, two-
Red and blue lights flew past me. Through the rear view camera I saw him slow and drift into a U-turn, sending up a cloud of dust as he hit the gas. I laughed as I turned my attention back to the road, the merge onto the highway just up ahead. I flew up it, catching a bit of air with the sudden ascent, my tires squealing as I narrowly avoided hitting another car. Traffic here was sparse, though still present, and more than one horn was blared as I raced past. The lines on the road meant nothing to me as I weaved in and out of lanes and between other vehicles, the cop car not far behind and quickly gaining speed.

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