LOGIN“You wear these little skirts… are you trying to seduce me?” His eyes dragged down my body. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about” Before I could finish, his hand slid up my thigh, fingers brushing beneath the edge of my skirt. My breath hitched. He shoved my panties aside and pressed two thick fingers inside me. “Ahh. . . Kelvin. .” My knees buckled against the sink as he started slow, then thrust rougher, stretching me with every push. “You like that, baby girl?” he whispered against my lips. “Yes… oh God, yes.” His mouth hovered over mine, stealing the sound of my moans before he spun me around to face the mirror. My own reflection stared back at me wide eyes, flushed cheeks while Kelvin loomed behind, his heat swallowing me whole. “Watch while I fuck you,” he growled, shoving down his zipper. The heavy length of him slammed into me in one rough stroke, knocking the air from my lungs. “F-fuck!” I cried out, gripping the sink for dear life. He yanked my hair back, forcing me to look at myself as he pounded into me. “Be my slut today.” Dripping Wet is a collection of straight-up filthy stories about raw, no-limits sex. Bodies crashing together in hard fucks. Holes stretched wide, throats used rough, sheets drenched in cum and sweat. Each one dives deep into pure hunger, cocks slamming in deep, pussies taking it hard, asses getting claimed with no mercy. All the taboo stuff you crave, laid out in brutal detail. No romance. No sweet talk. Just hard, wet, pounding sex that leaves you spent. This book isn't about love. It's about need and giving in until you're soaked.
View MoreI’ve known Riley since we were six mud pies, scraped knees, sleepovers that stopped being innocent somewhere around sophomore year but never quite crossed the line. So when she texted me Saturday morning freaking out about her calculus quiz, I didn’t think twice. Grabbed my keys, threw on basketball shorts and a faded tee, and walked the familiar path across our adjoining backyards.
The house smelled like vanilla and fresh coffee when I let myself in. Riley yelled “Finally!” from the dining room, already buried in textbooks. Vanessa’s voice floated down from upstairs. “Hey, handsome!” the same flirty tease she’d used on me since I hit six feet. I laughed it off like always and headed up to find the bathroom before we started. There house so big and so many doors i keep getting lost all the time Wrong door. I pushed it open expecting tile and towels, but instead the late-morning sun poured across Vanessa’s king bed like liquid gold. And there she was. Completely naked. Legs spread wide, knees bent, one hand rolling a stiff pink nipple between her fingers while the other drove a thick, realistic dildo slow and deep inside her. The toy glistened every time she pulled it back coated in her arousal before sliding it home again with a soft, wet sound that hit me straight in the chest. Her head was tipped back, blonde hair spilling over the pillow, lips parted on quiet, breathy moans that made my cock twitch hard in my shorts. I should’ve backed out. Apologized. Closed the door and pretended I’d seen nothing. But my feet wouldn’t move. My heart slammed against my ribs as her eyes fluttered open and landed on me. For one endless second I waited for the scream, the shock, the “Mason, what the hell?” Instead, her lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. She didn’t stop. If anything, she pushed the dildo deeper, hips rolling up to meet it, letting me see every inch disappear inside her. Her gaze dropped to the front of my shorts where my erection was now impossible to hide then dragged back up to my face. “You’re not Riley,” she murmured, voice low and velvet, thick with want. I swallowed, throat dry. “wrong door. I’m sorry, Vanessa.” But I still didn’t move. Her eyes darkened. She drew the toy out slowly, deliberately, letting it gleam in the sunlight before tossing it aside. Then she spread her thighs wider, showing me everything pink, swollen, dripping. “Close the door, Mason,” she said softly. “Or come in.” My hand was on the knob before my brain caught up. I stepped inside and shut it behind me with a quiet click. The air felt heavier, charged. I crossed the room in three strides, yanking my shirt over my head and dropping it on the floor. Vanessa watched every movement, pupils blown wide, chest rising faster. When I shoved my shorts and boxers down, my cock sprang free hard, aching, already leaking at the tip. Her gaze devoured me, lips parting on a soft “oh.” I climbed onto the bed, settling between her open thighs. The heat radiating from her body hit me first, then the scent sweet, musky, pure arousal. I gripped the base of my cock, rubbed the head through her slick folds once, twice, coating myself in her wetness. She shivered, hips lifting toward me. “Please,” she whispered and i pushed in. Slow. God, so slow. The way she stretched around me, hot and tight and velvet-soft, pulled a groan from deep in my chest. Vanessa’s back arched off the bed, nails digging into my shoulders as I sank deeper, inch by inch, until I was buried to the hilt. For a moment we just stayed like that joined, breathing hard, feeling each other pulse. Then she wrapped her legs around my waist, heels pressing into my lower back. “Move,” she breathed. I did. Long, deep strokes at first, dragging over every sensitive spot inside her. Her walls fluttered around me, gripping tight. I braced one arm beside her head, the other sliding under her to tilt her hips higher, letting me hit even deeper. Vanessa’s moans grew louder, breathier, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. “Harder,” she gasped, nails raking down my back. “Don’t hold back.” I slammed into her hard, raw, missionary with everything I had. The bed frame rocked, headboard tapping the wall in a steady rhythm. Her pussy clenched around me like a fist, wet sounds filling the room, skin slapping skin. Vanessa’s legs tightened, pulling me impossibly deeper. Her eyes locked on mine—wild, desperate, beautiful. “Right there—yes—fuck—Mason.” She came hard, body bowing off the bed, pussy spasming around my cock in waves that