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I can’t sleep.The guest room is too quiet, too empty, too far from him. My body is still humming—pussy sore and swollen from the garage, thighs sticky with his cum even after I tried to clean up in the bathroom sink. Every time I shift under the sheets, I feel the ache, the stretch he left behind, and it makes me clench around nothing. Makes me wet all over again.It’s 2:17 a.m. according to my phone. Snow’s still falling outside the window, soft and silent, blanketing the whole street. Sophie’s flight is delayed until tomorrow night at the earliest—some freak storm system. She texted me goodnight an hour ago from the airport lounge, complaining about the wait.I should feel guilty.I don’t.I feel hungry.I slip out of bed in nothing but the oversized hoodie I stole from his closet last year—his scent still clinging to it, faded but enough to make my nipples pebble. No panties. Bare feet on the cold hardwood as I creep down the hallway. His bedroom door is cracked, just enough for a
He's splitting me open and I can't think straight.Ethan's cock is buried to the hilt, thick and unrelenting, stretching my pussy so wide it borders on pain—but the good kind, the kind that makes my toes curl and my eyes roll back. The workbench digs into my hips with every brutal thrust, tools rattling beside me like they're cheering him on. Sweat drips from his chest onto my back; I can smell motor oil, his clean musk, and the sharp tang of my own arousal coating his shaft.I've never felt this full. Never this owned."Fuck, Ava," he growls against my ear, voice wrecked. One hand clamps around my throat—not choking, just holding—while the other fists my hair, yanking my head back so my spine arches. "This tight little cunt was made for Daddy's cock, wasn't it?""Yes—fuck—yes, Daddy." The word spills out like a prayer, makes my walls flutter around him. I push back, greedy, chasing more. "Been dreaming of this for years. Fingering myself raw thinking about you wrecking me."He slams
AVAI've wanted to fuck my best friend's dad since the summer I turned seventeen.There it is, out in the open. No sugarcoating, no excuses. Judge me, hate me, whatever—I'm past caring. I'm nineteen now, back in town for winter break, and every time Ethan Hayes walks by in those grease-stained jeans or flashes that half-smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, my thighs clench so hard I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning. I've spent years touching myself in the dark, legs spread, fingers circling my clit while I picture his rough hands pinning me down, his gravel voice growling my name as he buries himself deep enough to make me scream.It started innocently enough. Or as innocent as it gets when you're a horny teenager crashing at your best friend's house every weekend. Sophie and I were inseparable—sleepovers, movie marathons, sneaking booze from his liquor cabinet. Ethan was always there in the background: tall, broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper hair, arms corded from yea
I arrived at the office a little after 8 p.m., the building almost completely dark except for the soft glow spilling from Damien’s suite on the top floor. My thighs were already slick from the drive over—every bump in the road had pressed my bare pussy against the leather seat, reminding me I’d followed his instruction: nothing under my skirt. No panties, no bra, just the thin fabric of my blouse clinging to my hard nipples and the skirt riding up with every step. Alex had kissed me goodbye earlier, asked if I’d be late again. I’d smiled, said yes, and felt nothing but a faint flicker of relief when the door closed behind me. Home felt like a distant memory now. This place—this office—was where my body belonged.The elevator ride up was torture. My clit throbbed with every floor that ticked by. When the doors opened, I walked straight to his office, heels clicking on the marble. The door was ajar. I pushed it open.Damien was behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie gone. Ma
The first inch burned sweet—thick head popping past my entrance, stretching me open. I moaned long and broken as he sank deeper, inch by slow inch, until his hips met my ass and he bottomed out. His cock throbbed inside me, filling every part, the curve pressing right against my G-spot. My walls fluttered around him, greedy, trying to pull him deeper."Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, hands clamping my hips hard enough to leave marks. "So fucking wet and ready for me."He started moving—slow pulls out, then hard slams back in. The desk creaked under us, papers sliding off the edge. Each thrust slapped his balls against my clit, wet and rhythmic. I pushed back to meet him, moaning with every deep hit. My tits dragged across the wood, nipples scraping deliciously.He fucked me harder—faster—hips snapping, cock pistoning in and out. The wet sounds were obscene—sloppy, squelching, my juices coating his shaft, dripping down my thighs. I came suddenly—sharp and blinding—walls clamping down
I showed up twenty minutes early the next evening, pulse hammering in my throat and between my legs. The office floor was dead quiet—lights dimmed in the hallways, only Damien's suite glowing at the end like a beacon. I'd spent the whole day in a fog, clit throbbing every time I crossed my legs under my desk, panties abandoned in my purse since this morning. Alex had texted me good luck with "late work" and I hadn't even felt guilty. All I could think about was Damien's mouth on me last night, the way he'd edged me until I broke, then left me dripping and desperate. My body felt like it belonged to someone else now—someone hungry, shameless, owned.I pushed his door open without knocking. He was standing by the window, sleeves rolled, tie gone, watching the city. He turned, eyes darkening the second he saw me.No words. I locked the door behind me with a soft click. My hands went to my blouse—buttons undone fast, fabric sliding off my shoulders. Skirt next—unzipped, pushed down my hip




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