All Chapters of P*rnstation: Filthy Erotica Collection : Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

He knelt on the bedroom floor, wrists bound behind his back with soft leather cuffs, the chain between them short enough to keep his arms pinned and useless. The tiny chastity cage squeezed his cock mercilessly, the metal bars digging into his pale skin as he tried to shift for comfort. She had locked it on him two weeks ago, and every day since had been a slow torment of denial, his dick straining against the confines whenever she walked into the room. Now she stood before him in her black lace lingerie that hugged her rich brown curves, her full breasts spilling over the top, dark nipples hard and visible through the fabric. Her long dark hair cascaded down her back, skin glowing under the low bedroom light, and she looked down at him with that knowing smile, the one that made his stomach twist with submission and desire."You look pathetic like this," she said, her voice low and silky, laced with amusement. She stepped closer, her bare foot brushing his thigh, toes painted deep r

I walked down the quiet hallway of Lincoln High School, my sneakers barely making a sound on the floor. After-hours the place felt like a tomb with the lights off everywhere except the soft glow leaking from room 204. Jamal, my brother, had fucked up big time with a thirty-two percent on the latest algebra test, the kind of score that could bury his GPA and slam every college door shut. Mom was killing herself with double shifts at the diner, Dad had vanished years ago, so it was me—Ruth, twenty-three, full-time at the rec center—who had to fix it. If I had to go in there and do whatever dirty thing it took to get Jamal a retake, I’d do it. No hesitation.I didn’t borther knocking, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.The room smelled like chalk and stale coffee. Empty desks sat in neat rows and behind the teacher’s desk sat Sam. Twenty-four with, brown hair a little messy from running his hands through it all day, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, sharp blue eyes that lo

I sit on the edge of my bed in the half-dark, thighs pressed together against the low throb that's been building since the delivery box arrived this afternoon. The new Nexus Veil headset stares back at me from its sleek black case, matte finish catching the faint blue glow from my bedside lamp. No bulky straps like the old models. This one is a slim visor with soft neural pads that mold to your temples and a thin band that wraps around the back of your skull. They say it reads your arousal metrics down to the millisecond, syncs haptic feedback straight to your nervous system. My fingers tremble a little as I lift it out. I've been jerking off to porn for months with the same tired scenes, same fake moans, and it's not enough anymore. I want to feel owned. I want something that knows exactly how wet I get when a voice calls me a desperate little slut. So I subscribed to the premium tier, the one they don't advertise on the main site. Full customization. No filters. No safe words unles

The red light throbs like a heartbeat now, faster, hotter, matching the frantic pulse between my legs. I’m still straddling Apex, his cock buried deep inside me, softening only slightly before the haptics force it rigid again. Cum from the last two loads leaks out around him, slick and warm, coating my inner thighs and dripping onto his hips. My clit is swollen and hypersensitive, every tiny shift sending aftershocks through my core. I’m shaking, sweat-slick, chest heaving, but the Veil doesn’t let fatigue register the way my real body does. It only amplifies the need.Apex’s hands clamp onto my waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise virtual flesh. He flips us without warning. One second I’m on top; the next I’m flat on my back on the leather platform, legs forced wide, knees hooked over his shoulders. The position folds me in half, ass lifted off the surface, pussy exposed and gaping slightly from how roughly he’s already used me.“Look at this mess,” he says, voice thick wi

The ceiling fan in the living room had been flickering for three days, a single bulb refusing to stay lit no matter how many times I twisted it or tapped the fixture. The rest of the house lights worked fine, but that one dark spot bothered me more than it should have. I finally gave in and called the electrician whose card had been stuck to the fridge for months. His name was Ryan, according to the card. Local guy, reasonable rates, available same-day if you were lucky.I was lucky.When the doorbell rang just after two in the afternoon I was still in the loose cotton tank and shorts I had slept in. The fabric was thin, the shorts riding high on my thighs, and I had not bothered with a bra because the air conditioning was off and the house felt sticky. I opened the door expecting a middle-aged man in a company polo. Instead Ryan stood there in a plain black T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, cargo shorts, and a worn tool belt slung low on his hips. He was younger than I expect