Semua Bab P*rnstation: Filthy Erotica Collection : Bab 21 - Bab 30

Mira and Cole pulled into the Crimson Rose Hotel lot just after midnight on Halloween, the old Victorian building looming under a full moon. They had booked the place for a dirty weekend away from the kids, both buzzing with anticipation after hours of teasing in the car. Mira’s panties were soaked from Cole’s fingers sliding in and out of her pussy on the drive, and his cock strained against his jeans. They grabbed their bags, laughing nervously at the creaky porch and the clerk’s odd smile when he handed over the key to Suite 13.The room smelled of dust and candle wax, a massive four-poster bed taking up most of the space, mirrors on every wall catching the flicker of a single lamp. Mira dropped her bag and pushed Cole onto the mattress, straddling him with a grin. “Finally alone,” she whispered, grinding her wet pussy against his bulge through their clothes. He groaned and tugged her shirt up, mouth closing over her nipple through the lace bra, sucking hard enough to make her gasp

The college library had swallowed my entire afternoon, textbooks and highlighters scattered across the table like a battlefield. Finals was days away, but three cups of coffee had finally won their war on my bladder. I shoved my notes into my bag, the hallway outside the study room dim and deserted, the overhead lights flickering like they were on their last breath. My skirt swished against my thighs as I hurried toward the nearest bathroom sign, but there was none—just a plain door at the end of the corridor. I pushed it open without thinking. The air inside hit me first, thicker, laced with the sharp bite of urinal cakes and something muskier, like sweat and skin. I stepped into the furthest stall, locked the door, and hiked my skirt up, peeling my soaked panties down to my knees. The porcelain was cold against my ass, a shock that made me hiss softly. I let go, the stream hitting the water with a steady hiss, relief flooding through me. My mind drifted to tomorrow’s psych exam, bu

The washing machine had been rattling like a dying animal for two days straight, the spin cycle turning into a violent shudder that shook the entire laundry closet. I finally caved and called the plumbing service, pacing the kitchen in my thin cotton sundress while the operator promised someone would arrive within the hour. When the doorbell rang, I opened it to find Ryan. He was tall and broad-shouldered, tool belt slung low on his hips, a polite smile that didn’t quite hide the way his eyes flicked down my body before meeting mine again.He followed me through the house, boots thudding on the hardwood, and I felt the heat of his gaze on my bare legs as I led him to the laundry room. The machine sat in the corner, a puddle of soapy water already seeping from beneath it. Ryan crouched, muscles flexing under his T-shirt as he ran a hand along the hose. “Looks like the drain line’s clogged,” he said, voice low and rough. “I’ll need to pull it out from the wall.”I nodded, leaning again

I clicked the kid’s door shut and let out a breath I’d been holding since the first page of Goodnight Moon. The hallway was dark, just the faint glow of the night-light bleeding under his door, and the whole house smelled like grilled steak and red wine gone sour in the glass Mrs. C had left on the counter. She’d stumbled upstairs twenty minutes earlier, muttering about a headache, wine sloshing over the rim, her bare feet slapping the hardwood. Mr. C was supposed to be at poker night. His truck was still in the driveway, headlights off, engine ticking as it cooled.I padded into the kitchen barefoot, the tile cold under my soles, and reached for a glass in the cabinet above the sink. The fridge light spilled out when I opened it, hit my legs, my tiny cotton shorts, the way they cut high enough to show the bottom curve of my ass. I bent for the water pitcher and felt the fabric ride up, pussy lips pressing against cotton, already damp from the way he’d looked at me earlier when I lea

I showed up at six sharp, same as always, but this time I wore the skirt. Short, black, pleated. No panties, just like he told me. The fabric brushed the tops of my thighs when I walked up the driveway, cool evening air kissing my bare pussy with every step, teasing my clit until it throbbed. My heart was already hammering, a frantic beat that echoed between my legs. I’d spent the whole drive gripping the wheel, thighs pressed tight, replaying last week—the way he’d filled me twice, the way his cum had dripped down my legs on the ride home.Mrs. C opened the door, wine glass in hand, cheeks flushed from the first pour. Her eyes flicked over the skirt, lingered on the hem riding high, then met mine. “You’re early,” she said, voice light. “Cute.”I smiled and stepped inside, the scent of charcoal drifting in from the back. “Figured I’d help with dinner.”She waved me off with a lazy hand, took another sip. “He’s out back starting the grill. Kid’s in the playroom with his trucks. I’m ho