《Sensual Erotic Tales ( short smut stories).》全部章節：第 111 章 - 第 120 章

He started to rub my swollen clit furiously with his palm while I was still climaxing, making the waves of pleasure crash over me even harder. I arched my back so high that my head touched the floor while my body was trembling violently. He quickly brought his mouth back to my pussy, and he began to suck the remaining fluid out of me, drinking my release like a thirsty man. He continued to suck and lick, milking every last drop of pleasure from my body. When he finally raised his head, his face was glistening with my juices, but he wasn't done. He looked up at me, his eyes dark and hungry, as he licked his lips. Tell me you love it. He said. "I love it, Professor," I breathed, trying to catch my breath. "This was my first time, but it turned out to be so incredibly amazing." He smiled, a satisfied and proud smile. "Just wait until you feel my cock inside your tight little pussy," he said, his voice deep and seductive. "That is when you are going to admit that you had a

The air in the room was thick, carrying the scent of fresh paint mixed with the ghostly remnants of previous lives. It was a smell that usually promised a fresh start, a blank canvas waiting for a story to be told. But for Pinky, the transition felt heavy, a suffocating cloud of uncertainty that sat in the pit of her stomach. She let out a long, shaky breath and dropped a cardboard box onto the hardwood floor. The thud echoed in the silence, a sudden punctuation mark in the empty room. She hadn't been exaggerating when she said moving in was a chore. It wasn't the boxes, the tape, or the miles travelled that had her shoulders so tight; it was the silence. The silence that screamed that no one was here with her, that this was all on her, that she was completely and utterly alone in a sea of new beginnings. "I need a break," she muttered to herself, her voice sounding so small in the cavernous room. She grabbed a rag from the box and wiped her hands on it, staring at the shelves tha

Her fingers, previously just cleaning dust, now trembled with a different kind of anticipation. She turned the page with a deliberate, almost reverent motion. The next entry was dated two weeks later, and the handwriting was slightly more hurried, the lines of the page crowded, as if the writer had been desperate to capture the feeling before it faded. "The rain was coming down hard, drumming against the windows like a thousand tiny fists. I was in his apartment, the smell of rain. He was sitting in his armchair, a book open on his lap, completely unaware of the storm brewing outside or perhaps, completely aware of the storm inside me. I stood behind him, my hands resting on his shoulders, feeling the firm muscle beneath his thin shirt. I could feel the tension radiating from him, a static charge that made my own skin prickle. 'You're tense,' I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. He didn't turn around. He didn't need to. He knew who it was. He placed the book down on the floor,

The heavy leather diary was resting against her chest. The ink on the page was fading, but the phantom sensations it had conjured were becoming dangerously real. Her breath hitched, a soft, involuntary gasp escaping her lips as the memory of the anonymous writer’s story played on a loop in her mind. She needed to chase the feeling. She needed to bridge the gap between the written word and her own body. With trembling fingers, Pinky slowly closed the diary, treating it as if it were a sacred offering. She held it there for a moment, letting the scent of old paper and unknown secrets fill her nose, grounding her. Then, with deliberate, agonising slowness, she began to lower her hands to her own body. The air in the room was still cool, but a fire was rapidly building beneath her skin. She reached up, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her shirt. It was a simple cotton blouse, loose and comfortable for a day of moving boxes, but now it felt suffocating. She wanted to feel h

The sensation was unlike anything I had ever felt. It was a sudden, searing fullness that made me gasp and arch my back against the shelves. The books dug into my spine, a sharp reminder of where we were, but the pleasure was overwhelming. He held himself there for a moment, letting me adjust to his size, before he began to thrust. He moved with a steady, rhythmic pace, each thrust hitting my perfect spot inside me that made my eyes roll back. I could hear the wet, slapping sound of our bodies coming together, muffled by the stacks of books and the silence of the library. He gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my skin, as he pounded into me with a ferocity that left me breathless. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on. I wanted him to take me harder, to lose control, to give in to the primal urge that was driving us both. I met his thrusts, my hips bucking against his, creating a friction that was almost too much to bear. I could feel his ey