Pure Pleasures (A Collection of short Stories) のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

I slammed the front door harder than I meant to, the sound echoing through the dark 🏠 It was 2:17 a.m. according to my phone. My eyes were swollen from crying the whole drive home, and my chest felt like someone had kicked a hole in it. Jake had dumped me in the middle of a crowded bar like I was nothing and three years down the drain because “things felt off.” Such an ASSHOLE! I kicked off my heels in the hallway and padded into the living room, still in that tight black dress I’d worn hoping to feel sexy tonight. The house was quiet. Dad was probably passed out upstairs after another long day at the firm, but the kitchen light was still turned on though, and I heard soft footsteps. “Kiara?” Mammy’s voice sounded low and comforting. She appeared in the doorway wearing one of those silky robes that always looked way too good on her. Early forties, but she had this body that made me feel like a clumsy kid -- full hips, heavy tits that strained the fabric, dark hair falling

Dad got back from Chicago just two days later, acting like the world was still perfectly normal. He walked through the door with his suitcase, kissed Mammy on the lips right there in the foyer like he always did, and gave me that familiar side hug. “Missed my girls,” he said cheerfully. I smiled back, cheeks aching from the effort, while my stomach twisted into knots. Mammy stood behind him, her eyes locked on mine over his shoulder, that secret little smirk playing on her lips. My pussy clenched involuntarily, a fresh rush of wetness soaking my panties. I excused myself to the bathroom almost immediately just to catch my breath. The guilt was crushing me so bad, this was my dad’s wife. The woman who had helped raise me for the past six years. And yet every time I closed my eyes I saw her face shiny with my cum in her mouth and heard her voice calling me her dirty little girl. I tried to act normal during dinner that night-- laughing at Kevin’s stories from the trip, helping cle

The gym reeked like straight-up balls and ass by 11 at night. That mix of old sweat soaked into the mats, cheap-ass disinfectant, and whatever funk people left behind after grinding through their workouts. Alex Rivera had been there for hours, smashing sets long after the normal crowd fucked off home. Her black tank top was glued to her body, soaked dark under her tits and down her back. Every squat made her thick thighs burn and her pussy feel heavy and full of blood, lips rubbing together inside her shorts with every rep. She was pissed off, like always, because Jordan fucking Hale was across the room doing the same shit. Jordan looked like a sweaty little bitch in heat. Lean and cut, that messy blonde ponytail swinging every time she dropped into another deadlift. Her gray shorts were wedged up her ass crack, dark sweat stains spreading right between her legs . Every grunt she let out echoed off the mirrors. Alex hated her. Two years of this crap -- Jordan stealing clients

Jordan was still catching her breath, pussy leaking all over the bench, when Alex grabbed her by the throat and yanked her up. Their faces were inches apart, both messy with spit and cum. “You think one little orgasm makes us even?” Alex growled, squeezing just enough to make Jordan’s eyes widen. “I’m fucking you till you’re crying for me, bitch.” Jordan smirked through the grip and slapped Alex’s tit hard. “Big talk. Let’s see if that fat cunt can actually keep up.” They crashed together again, kissing sloppy and angry, hands grabbing everywhere. Alex shoved Jordan back onto the bench but Jordan pulled her down on top. Their sweaty bodies slid against each other, tits mashing, stomachs sticking with cum and sweat. Alex ground her thick thigh between Jordan’s legs again, feeling that hot pussy smear all over her skin. “Ride it,” Alex ordered, biting Jordan’s collarbone. Jordan did, hips rolling fast, leaving a shiny wet streak down Alex’s quad. But she wasn’t letting Alex

The rain was coming down sideways when Lena pushed through the sticky door of The Last Drop. Her mascara was already fucked from crying in the Uber, and the cheap umbrella had given up two blocks back. She just wanted one drink. Something strong enough to burn the taste of her ex’s bullshit out of her mouth. The place was dead except for a couple of old drunks at the far end and the bartender wiping down the scarred wood like he had all night. He looked up when the bell jangled, and his eyes did that slow drag over her soaked dress that stuck to her tits and hips. Tall, maybe twenty-eight, dark ink crawling up both arms, black hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it. A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Rough night, sweetheart?” “Something like that,” she muttered, sliding onto a stool. Water dripped off her onto the floor. “Whiskey. Neat. Keep ‘em coming.” He poured without asking twice, sliding the glass over. “Name’s Jax. You look like you’re about to either fig