ログイン18+ Skin. Sweat. Surrender. No apologies. Just the filthy, holy truth of what we do when the lights are off. In the hush between heartbeats, desire speaks its own language. These stories peel back the skin of restraint to reveal the raw, trembling want beneath - hands that linger too long, mouths that confess what daylight forbids, bodies that remember every sin they were never supposed to commit. From velvet-shadowed hotel rooms to rain-slicked backseats, from whispered commands to wordlessly surrender, from collars that lock with a soft click to knees that bruise beautifully on marble, from words like "please" and "good girl" to the moments we steal when no one is watching... and the ones we can't stop replaying even when they are filthy. No slow burns. No fade to black. Just wet mouths, spreading thighs, fingers that don't ask permission, and orgasms that leaves teeth marks.
もっと見る“Damn it!” I cursed as the car swerved roughly to the left. The car hit a stone and jarred us, bending to the side.
But that was not why I cursed.
I looked to the side, my eyes rounding out of their sockets as my fear was confirmed. I looked from the bulge of the trousers my hand was resting on to the owner of the erection.
“Sorry,” Jesse, my stepfather, said, looking sheepishly down at his erection.
I should have moved my hand away but no matter how hard I tried, my hand refused to move. The dick grew by another inch. I molded my hand around the flesh, feeling the thickness. A moan escaped my throat before I could stop it.
Jesse cleared his throat, moving my hand away from his cock. He shifted slightly to the side, effectively hiding his erection.
“Sorry,” I muttered. I looked to the side, focusing on the tall blades of grass on the side of the road. But as much as I wanted to keep my mind busy, nothing was working. Not the thought of the fact that he was married to my mother. Not the thought that he always referred to me as his little princess.
“We are home, little princess.” He said, breaking into my thoughts.
I snorted at him, eyeing him. “I told you, I am not little,” I protested.
I was 19 years old already, a grown lady. Yet, Jesse has called me nothing but his little princess ever since he married my mother six months ago.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I let myself out of the car. Before I could take two steps away from the man, he cleared his throat, halting me. I turned slightly to glance at him.
“Little princess, sorry about… uhm… earlier.” He apologized, looking away from me.
I shook my head. “It’s nothing,” I said, dismissing his worries.
Before he could say anything else, I ran away. It wasn’t anything. I wanted to grab his cock and suck. This traitorous emotion was going to be the end of me.
“Lily.” My mother called, peeping from the kitchen. “Where is…?”
I drowned her voice out, still racing to my room. The moment I got in, I slid the door shut. I closed my eyes, trying to drown out the voice in my head.
*Imagine that cock in you, pounding you hard.* A voice said.
*No, that’s my stepfather,” I said firmly to myself, refusing to fall.
***
By midnight, the little voices fighting in my head refused to leave. I tossed and turned on the bed, sleep refusing to come.
“Damn!” I cursed, throwing my duvet over. I got up, dressed up in my nightwear, and walked out of the room to get cold milk. As I walked through the corridor, I noticed light flickering from Jesse’s office. My heart thudded in my chest, the desire I was trying to keep at bay resurfacing. Before I could talk myself out of it, I slid into his office, closing the door firmly behind me.
He looked up from his phone, his eyes settled on me in surprise. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” He asked, standing up to look at me.
I walked to his chair and sat. I lifted my nightdress subtly, exposing my legs. I wasn’t wearing anything, so the smooth, clear skin in my inner thighs was exposed. I lifted my gaze to him and saw him staring. I pulled up the nightgown more. With no parties up, my bald cunt was fully exposed when I spread my legs over to the chair arms.
He swallowed hard. “Wh-what are you do-doing?” He stammered out.
“I’d like to fuck you,” I told him sincerely.
His mild shock was evident. “Does your mother know?” He asked, obviously trying to get the last of his sanity to work. “About your dirty mind?”
I chuckled softly. “Your touch could fix my dirty mind,” I choked out. “No one has to know.”
I ran my tongue over my lower lip, wetting it. His eyes rounded as they fell back on my cunt.
“I know you are fantasizing about fucking me since this afternoon too.” I got up from my seat, rounded the table, and sat on his hardened length. “I can make your dreams come true.”
Indecision clouded his eyes.
I stood from his lap and dropped to my knees between his legs. “Let me see your cock.” When he didn’t protest, I grabbed his cock through his pants, molding the flesh. A moan rent free from his throat. I quickly unzipped him and fished his dick out. My mouth was on him in a flash, my warm, moist mouth around his prick. I dropped my saliva all over it and went deepthroat.
