Semua Bab Wild Dreams [An Erotic Collection]: Bab 11 - Bab 20

I woke to the sensation of warm silk sliding across my bare skin.Not sheets—something alive.Lilithara’s tail had coiled loosely around my waist during the night, the smooth, leathery length resting possessively over my hipbone like a living belt. Her wings were half-draped over us both, creating a cocoon of deep burgundy membrane that filtered the morning light into a soft, bloody glow. Her breasts pressed against my back, nipples already stiff again, dragging gently every time she breathed. One clawed hand cupped my mound from behind, not moving, just… holding. Claiming.My clit throbbed at the contact even though I was still half-asleep.I shifted and immediately regretted it. The slight friction of her palm against my swollen folds sent a bright spark up my spine. A sleepy, throaty chuckle vibrated against my neck.“Morning already, little summoner?” Her voice was gravel and honey. Her forked tongue flicked out, tracing the shell of my ear. “Your cunt is weeping for me again. Did

My name is Emily, and I’ve always been the good girl—or at least, that’s what everyone thought. Growing up in a quiet suburban town, I was the straight-A student, the one who volunteered at the local shelter and never missed curfew. But deep down, there was a fire burning, a restlessness that I kept hidden behind my innocent smile. That all changed when my mom remarried last year, and I found myself living under the same roof as her new husband’s twin sons, Jake and Ryan.They were everything I wasn’t: wild, rebellious, and sinfully attractive. At 22, they were both in college but spent more time partying and chasing skirts than studying. Jake had that brooding intensity, with dark hair that fell over his piercing blue eyes and a body sculpted from hours at the gym. Ryan was the charmer, blond and mischievous, with a grin that could melt steel and tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. From the moment we met, there was this electric tension in the air. They’d tease me relentlessl

I knelt before the high altar of St. Agnes Cathedral, the rain drumming relentlessly against the leaded windows like impatient fingers. The hour was late—past midnight—and the vast stone nave lay empty except for me, Father Elias, twenty-four years old and still clinging to the fragile armor of my vows. My black cassock felt too tight tonight, the wool scratching against skin that suddenly seemed too sensitive, too alive. The rosary beads slipped through my fingers in slow, mechanical rhythm: Hail Mary, full of grace…The air changed.It grew thick, warm, scented with something darker than incense—jasmine twisted with brimstone, sweet smoke that coated the back of my throat. My breath hitched. I told myself it was imagination, exhaustion from a long day of confessions and Masses. But then I heard it: a low, velvet chuckle that seemed to stroke the inside of my ears.I rose slowly, heart slamming against my ribs, and turned toward the shadowed ambulatory behind the reredos.She stepped

The cathedral fell silent after Vaelith vanished in a curl of smoke and jasmine, leaving me draped over the pew like a discarded altar cloth. My thighs trembled, slick with cooling spend—hers and mine mingled in obscene trails that dripped onto the stone floor. Each breath pulled the scent of sex deeper into my lungs until it coated the back of my throat.I should have cleaned the evidence. Should have knelt and scrubbed the pew with holy water and whispered contrition until my tongue bled. Instead I stayed bent over, forehead pressed to the worn wood, feeling the slow seep of her cum still leaking from my abused hole. Every clench sent a fresh trickle down my leg, a reminder that she had marked me inside where no confession could reach.Eventually I forced myself upright. My cassock hung crooked, stained at the hem. I staggered to the sacristy, retrieved a cloth and a cruet of blessed water, and returned to wipe the pew clean. My hands shook so violently that water sloshed over my fi

Damien Blackwood’s POVThey’re already in the cage when I return from the study—curled together on the thin black mattress like exhausted animals, wrists and ankles still loosely cuffed from earlier, thin silver chains connecting collar to collar so neither can pull more than a few inches away from the other.The steel bars are cold against their overheated skin.Plugs still seated deep—thick, black silicone stretching both cunt and ass, the flared bases glinting under the low red emergency light I leave on at night. Every small shift makes them whimper; the toys shift inside, pressing mercilessly against oversensitive walls still raw from my cock.I open the cage door.The metallic click is loud in the silence.They stir instantly—eyes glassy, lips swollen, bodies marked with the evidence of earlier use: faint rope burns circling wrists and ankles, purple suck-bruises blooming across inner thighs, dried cum flaking on breasts and bellies.“Out,” I say. One word.They crawl—slow, achi