All Chapters of DIRTY DREAMS: Chapter 231 - Chapter 240

He says it in the same tone he used when he said tell me about your childhood. It is the same measured calm, except his pupils are blown wide and his breath is coming faster and his hands are gripping my waist hard enough that I can feel each individual finger through my skin.I unbutton them and he pulls them down my legs along with my underwear in one motion and throws them on the floor beside the couch. Then he kneels on the carpet between my legs and pushes my thighs apart, and I'm lying on the leather couch where I have processed my entire emotional life, spread open for the man who processed it with me.He doesn't go in immediately. He looks. Studies me the way he studies everything, with attention and patience, his hands on my inner thighs holding me open, and the professional quality of his gaze makes the exposure ten times more intense because I'm being examined by a man whose profession is examination."I want you to describe what you're feeling," he says, looking up at me f

I let go.My pussy grips his cock in waves so intense that I can feel my pulse in every wall that's touching him, and I scream into the leather of his couch with tears running down my face, but I'm laughing between them because my body has picked every exit at once and is currently using all of them.He drives deep and holds and I feel him swell inside me and then the pulse, and then his thick and hot cum is filling me while his hand presses flat against my lower belly from behind as if he's trying to feel himself from the outside, and the groan he makes belongs to a man who held a professional boundary for six months and just watched it come apart around his cock inside a woman he was never supposed to touch.He stays inside me while we both breathe with his forehead resting between my shoulder blades and his hands on my hips. His cum leaks down my thighs and drips onto the carpet where his patients' feet rest during session, but neither of us moves to clean it up, because the eviden

I arrive at the agreed time to find him already there, sitting at a corner table with a book in front of him. However, he isn't really reading; he's watching the door intently. I recognize him before I reach the table because his demeanor matches his messages – calm yet slightly tense, which shows in how he holds his coffee cup with both hands.He's handsome, and that surprises me because I hadn't built an image of him; I'd deliberately refused to. The absence of expectation makes the reality hit harder. He's maybe thirty-four, with a face that's strong rather than pretty, dark eyes set deep under brows that are slightly furrowed from thought or anxiety, his hair dark and cut short, and his jaw carrying a day's worth of stubble. His hands around the coffee cup are large and long-fingered, and my body registers them before my brain does – a clench between my legs at the sight of his hands because I have spent six months imagining those hands replacing mine on camera."Hi," I say, and m

Two fingers push into me and curl, and my spine leaves the mattress. He's inside me, his fingers. Nobody's fingers have been inside me since before the camming started because I've been performing solo for half a year, so the feeling of being penetrated by someone else's hand while his mouth works my clit sends my body into a register I haven't accessed on camera. He curls his fingers against the front wall inside me, and his tongue holds pressure on my clit, and the combination builds an orgasm that has nothing performative about it."I'm going to cum," I say, differently than I say it on stream, because his mouth is going to make me cum and the truth of it is too direct for theatrics."Your hand," he says against me. "Is it on your hip?"I look down. My left hand is clamped so hard on my own hip that my knuckles have gone white."Yes.""Then it's real. Let it happen."I cum on his tongue in my room with no audience except the man whose mouth is sealed over my clit while his fingers

The Ouija board is a joke.Honestly, everything about tonight is a joke.Marissa's birthday, her insistence on a séance theme because she's going through a witchy phase that started when she bought a crystal on Etsy and spiraled from there, the candles she bought in bulk from a home goods store that smell like synthetic vanilla and are currently dripping wax onto my coffee table because Marissa said the ritual requires a real flame, her choosing to use my apartment because it was the only one without a smoke detector sensitive enough to care.It's all a fucking joke.There are four of us. Marissa, who is running the board with the intensity of a woman who genuinely believes the dead have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than spell out messages for drunk twenty-six-year-olds. Priya, who is filming for her Instagram story because content is content even when the content is nonsense. Jade, who fell asleep on my couch forty minutes ago and is contributing nothing except occasional