All Chapters of Unheard Pleasures (Hot Erotic Story Collection): Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The TV just dead. Fire' the only light, but it was only a dim orange glow dancing across the walls.Snow still falling outside We were now in the dark - alone. Dick hard on direct contact on her soft butt. My dick harder at the thought of itThis isn't right Neither of us moved. Her breathing had changed. I could feel her heartbeat through her back against my chest. “Power’s out,” I said. Voice rough, coughing “Yeah.” We went silent for some while Then her hips shifted, just a tiny roll back against me. My cock jumped, pressing harder into the cleft of her ass through the layers of fabric. She let out a soft, shaky exhale. “Jess…” She turned her head slightly. Her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t talk.” She said, her breath on my jaw Her hand left mine. Palmed me through my jeans,fragile, but then she squeezed it, a squeeze that lastly for almost a full minute I hissed through my teeth. She squeezed again. Rubbed the length of me with her palm. I groaned

The SUV smelled like beer and snow. Four of them, all teens. They packed around me in the back seat. Tyler, the muscular one I’d been staring at, kept his hand high on my thigh the whole drive. The others touched me, fingers brushing my tits through my blouse inturn giving me goosebumps, someone squeezing my ass from the back. Was too drunk to be offended, too broken, too empty to give a fuck anymore. We reached The four of them half-carried, half-guided me inside. Tyler’s strong arm around my waist, the others laughing and stumbling behind us. The door slammed shut behind us. One of them flicked the light on A harsh yellow bulb swinging from the ceiling. Two double beds, a crappy TV, and a mirror on the wall that showed every angle of what was about to happen. I was drunk, heartbroken. And I didn’t give a single fuck anymore. Tyler pushed me against the wall first, hard, his mouth crashing into mine, his hands were rough, yanking my skirt up, fingers shoving my panties

The house smelled like sage, roasted garlic, and the cinnamon candles Mom had lit everywhere. Thanksgiving was tomorrow, but half the family had already rolled in tonight, uncles, aunts, cousins, the whole loud pack. Dad insisted we host because, well, we could. Biggest place in the family, biggest dining room, biggest everything. Marble floors, double ovens, wine cellar nobody ever touched except Uncle Ray when he thought no one was looking. I was used to it. The house was alive in that loud, messy way only big family gatherings can be. Dad’s mansion in the hills - marble floors, twenty-foot ceilings, the kind of place that makes people whisper when they walk in. It had turned into chaos now Aunts arguing over stuffing recipes in the kitchen, uncles yelling at football on the massive TV, cousins chasing each other through the halls. I’m Max, eighteen. Senior year. Rich-kid problems, right? Except tonight I couldn’t sleep. I’d By midnight the house had finally gone quiet. I

The Next Morning - It's Thanksgiving💚 Last night I left Lisa' room before anyone could catch us. Went too my room to complete and drained any little bit of cum left in my dick. Masterbating to the thought of her again And from there I slept off zzzzzzz ..... The next morning's the feast. I had to wake up early despite the late night with Lisa, let's not forget steamy. I had to join in to the preparation for the feast The meal was set, finally. And everything was ready. Everyone had come to the long dinner table now THE TABLE The long mahogany table stretched across the dining hall like something out of a magazine. Turkey golden and glistening in the center, stuffing spilling out, cranberry sauce in crystal bowls, mashed potatoes with pools of gravy, green beans with almonds, three different pies cooling on the sideboard. Wine bottles already open. Laughter and clinking glasses filled the room. Everyone was here -- grandparents at the head, aunts and uncles squ

Hi I’m twenty. Junior year. English lit major. And I’m failing my senior seminar because Dr. Caleb Kane is impossible. He’s thirty-eight, married, tenured, and looks like he stepped out of a black-and-white film—dark hair just long enough to curl at the collar, wire-rimmed glasses, always in tailored blazers and open-collar shirts that show the hollow of his throat when he swallows. I’ve always hated how quiet the English building gets after 8 p.m. The hallway lights dim to save energy, and the only sound is the hum of the vending machine down the corridor. Most students are gone by then. Most professors too. Except Dr. Caleb Kane. He never leaves early. I knocked on his office door at 8:17, laptop under my arm, pretending this was just about the thesis chapter I’d been dodging for three weeks. The truth was messier. I’d been thinking about the way he looked at me during seminar; longer than necessary, eyes flicking to my mouth when I argued about Woolf. I told myself it wa