Fifty Shades of Lust {Steamiest Short Stories} のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 131 - チャプター 140

Three restless days dragged by after that first appointment. I barely slept. Every quiet moment in the empty house pulled my thoughts straight back to Dr. Reed and the way his bare fingers had worked between my legs with such calm expertise. My own frantic attempts at relief in bed had left me even more frustrated, my body craving something deeper, something controlled and commanding that my fingers could never provide. By the morning of the third day, the ache had become unbearable. I picked up the phone and called the clinic, requesting Dr. Reed specifically. The receptionist sounded cheerful as she slotted me in for that same afternoon.I took my time getting ready, determined to look my best. Standing naked in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom, I studied my reflection. At thirty-two, my body still held soft curves in all the right places, my breasts full and my hips rounded from years of womanhood. Today I wanted him to see me as more than just another patient.

The click of the lock echoed in the small exam room like a gunshot. My heart slammed against my ribs as Dr. Reed turned around, his green eyes burning with a mixture of fury and raw hunger. I was still lying on the exam table, legs locked wide apart in the stirrups, my gown hanging uselessly open. My fingers were slick from touching myself, and my pussy throbbed with unmet need. He had caught me moaning his name, and instead of leaving, he had stepped inside and sealed us in together.Marcus crossed the room in three long strides. His jaw was tight, his breathing controlled but heavy. When he reached the end of the table, he gripped my knees hard, fingers digging into my soft flesh through the sheer black stockings.“You should not have done that,” he said, his voice low and edged with anger. “You should not have moaned like a whore during a medical exam. You should not have brushed your hand against my cock. And you damn well should not have been finger-fucking yourself the moment I

My father’s money bought him a beautiful young wife, but it obviously couldn’t buy her loyalty.Sophia was twenty-seven years old, stunning in that dangerous, calculated way that made men stupid. She had long raven-black hair that cascaded down her back in soft waves, full lips that she painted blood-red almost every day, and a body that looked like it had been sculpted specifically to tempt men twice her age. Curves in all the right places, smooth olive skin, and an ass that swayed with every step she took. She married my sixty-four-year-old father three years ago for the obvious reasons: the sprawling mansion with the infinity pool, the fleet of luxury cars in the garage, the black credit card with no spending limit, and the lifestyle most women her age could only dream about.In public, she played the role perfectly. She smiled sweetly at his side during charity galas, laughed at his stale jokes, and rested her perfectly manicured hand on his arm like she actually cared about the o

I kept pounding into Sophia with savage, unrelenting force, my thick cock slamming deep into her married pussy again and again. The wet, obscene slapping of my hips against her ass filled the master bedroom like a filthy symphony. She was folded nearly in half beneath me, her legs pushed wide and high, her full breasts bouncing wildly with every brutal thrust. Her raven hair was a tangled mess across the silk pillows, and her once-perfect red lipstick was smeared from earlier kisses and moans.Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks as she cried out in overwhelming pleasure. Her pussy clenched and fluttered around my cock like a vice, soaking me with fresh waves of slick that dripped down to soak the expensive sheets.“Ryan… oh fuck, Ryan!” she sobbed, her voice breaking into high-pitched, desperate moans. “Your cock is so deep… it’s ruining me! Harder… please fuck me harder! I need it so bad!”I gripped her thighs tighter, my fingers digging into her soft flesh hard enough to leave ma

Claire stood on the raised platform in the private fitting room, wearing only a white lace bra and matching panties. The afternoon light from the tall windows highlighted every curve of her body as she waited for the seamstress. In three weeks she would marry Marcus. He was reliable, successful, and exactly the kind of man her family had always pictured for her. Yet standing here half-naked in this quiet, elegant space, she felt strangely detached from the idea of the wedding. The door opened softly. Lena entered carrying a heavy garment bag over one arm. She was tall and confident, with sharp cheekbones and dark hair twisted into a neat knot at the nape of her neck. Her black blouse was tucked into tailored trousers, the top buttons undone just enough to show the elegant line of her collarbones. Sleeves rolled to her elbows revealed strong, graceful forearms and long fingers. “Claire,” she said, her voice low and smooth with a subtle accent. “I’m Lena. I’ll be handling your fitt