Mag-log inNora
I used to think love would save me.
Three years of my life went into Asher like I was building something that would last. I covered for him when he fucked up with the elders. I stayed up with him after brutal training sessions, rubbing the knots out of his shoulders while he talked about how one day he’d lead the pack and I’d stand right there beside him as Luna. I let him knot me during my heats even when it left me sore for days, because he said it proved I was his. I swallowed every promise he fed me — that I mattered, that the pack would see my strength, that I wasn’t just some girl he was passing time with.
All bullshit. Fuckng bull shit!
The night he rejected me in front of the pack still sits in my chest like a bruise that won’t fade. His voice was so flat. Like he was reading off a list. ‘You’re too emotional. Too weak. The pack needs someone who can actually stand next to me.’ I stood there in that stupid black dress I’d worn for him and felt something inside me crack for good.
So yeah. That’s how I ended up at the bar in the middle of the week, four whiskeys deep, trying to drink the memory of his fucking face out of my head.
The club was loud enough to drown out most of my thoughts. Bass rattling my ribs. Bodies moving like they didn’t have a single worry in the world. I kept my eyes on the glass in front of me and told myself if I just kept swallowing, eventually I’d stop feeling like such a fucking idiot.
I didn’t notice the guy next to me at first. Not until that voice came out of him.
“Whiskey. Neat.”
It was low, rough. The kind of voice that didn’t need to raise itself to be heard. It rolled through the noise around us like it owned the space. I felt it in my spine before I even turned my head.
He was sitting two stools over, hood pulled low over his face, his shoulders taking up more room than they had any right to. Big hands. One resting on the bar like he was deciding whether to break it. Even with the cloak and the shadows, something about the way he held himself made the air feel heavier.
I knew that posture. Everyone in Blackthorn knew it.
Alpha Kael. My ex’s father.
The one who’d been gone for months on some peace-keeping bullshit up north, training his senses or whatever the fuck Alphas do when they disappear. Nobody had seen him since he left. And here he was, hiding under a hoodie in a human club like he was just another wolf trying to get drunk in peace.
He didn’t know who I was. Why would he? I was just Asher’s girlfriend. Background noise. A girl his son had thrown away.
But I knew him. And the second that realization hit, something ugly and hot twisted in my stomach.
Revenge.
The thought came so fast and so clear it almost scared me. Asher had humiliated me in front of everyone. Made me feel small. Worthless. What better way to pay him back than to let his own father use me?
I turned on my stool before I could talk myself out of it. My dress rode up my thighs and I didn’t fix it.
“Rough night?” I asked, my voice a little hoarse from the whiskey.
His head tilted just enough for me to catch the edge of his jaw under the hood. Strong. Sharp. Older than Asher’s by a couple decades but still carved like stone.
“You could say that,” he answered. That voice again. It settled low in my belly. “You?”
I laughed, short and bitter. “My ex decided I wasn’t good enough for his pack. Said I was weak. Emotional. A liability.” I took another sip, let the burn sit on my tongue. “So yeah. Rough fucking month.”
He was quiet for a second. Then: “Sounds like he’s the liability.”
Something in me snapped into focus.
I slid off my stool and stepped between his spread knees. Close enough to smell him properly — pine and smoke and something darker underneath, something that made my pulse kick hard. He smelled like power. Like the kind of man who didn’t ask permission for anything.
“Buy me another drink,” I said, looking straight at the shadows under his hood, “and I’ll show you exactly how strong I can be.”
His gloved hand caught my wrist. Not rough. Just… there. Heavy. “Careful, little wolf. You don’t know what game you’re playing.”
“I know exactly what I’m playing,” I told him. My heart was hammering but my voice stayed steady. “And I want it. And you, Mr. Stranger, are going to give it to me! And I am not asking.”
Ten minutes later we were locked in the bathroom.
The second the door shut I was on him, shoving that heavy cloak open, my hands already working his belt like I’d lose my nerve if I slowed down. His cock was already hard when I pulled it out — thick, heavy, way bigger than Asher’s, flushed dark at the head. I dropped to my knees on the dirty tile without thinking twice.
“Fuck,” he growled when I licked up the underside. One of his hands fisted in my hair. “You’re not wasting any time.”
I didn’t answer with words. Just opened my mouth and took him as deep as I could on the first try, gagging on purpose, letting spit run down my chin and drip onto the floor. I wanted it messy. I wanted it nasty. I wanted to be the kind of girl who’d suck her ex’s dad in a club bathroom and not even blink.
