บททั้งหมดของ Sensual Erotic Tales ( short smut stories).: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

DOMINIC: The view of the road wasn’t clear for me as I drove, the rain pelted against the windshield like a thousand tiny, angry fists, each one trying to shatter the glass and drown me in the storm outside. But it didn’t matter. The storm inside my own head was far more violent. I couldn’t care less about the blurred lines of yellow and white, about the other idiots on the road who actually had the luxury of paying attention. My focus was a singular, burning point of rage, and its name was Paul. That motherfucker son of mine couldn’t do one single goddamn thing right, not one, and today of all days, he chose to amplify his incompetence to an art form. He couldn’t pick up his fucking phone for once in his miserable, pointless existence. "I snarled." A guttural sound tore from my throat as I slammed my fist against the steering wheel. The leather groaned under the impact, a pathetic echo of the fury churning in my gut. The car surged forward, my foot heavy on the accelerator, blin

It has been over an hour since the incident occurred. Since I got on my knees and suck my father-in-law's cock like my fucking life depended on it. An hour since I had done something so sinful. And yet I was still trembling, still wet, achingly needy. I was lying flat on my bed. Staring up at the ceiling, the sheet twisted around my legs, the house was completely silent as if even the walls were afraid and holding their breath. And here I am. I couldn't stop thinking about him, about the way he was looking at me like he owned me, like I was nothing more than a mouth for him to fuck and leave me behind. But Truth to be told, I like it so fucking much it made my thigh clench and my nipples hard under my top. He hadn't even said a single fucking word after, hadn't even looked back, just walked out, leaving me all alone on the floor like a whore trash. And still my pussy paused at the memory. My whole body ached for his touch. I should have felt humiliated, I did a

SERENA. I was a traitor in my own bed, and the sentence was sleeplessness. Tossing and turning, the silk sheets a tangled accusation around my legs, I fought for an oblivion that wouldn’t come. Every time I shut my eyes, the darkness behind my lids wasn’t empty. It was filled with him. "Dominic. My father-in-law." The man I should have been running from, the man whose name should be a curse on my lips, was instead the ache in my bones, the ghost on my tongue. The taste of him still lingered in my throat, a salty, masculine secret that refused to be washed away. Beside me, the man known as my husband snored, a steady, oblivious rhythm that was an insult to the riot in my soul. I turned my head, my eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering in from the moon, and studied the planes of his face. I couldn’t breathe next to him. The air was thick with my betrayal, suffocating me with every breath he took. So I slipped out of the bed, a ghost in my own life. My bare feet met the col

Corvina still can’t believe her luck. He strides with a confidence that seems to command the very air in the room, each step measured and deliberate as he reaches the end of the bar. Corvina’s grip on her martini glass falters, and it slips from her fingers, shattering on the polished hardwood floor. The sound draws several heads, including the bartender’s, but she barely registers the disturbance. Her attention is completely captivated by the man approaching her. “Corvina, I presume,” he says, his voice a smooth baritone that vibrates through the room and directly into her bones. He extends a hand. “I’m Ryan.” Corvina places her hand in his, and an instant electric shock travels from his palm up her arm, spreading through her entire body like wildfire. The current ignites something deep within her, an anticipation that has been dormant for far too long. “Hey, Ryan. Nice to meet you,” Corvina manages to respond, her voice barely above a whisper. She finds herself unwilling to

I'm James, though most people call me Jay. I consider myself an average guy, handsome enough, with a decent height that doesn't tower over others but holds its own. “At twenty-three, I'm fully grown with muscular arms and well-defined biceps that hint at regular workouts.” I've had my share of sexual encounters, mostly one-night stands, but I wouldn't call myself a man-whore. My sex life had been... adequate, until everything changed. I was adopted into a wonderful family, the kind that makes you forget you weren't born into it. I'm the middle child and only boy, sandwiched between Anna, our twenty-five-year-old older sister, and Lily, our baby sister twenty. With both girls away at school and our parents out of town on a business trip, I had the house to myself. They trusted us to handle things alone, and usually, I appreciated that trust. Today, though, the empty house felt suffocating. Boredom gnawed at me, but something else gnawed lower, physical frustration. It had been