Mag-log inHe cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her top, his thumb circling her already hard nipple. “These are begging for my mouth.” He tugged the neckline of her tank top down until her bréasts spilled free, the cool air making her nipplés pebble even tighter. Liam bent his head, his hot mouth closing around one swollen peak, sucking hard enough to make her arch off the bed with a strangled cry. His teeth scraped lightly, then his tongue soothed the sting, each flick sending jolts of heat straight to her core. When the lights go out, the sins begin. Sinful Nights isn’t one story it’s many. A collection of erotic tales where men command, women surrender, and pleasure is the only law.If you are looking for dirty mature filthy stories, you are in the right place. From breathless foreplay to raw, dirty release, these nights are anything but innocent. Slip under the sheets and let the sins consume you.
view moreMaya lay restless in her bed the cool silk sheets clinging to her skin as if they wanted to remind her of every inch of emptiness she carried with her tonight. Her body felt unbearably hot, her breasts tight benea.th the thin strap of her tank top nípples brushing against the fabric with every frustrated shift of her body. Weeks had turned into months since she had last been touched since she had last felt the familiar pressure of strong hands holding her down filling her with a release she couldn’t give herself. The absence gnawed at her more tonight than ever leaving her throbbing with an ache that refused to be ignored.
With a quiet groanMaya pushed the shet aside and let her hand wander hesitating only briefly before slipping it under the waistband of her shorts. Her fingertips brushed against the damp cotton of her panties and her breath caught sharply in her throat. She hadn’t realized just how wét she was how her body had been begging in silence all day for something more than the comfort of her own hand. The slightest pressure on her swollen clít sent a shockwave through her belly her hips instinctively lifting toward her touch as if her fingers alone were not enough.
She closed her eyes letting her mind drift trying to picture something anything that could take her further into that burning need clawing through her body. She thought about strong arms pinning her down, rough lips dragging against the curve of her throat, a deep voice whispering filthy promises into her ear. The images flooded her brain until she could no longer distinguish fantasy from reality and her moans slipped free despite her attempt to swallow them back.
Then above her,she heard the sound of a floorboard creaking shattered her fragile haze. Her hand froze She sucked in a sharp breath, blinking up at the ceiling. The noise had come from the room directly above her her tenant’s room.
Maya had almost forgotten she wasn’t alone in the house anymore. Just last week she had rented out the upstairs room to a man she knew very little about. He had been polite but brief when he’d come to sign the lease, giving her nothing more than his first name Liam. She remembered the way his handshake had lingered a little too long, the way his eyes an arresting shade of green had trailed over her curves like he was imagining how she might taste. Tattoos had climbed the length of his muscular forearm, vanishing under the sleeve of a snug black T-shirt that had looked ready to tear apart at the seams.
She had not seen much of him since, just the occasional glipse whenhe returned home late at night sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead, gym bag slung over his shoulder. He was younger than her by at least seven or eight years, but the raw energy he carried in his gaze had made her stomach flutter in a way she hadn’t wanted to admit. She had told herself to forget it, to keep her distance, to remind herself that he was nothing more than a tenant. But now, lying here with her hand pressed against the needy swell between her thighs, she couldn’t ignore the fmact that he was only a thin ceiling away.
And then she heard sound so primal that her body reacted before her brain did. A low groan muffled but distinct rolling through the silence of the night. Her heart pounded in her chest as the realization hit her Liam was touching himself.
Her breath came faster her lips parting in shock and arousal all at once. The soft rhythm of her fingers returned, moving against her clít in time with the faint sound of bedsprings she could now make out above. She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured him lying naked in bed broad chest rising and falling with each stroke of his hand, his cóck hard and heavy as his fist slid over it. She imagined the strained look of pleasure twisting across his face the soft curse of his voice echoing in her ears, the way he would grip the sheets when he was close.
Her hips lifted off the mattress as she chased the fantasy her body trembling with need. A whimper escaped her throat betraying her even as she tried to muffle it with her pillow.
The noise above stopped.Her eyes flew open, her blood rushing with panic. She pulled her hand away from her drenched panties and sat upr.ight in bed, her pulse thundering in her ears. For a moment there was nothing but silence until she heard it slow and deliberate footsteps descending the stairs.
Then a knock came at her bedroom door. The kind of knock that made her body freeze and her pússy clench at the same time.
Maya’s heart slammed against her ribs as the heavy knock echoed again, louder this time dragging her out of the haze of her fantasies. She sat frozen on the bed, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her fingers trembling as she pulled the sheet over her body. Her mind screamed at her to stay quiet, to pretend she was asleep, but her body betrayed her with the sharp rise and fall of her chest and the heat that still pulsed insistently between her thighs.
The knock came again. “Open the door, Maya.”