He tasted clean and a little bitter. I moaned around him anyway and hollowed my cheeks, bobbing my head fast and sloppy. His hips jerked once before he got control of himself.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Where the fuck did you come from?”
I pulled off long enough to look up at him, my lips shiny, mascara already starting to run. I grabbed his cock, fisting it rapidly with both hands, “Does it matter?”
Then I went back down.
I was being obscene on purpose. Loud. Wet. Letting him hit the back of my throat until my eyes watered. One hand stroked what I couldn’t fit while the other slipped into my purse and pulled out my phone. I set it on the edge of the sink without breaking rhythm, angling it toward us. The little red light blinked on.
He didn’t notice. His head was tipped back against the door, breathing hard, his hips starting to move in short thrusts.
I stood up before he could finish, turned around, and bent over the sink. My dress shoved up over my ass. No panties. I’d come here ready for something stupid and now I was doing it.
Kael was behind me in a second. One big hand grabbed my hip. The other wrapped around my throat and pulled me upright so I had to look at myself in the cracked mirror. My lipstick was already smeared. Eyes glassy. Hair a mess.
“You want this,” he said against my ear. It wasn’t a question.
“I want you to fuck me like you hate your son,” I answered.
He made a sound — half laugh, half growl — and shoved into me in one hard thrust. Clearly, he hadn’t heard what I said. Whew!
I gasped, my fingers gripping the edge of the sink. He was so much thicker than Asher. The stretch burned in the best way. He didn’t wait for me to adjust. Just started fucking me like the bathroom might fall apart around us.
The sounds were disgusting. Skin slapping. My cunt making wet noises every time he bottomed out. My own moans echoing off the tiles. I reached back with one hand and spread myself wider for him, watching in the mirror as his cock disappeared into me over and over.
“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped. “Taking it like you were made for it. Is this what you needed? To get railed in a dirty bathroom by someone who actually knows what the fuck he’s doing?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “Harder. I want to feel it tomorrow.”
He gave it to me. One hand left my throat to slap my ass, hard enough to sting. The other stayed tight in my hair, forcing me to watch every thrust in the mirror. I could see the way my tits bounced, the way my mouth stayed open, the way his jaw clenched every time I squeezed around him.
I angled my body just enough to keep the phone in frame without him noticing. He reached around and rubbed my clit in rough circles. “Cum on my cock, little wolf. Let me feel how much you needed this.”
It hit me fast and mean. My legs shook. I came with a broken sound, my pussy pulsing around him, slick dripping down my thighs. He kept fucking me through it, growling praise and filth in that deep voice until I was shaking.
Then he buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural noise that I felt in my bones. Hot pulses flooded me, thick and endless. I watched in the mirror as some of it leaked out around his cock, running down my leg.
For a few seconds neither of us moved. Just breathing. His forehead pressed between my shoulder blades. My phone still recording quietly on the sink.
I waited until his breathing evened out. Then I grabbed my phone, slipped it back into my purse, and pulled my dress down with shaking hands. I was out the door before he even zipped his pants.
The hallway was empty. The music from the club swallowed everything. I walked fast, head down, cum still leaking down my inner thigh, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
Behind me I heard the bathroom door open again.
I didn’t look back. I was already gone. And I had the sex tape of the Alpha recorded on my phone!!