“Holy shit!” He groaned out, losing it. He came, filling my mouth with cum. I swirled the white stuff around in my mouth. I stood and returned to the desk, stretching my legs wide apart, my puffy labia framing my vivid raw flesh.
He eyed the pussy, swallowing hard. His hand hovered over my pussy wall, freezing in the air as his eyes darted back and forth at my cunt. I chuckled inwardly, knowing I've won half of the battle.
“You know you want to eat me out,” I moaned. A finger of mine disappeared into my pussy for a brief second before I brought it up and licked the warm liquid that stained it. His sigh of defeat drifted to me.
He shifted forward, and I grabbed his head into my crotch until he was mere inches away from my glistening cunt. His sigh of loss came, followed by his tongue on my clit, eating me.
“Juicy.” He moaned. His fingers plunged into my hole, stroking gently. He leaned down and ran his tongue on my neck. He laced his mouth over each path his tongue left a trail.
“Jesse!” My mother called from outside the office, her soft but determined footsteps approaching.
The library study room felt different after that second time—like the air itself remembered us.We didn’t bother pretending to open textbooks again. Ethan pulled me onto his lap in the chair, my skirt already rucked up, his hoodie unzipped so I could press my palms flat against the warm skin of his chest. We kissed slower this time, less frantic, more deliberate. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing lips, hands roaming without hurry. His fingers traced lazy circles on my lower back under my sweater; mine carded through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in his throat.Eventually we broke apart, breathing hard, foreheads resting together.“I canceled my eight o’clock section,” he murmured. “Told the prof I had food poisoning.”I laughed against his mouth. “Smooth.”“What about you? Any classes you’re blowing off?”“Creative writing workshop. I can email the prof later. Said I’m working on a personal piece.”He smirked. “Technically true.”We stayed like that a while—me strad
I decided not to go.I stared at the folded paper on my nightstand until the numbers blurred, then shoved it into the back of my desk drawer under old receipts and broken pens. I told myself it was smart. Responsible. That whatever happened in the library was a one-time lapse—tears, adrenaline, loneliness making me reckless. I showered until the water ran cold, changed into sweats, ate cold chicken standing over the sink while Mom and Dad talked about weekend plans I barely heard. I scrolled TikTok in bed until my eyes burned, forcing my mind anywhere but Ethan’s apartment, anywhere but the memory of his tongue and the way my body had shattered under it.I didn’t text him.I didn’t go.Sleep came in fragments, restless and hot. When the alarm went off at 7:30, I felt hungover without the alcohol—body heavy, mind foggy, a dull ache between my legs that hadn’t quite faded.The next day dragged through lectures and lunch I barely tasted. By four o’clock I was back in the third-floor stud
The knock echoed again, sharper this time, followed by the same muffled voice: “Library closing in ten. Need to lock up.”Ethan and I sprang apart like we’d been electrocuted. My skirt was still bunched around my waist, panties tangled around one ankle, thighs slick and trembling. His hoodie was rucked up, jeans unzipped, the thick outline of him still straining against his boxers. We stared at each other for one frozen heartbeat—wide-eyed, flushed, guilty as hell—then moved in frantic silence.I yanked my skirt down, smoothed it with shaking hands, snatched my panties off the floor and stuffed them into my bag instead of putting them back on. The damp fabric felt obscene against my notebook. Ethan zipped up fast, tugged his hoodie straight, ran fingers through his hair to flatten the mess I’d made of it. His lips were still shiny. I could taste myself on my own tongue.He grabbed his backpack, slung it over one shoulder, then paused at the door. Turned back to me.The voice outside w
His lips lingered on my closed eyelids a second longer than necessary, the warmth of his mouth seeping into my skin like a slow-burning promise. When he finally pulled back—just an inch, barely enough for me to breathe—our eyes locked.No words. No awkward laugh to break the tension. Just the soft rasp of our breathing in the small study room and the distant hum of the library’s HVAC system somewhere above the ceiling tiles.My hands moved first. I reached across the table, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie, tugging him closer. He came willingly, sliding around the table until he was standing between my knees. The chair I was in creaked as I tilted my head up.Our mouths met—tentative at first, testing, tasting salt from my earlier tears. Then deeper. Hungrier. His tongue brushed mine and I made a small, involuntary sound against his lips. His hands framed my face again, thumbs stroking my jaw, tilting me exactly where he wanted me.I slid my palms up under his hoodie, find
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