nearly pulled me over the edge with her. I gritted my teeth and rode it out, thrusting through every pulse until she was trembling beneath me. Only then did I let go. I buried myself deep and came thick, hot, endless filling her completely. Vanessa moaned again, feeling every spurt, legs locked tight to keep me inside. We stayed like that, sweat-slick and breathless, my forehead resting against hers. After a long moment I pulled out slowly, watching my cum leak from her swollen, flushed pussy onto the sheets. Vanessa reached up, cupped my jaw, and drew me down into a slow, filthy kiss tongue sliding against mine, tasting like sin and satisfaction. “Riley’s waiting downstairs,” she whispered against my lips, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I’m nowhere near done with you.” My cock still half-hard . I smiled, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face. “Good,” I said, voice rough. “Because I’m just getting started.”The downtown 6-train is completely deserted, just one empty car swaying through the tunnels under Manhattan.Fluorescent lights flicker, wheels scream on steel.I am naked, invisible, and standing in the middle of the car.He steps in at Bleecker Street.Kael, 29, hood up, paint-stained fingers, backpack full of Krylon cans.The city’s most wanted graffiti artist, face half-covered by a black bandana, eyes sharp and restless.The doors close.The train lurches forward.I move.I’m behind him in a heartbeat, chest to his back, hands sliding under his hoodie, nails dragging down inked skin.He spins, can in hand like a weapon, but there’s no one.I drop to my knees, yank his jeans and boxer-briefs down in one motion.His cock is already rock-hard, thick, curved, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.I lick it off and he groans, loud in the empty car.I take him deep, throat, fast, messy, spit dripping down his shaft while the train rocks us side to side.He grips the overhead rail wi
One Vanderbilt, the tallest residential tower in the Western Hemisphere.The private express elevator to the penthouse is a glass capsule on the outside of the building, nothing but transparent walls and a 1,400-foot drop to the street.I am naked, invisible, and standing inside it the moment the doors close.Elias Voss, 38, billionaire tech god, is alone, still in his tailored midnight-blue suit, tie loosened, phone in hand.He thinks he’s going straight to his 110th-floor penthouse after a late board meeting.He’s wrong.The elevator starts its silent ascent.I step behind him, press my entire body to his back, and drag my invisible nails down the front of his shirt, popping every button in one slow, deliberate pull.He freezes, phone slipping from his fingers, clattering to the glass floor.Before he can speak I spin him, shove him back against the wall, and drop to my knees.His belt is already unbuckled by invisible hands, trousers open, cock freed, thick, flushed, curving up lik
Le Cygne Noir, three Michelin stars, fully booked for the last six months.Dinner service is at its peak.The kitchen is a controlled inferno: flames leaping, pans hissing, expediter barking orders in rapid-fire French.I am completely naked, completely invisible, and standing right behind the pass.Chef Julien Laurent, 34, tattooed forearms, black chef’s jacket open at the throat, sweat glistening on his sharp cheekbones, is plating the signature dish: seared foie gras with black truffle emulsion.His hands move like a surgeon’s.I move like sin.I wait until he turns to wipe the rim of a plate with a white towel.Then I press my entire invisible body against his back, breasts flattening to the damp cotton of his jacket, nipples dragging over the fabric.He stiffens, knife pausing mid-motion.I slide my hands around his waist, down the front of his checkered pants, and wrap invisible fingers around the thick cock already straining there.A low, shocked “putain…” escapes him.The kitc
2:17 a.m.The polymer is still warm on my skin, cool and slick like liquid glass.I am nothing.No reflection in the marble floor. No heat signature. No heartbeat on any camera.Just desire wearing human shape.I walk naked through the darkened Temple of Dendur exhibit. Moonlight pours through the glass wall, turning the sandstone golden. My bare feet make no sound.He’s doing his rounds: Marcus, late-20s, ex-Marine, built like a statue himself. I’ve watched him on the monitors for weeks. Tonight he’s mine and he’ll never know.He stops in front of the shallow reflecting pool, checks his flashlight, yawns.I step behind him until my nipples brush the back of his uniform shirt.He freezes, feels something, but sees nothing.I press closer.My invisible hands slide around his waist, unbuckle his belt with practiced silence. He sucks in a shocked breath, but before he can spin I drop to my knees and mouth the thick ridge straining his pants.“Jesus—fuck—” he whispers, voice cracking.I f
I wasn't sure how much more my body could take. My muscles felt shredded, my skin prickled from the cold that never left the room, and every nerve was a live wire. But the shadow didn't care. Shadows never did.The mattress dipped beside me before I could even catch my breath. He hovered there—weig
I was still shaking when Jace unbuckled the tattoo gun from the stand. I thought he was done with me, but the wicked grin on his face told me otherwise.“You think I’d stop after just fucking you full?” he said, voice low, teasing. “No, sweetheart. You’re not leaving this chair until I’ve had my fu
The shop smelled like ink, leather, and something sinful. The buzzing of the tattoo gun in the back room sent shivers down my spine before I even saw him. I’d been wanting this tattoo for months, and when my friend told me about Jace, the guy who “made women moan louder in his chair than in their b
The weight of him pressed me into the mattress, invisible but suffocatingly real. My thighs trembled as they were pried open wide, leaving me exposed.“Look at yourself,” he commanded, his voice echoing like thunder.My eyes darted to the mirror on the wall. I gasped.The shadow straddled me—massiv












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