The rain had returned by the time I climbed the steps to his office the following Thursday. Seven o’clock exactly. My heart was already hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat, in the soft place between my legs, everywhere.I knocked once. The door opened almost immediately. Professor Hale stood there in the same dark sweater and rolled sleeves he’d worn in class that morning, looking calm and severe and completely unsurprised to see me. He stepped aside. I walked in. The door closed behind me with a soft, deliberate click, and then the lock turned.My stomach dropped and tightened at the same time.He didn’t speak right away. He simply walked past me to the desk, set a slim leather portfolio on the polished surface, and opened it. Photographs. I saw my own face first. Soft, open-mouthed, eyes half-lidded in the dim light of my dorm room. Then another: me in the library stacks, my hand between my thighs, my head tipped back against the shelf. A third where I was clearly saying
OliviaThe rain had been falling since noon, soft and steady against the leaded windows of the old stone building. I sat in the front row of Professor Hale’s seminar the way I always did— my spine straight, my pen moving acros the paper, every answer already rehearsed in my head. Scholarship students didn’t get to look bored. We didn’t get to miss a single mark. My mother still worked double shifts at the hospital back home, and the last time I’d spoken to my father he’d told me not to come back if I failed. So I didn’t fail. I couldn’t.But that afternoon the words on the page kept blurring. It wasn’t the text. It was the low, measured sound of his voice rolling through the lecture hall, the way he paused just long enough for the silence to tighten around every throat in the room. I had spent three months pretending the heat that pooled low in my belly whenever he looked at me was nothing more than academic adrenaline. I was good at pretending. I’d been doing it my whole life.When
He pushed in slowly at first, the fat head stretching my walls inch by inch. I felt every vein, every ridge as he sank deeper, filling me completely until his hips pressed against my ass. The fullness was overwhelming… pleasure bordering on pain in the best way. He stayed buried deep for a long moment, letting me adjust, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “So wet and hot around me. This pussy was made for my cock.”Then he started moving. Long, deep thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside me. The table creaked under us. My tits bounced with every slam, my nipples rubbing against the leather. The fresh tattoo throbbed in time with his strokes, pain and pleasure twisting together until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.He leaned over me, his chest against my back, one hand sliding around to rub my clit in tight circles while he fucked me harder. His mouth was on my neck, biting and sucking marks into my ski
The needle finally went silent. Timothee set the machine down with a soft click, but the vibrations still hummed under my skin like a second heartbeat. I was a trembling mess on the chair.. my legs spread wide, sundress bunched uselessly around my waist, pussy swollen and dripping from the combination of pain, pleasure, and his relentless fingers and tongue. The fresh ink on my mound throbbed in time with my clit, the delicate thorns and roses now permanently part of me. Marked by him.Timothee peeled off his gloves slowly, eyes never leaving mine. Those hazel depths were dark now, pupils blown wide with the same hunger I felt twisting low in my belly. “We’re done with the tattoo,” he said, voice rough like gravel wrapped in silk. “But I’m nowhere near done with you, Adele.”I should have said no. Should have pulled my dress down, thanked him, and run back to Ryan’s nonchalant existence. Instead, I whispered, “Then don’t stop.”He stood up, towering over me, and stripped his black t-
The needle buzzed to life again, but the sound felt distant compared to the pounding of my heart. Timothee’s gloved hand rested firm on my inner thigh, holding me steady while the other guided the machine. The first real lines of ink sank into the sensitive skin just above my clit, a sharp sting that quickly melted into something warmer, deeper. I gripped the armrests, trying to breathe through it, but every vibration traveled straight down to my core.“You’re doing good, Adele,” he murmured, voice low and steady, like he was talking me through something far more intimate than a tattoo. His breath ghosted across my bare mound, warm and deliberate. “Relax into it. Let your body feel everything.”I bit my lip hard, eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles, but it was impossible not to look at him. Timothee leaned in close, dark hair falling over his forehead, his hazel eyes focused with that intense artist concentration. The muscles in his forearm flexed with every careful pass of the needle, b
AdeleI pushed open the heavy glass door of Ink & Sin and the bell above it jingled like it was announcing my bad decisions. The studio smelled like antiseptic, warm skin, and that faint metallic tang of fresh ink. My heart was already hammering against my ribs as I stepped inside, the cool air conditioning kissing my bare legs under my sundress. I’d spent weeks—months, really—saving up for this. Skipping lunches, picking up extra shifts at the café, lying to my boyfriend Ryan about where the money was going. “Just some new clothes,” I’d told him. He’d shrugged with that same bored expression he gave everything these days. “Cool.”Ryan. God, he was so fucking nonchalant it hurt. Six months together and the spark had died somewhere between his video games and my growing frustration. He barely touched me anymore. Meanwhile, I was here, my thighs already tingling at the thought of letting a stranger put permanent art on the most intimate part of me.Timothee.I’d been stalking his Insta
SophieI was a fucking mess!The Uber ride home was blurry, the music from the party still ringing in my ears, but nothing could drown out the aching need between my legs. I’d spent the entire night thinking about him. Again. Like I always did.Kevin Randy. My stepfather. The man my mother somehow
I didn’t go home right away.I walked for almost an hour with cum leaking down my thigh and the video burning a hole in my phone. My legs felt shaky. My pussy was still throbbing from how hard he’d fucked me. Every step reminded me what I’d just done.I fucked my ex’s dad. In a club bathroom.And I
Kevin stared at me for a long moment, his cock still buried deep inside my cum-filled pussy. His expression had changed — the gentle, careful stepfather was fading fast.“You understand what you’re asking for, right?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “If I put a baby in you, that child is going t
I woke up with a slight headache and a very wet pussy.Memories from last night flooded in immediately — my tits out, begging my stepfather to fuck me, his tongue buried deep inside me while I screamed “Daddy.” My face burned with embarrassment… but my body was burning with something much stronger.