The next two days were a special kind of hell. A self-inflicted torture chamber of her own making. Lily’s small apartment felt like a prison, her bed a rack where she was stretched and teased. His words were a brand seared into her mind: “You will not come.” It was a command that had rewired her entire nervous system, turning her own body into a traitor.Every night, she would lie in the darkness, her skin humming with a low, desperate ache. She would try to read, try to watch television, anything to distract herself from the traitorous hum between her legs. But it was always there. A dull, persistent throb that demanded attention.On the first night, she broke. Her hand, a traitor of its own, slid down her sweat-slicked stomach and under the waistband of her pajamas. Her fingers found her wet, swollen cunt, and she had to bite her lip to stifle a gasp. She was so sensitive. The lightest brush of her fingertips against her clit was like an electric shock. She circled the hard, aching
The waiting room of Dr. Alistair’s clinic was a controlled misery. Lily sat on a hard, plastic chair, her spine ramrod straight, her hands clenched into fists in her lap so tight her nails dug into her palms. The air was a sterile, recycled hum, scented with a faint, sharp lemon cleaner that did nothing to cut through the cloying, sweet smell of her own fear. Every tick of the wall clock was a hammer blow against her skull.Her condition was a live wire under her skin. It had started an hour ago, as soon as she’d sat down. A low, deep hum had begun in her belly, a treacherous warmth that was now a slow, spreading fire. She squeezed her thighs together under her thin dress, a useless, desperate gesture. The fabric was a torment, a constant friction against her swollen, hypersensitive clit. She could feel the dampness soaking through her panties, a shameful, slick evidence of her body’s betrayal. She was a prisoner in her own skin, and this room, this man, was her only hope for a parole
The rest of the day was a waking nightmare. Anjali moved through the grand haveli like a ghost, her body a traitor, humming with the memory of Vikram’s touch. Every step sent a jolt of sensation through her. The rough fabric of her petticoat felt like sandpaper against her tender, spanked ass. The silk of her saree brushing against her swollen, sensitive breasts was a constant, arousing torment.She bathed, the cool water a shock against her heated skin. She saw the faint red marks on her hips where his fingers had dug into her flesh, the dark shadow of a bruise on her neck. She looked at herself in the mirror, at the woman with the wide, innocent eyes and the body of a well-used whore. A hot, sickening mix of shame and excitement churned in her belly.Dinner was a special kind of hell. The long, polished dining table was filled with the Shekhawat family. Her husband, Rajiv, sat beside her, oblivious, telling a boring story about a new car he wanted to buy. She smiled and nodded, her m
The first week in her new home was a performance. Anjali played her part perfectly. She woke before dawn, prayed with the family, helped her mother-in-law in the kitchen, and spent her days learning the intricate rules of the Shekhawat household. She was a ghost in her own life, her vibrant personality buried under layers of silk and duty.Her husband, Rajiv, was a sweet but simple man. He was kind to her, but his attentions were clumsy and brief. He was more interested in his friends and his cars than in his new, beautiful wife. Anjali felt a familiar, hollow ache of loneliness.But her Jeth, Vikram, was different. He watched her. His gaze was a constant, physical weight on her skin. When she served him tea in the morning, his eyes would linger on the swell of her hips as she turned. When she bent down to touch his feet in a gesture of respect, she could feel his stare on the curve of her ass. He never said anything inappropriate. He never touched her. But his look was a violation, a
Walking back to her desk was the longest journey of Ishita's life. Each step was a reminder of her submission. The thin fabric of her saree rubbed against her swollen, sensitive pussy. Her legs felt weak, like they might give out at any moment. And the smell... the musky, salty smell of Vikram's cum, mixed with her own arousal, clung to her. It was a dirty, public perfume, and she was terrified someone would notice.She sat down at her desk, her body trembling. Her colleague, Priya, a sweet, naive girl from Pune, looked over at her with concern."Ishita, are you okay? You look so flushed. Do you have a fever?" Priya asked, her voice full of genuine kindness."I... I'm fine, Priya," Ishita managed to say, her voice hoarse. "Just a little headache. The heat, you
The next morning, Ishita woke up with a dull ache between her legs and a strange, thrilling feeling in her stomach. Her body was a map of Vikram's possession. Her ass was still tender, a constant, stinging reminder of his hand. Her breasts were sensitive, and a faint bruise was forming on her neck where he had held her. She looked at her reflection in the small, cracked mirror of her chawl room. The girl staring back at her was a stranger. Her eyes were wide, haunted, but also glittering with a dark, excited fire. She was his. The thought sent a shiver of pure, undiluted lust through her. She was no longer just Ishita, the small-town girl trying to make it in Mumbai. She was Vikram Rathore's dirty little secret. His pet. Sh






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