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Chrissmel’s Dirty Paydays— Game Over, Bend Over
Last Updated:
2025-09-01 15:52:34
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Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires Railed On The Train
The metal groan of the train echoed through the narrow carriage as I pushed my way inside. The air was thick with heat, heavy with too many bodies crammed into a space that was already suffocating. My shoulder brushed against a man’s chest, someone’s elbow dug into my side, and the sharp scent of cologne mixed with stale sweat made me bite back a curse.I hated crowded trains. But I hated waiting for the next one more, so here I was, pressed into strangers, the rattling motion of the train swaying everyone together like we were one massive, unwilling body. My hands tightened on the metal pole, knuckles whitening as another wave of passengers shoved in at the next stop.That was when I felt it.A hand, firm at the small of my back. Not groping, not clumsy the way some men tried when they thought the crush of a crowd gave them permission. No—this touch was soft. Confident.I shifted, ready to throw a sharp look over my shoulder, but the crowd moved with me, bodies pinning me in tighter.
Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires Chrissmel’s Dirty Paydays— Game Over, Bend Over
The stadium was still alive with noise long after the final whistle. Fans roared, horns blared, the chant of victory rolling through the air like thunder. My throat was raw from screaming, my palms sore from clapping, but I didn’t care. My team had won. My team. My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might break my ribs, and I couldn’t stop grinning.Then came the announcement. Over the speakers, cheerful and casual—a few lucky fans would be escorted down to meet the players in person.And then I heard it. My name.I almost dropped the crumpled program I’d been clutching the whole match. My legs felt like they didn’t belong to me, trembling as I stumbled down the steps, weaving past jealous stares. My chest pounded, breath shallow, and my cock gave a humiliating twitch in my jeans, like my body already knew something my brain refused to process.This was it. The day I’d dreamed about, saved for, fought for. Every extra shift, every dollar squirreled away had brought me here—to th
Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires Chrissmel’s Dirty Paydays— Extra Credit
I knew my life was fucked the second I saw the stupid red notification glaring at me from my phone screen.Test: 2 PM.Shift: 2 PM.Like, of course the universe had to screw me over today of all days. Not next week, not next semester—today. And it wasn’t even just a normal shift I could ditch. This was the one. The shift that paid enough to cover the damn ticket. Without it, there was no game. No flight to New York. No chance to scream my lungs out in the stands like I’d been dreaming about for months.I couldn’t miss it. I wouldn’t miss it.But the test… if I skipped, I was toast. The lecturer had said no makeups. No excuses. Fail, end of story.So there I was, sitting in the back of the lecture hall, bouncing my knee like a psychopath, spinning my pen until it slipped out of my hand and clattered to the floor. Everyone turned to look at me, and I just wanted to sink into the damn chair. My face burned.By the time class ended, I was chewing the inside of my cheek raw, heart pounding
Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires Chrissmel’s Dirty Paydays— Oiled Up
The place didn’t look like anything special. Just another ‘wellness spa’ tucked between a nail shop and some tacky boutique, the glass front plastered with decals of lotus flowers and fake bamboo. I’d signed up for the gig because the money was decent and because I figured—how hard could it be to rub lotion on someone’s back for an hour? I wasn’t expecting anything else. Not really.The woman at the desk barely glanced at me when I came in, just pointed me toward a room down the hall and said the client was waiting. My palms were sweating already, which was stupid—this was supposed to be easy. But the second I pushed open that door, I knew it wasn’t going to be.She was already lying face-down on the table, towel loose around her hips, long dark hair spilling over one shoulder. Skin smooth, golden, glistening faintly under the low light. Her legs stretched out, toned and sleek, ankles crossed. A woman. Just a woman. And yet my cock stirred like it knew something I didn’t.“Close the
Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires Chrissmel’s Dirty Paydays—Office Obedience
Two weeks of filing, stapling, and pretending I wasn’t dying inside had left me raw. My back ached, my hands smelled like paper and sanitizer, and my patience had frayed. I was ready to clock out, throw my badge on the desk, and never look back. But apparently, the universe had other plans.The last stack of reports clattered in my hands as I shoved them into the office door. Ready to leave, I froze.The door was cracked.And there he was—Mark Holloway, my boss. Naked from the waist down, cock hard, veins pulsing, hand moving fast. The laptop on his desk blared some ridiculous, over-the-top porn, and the smell of him—musky, slick, urgent—hit me like a punch to the gut. My stomach dropped. My cock twitched painfully in my jeans. My cheeks went hot before I even had time to think.“Chrissmel, get out!” His voice was sharp, hard, trembling just a little as he yanked his pants up.I stepped fully inside, closing the door behind me with a sharp click, locking it. Heat pooled low in my stom
Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires Chrissmel’s Dirty Paydays — Tip Taken
I’d been scanning job boards for hours, coffee growing cold next to my laptop, stomach growling like it was auditioning for the lead in a horror film. Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything wanted experience I didn’t have, references I didn’t know how to fake, or a degree I haven’t gotten yet.And then finally, a listing so simple it felt insulting:“Driver needed for evening engagements. Must be punctual, discreet, and able to handle high-profile clients. Luxury car provided. Cash paid nightly.”My first thought: rich snobs, probably the type to complain if the leather smells funny. My second thought: cash, tonight, in my pocket. My third thought: New York match… I’m coming for you, baby.By seven p.m., I was outside a sleek black sedan, my bag slung over my shoulder, staring at the license plate like it owed me a compliment. The sun was dipping low, city lights flickering on, and somewhere in my chest, my nerves buzzed like cheap neon.The first of them appeared like they’d stepped out
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