로그인He didn't stop.That was the thing about Carlo. He never stopped until he decided to.His cock drove into me in long punishing strokes and I'd lost count of how many times I'd squirted. Twice, three times, I didn't know anymore. My body had stopped keeping score. All I knew was the stretch and the burn and the devastating fullness of him, over and over, relentless, until my voice was raw from screaming and my thighs were shaking so hard I couldn't control them."Carlo—" His name came out in pieces. "Please — I can't—""You can." He didn't slow down. "You're taking it perfectly."He shifted the angle and drove deeper and my eyes rolled back behind the blindfold. My whole body convulsed around him. The orgasm rolled through me slow and crushing, like a wave with no intention of breaking clean, just building and building until my lungs stopped working and all I could do was shake.Then he slowed his pace.Not stopped. Slowed. Long, deep, deliberate strokes that dragged against every inch
The crack of his palm against my ass split through the air like a gunshot. I screamed, loud, raw, the sound swallowed by whatever this room was. I hadn’t gotten the chance to look at it properly before he’d put the blindfold on me. I’d caught maybe three seconds of it on the way in—stone walls, high ceiling, black curtains, red interior over all and things hanging on the walls I didn’t let myself look at too long.A dungeon. My husband had a dungeon.Carlo, who I’d known for exactly two days before my father signed my life over to him like a business transaction, had a dungeon under his house. And I was in it. Bent over something padded and leather with my wrists cuffed behind my back and my ass in the air and I couldn’t see a single thing.I ran off. Twenty four hours of actual freedom before his men found me in a hotel, seven hours away from him, wrapped in a bathrobe eating room service like I’d actually gotten away with something. He hadn’t said a single word to me the entire driv
He doesn't answer immediately. He's looking at me the way a man looks at something he's been wanting for a long time and has decided to risk everything just to get it. His cock jumps visibly against his shorts.Then the fabric shifts and he slips free.I forget to breathe.He is huge. Thick and hard and flushed dark, curved slightly upward, and he sits there and lets me look with the easy confidence of a man who knows exactly what he owns. My thighs press together on pure instinct."Oh my God," I breathe. Barely."You've been staring at me for two months," he says simply. "I noticed." He wraps his hand around himself slowly. Strokes once, slow, his eyes never leaving mine.My stomach drops painfully."You want it." It wasn’t a question."I do." No point in pretending."Earn it." His voice is quiet, commanding, certain. "Touch yourself."My hand moves between my legs before he even finishes the sentence. I find my clit immediately — I’m swollen, slick and aching— and the contact rips l
I press my thighs together, take a breath to wake up with the decision already made.Not contemplating. No listing reasons why this is a totally bad idea while I brush my teeth. The decision settled somewhere in the dark hours of the night and arrived this morning fully formed, sitting in my chest like something I swallowed.Today.I make two cups of coffee.But first, I take a shower. Long and slow and deliberate, the kind of shower that is less about getting clean and more about preparation. I use the good body wash, the one that smells like vanilla and warm amber that I bought three months ago and have been saving for no reason that makes sense now. I wax off everything, moisturise twice then I proceed to dry my hair and leave it loose around my shoulders.I stand in front of my closet and pull out an oversized long-sleeved white shirt. One of my husband's old ones actually, which feels appropriate in a way I notice too closely. I pull it on. Nothing underneath it. No bra, no panti
The house is too quiet again.It’s always too quiet.I’m on my third glass of wine — or maybe it’s my second, I stopped counting after the first — sitting at the kitchen counter with my phone in front of me like I’m waiting for it to do something. Seventeen texts in one week. I know because I counted. I open the thread again, scroll up to the top like maybe something changed since the last time I checked five minutes ago.It didn’t.Babe, how’s the trip?Haven’t heard from you. You good?It’s been seven days.Okay so you’re just not responding now?Don’t you miss me at all?Just how busy are you?I put the phone down. Pick it up again. Put it down.He turned the read receipts off two trips ago. Said I was being paranoid, that I needed to trust him. I remember standing in the doorway watching him say it, watching his hands fold a shirt with this calm, practiced efficiency, and thinking — this man has already left me. He’s just still in the room.That was five weeks ago.I finish what’s
I stumbled through the door, sweat dripping down my face, and a post-workout buzz still pulsing through my veins. It was a Monday morning, and I'd timed it just right – or so I thought. The house was supposed to be empty, Mum and Spectre off at work, but clearly, I'd gotten that wrong.On arriving at the stairs, I heard the sounds, coming from the far end of the hallway.Then I drew closer and closer and the sound intensified— The sound of skin clapping against skin, deep rooted groans and moans so unrestrained, you’d think the female in question has never had real cock before.It was no use wondering where those obscene sound could possibly be coming from because apart from me, only Amy's room was left at that section of the house.I tried to keep my steps as mute as possible. Finally, I got to the hallway. The noise was from Amy’s room and her door was half open. My eyes quickly scanned the room.She path her legs very wide apart, her right hand working her wet, ruined pussy in long







