All Chapters of Naughty Tales: A Dark Collection Of Steamy Stories : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

GwenA low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest as he ground into me, the length of his cock pressing slick and hot against my swollen folds. He thrust forward, no warning, just the thick, full stretch of him sliding into me in one hard stroke. I gasped, knees buckling, palms flattening on the bike as he pressed me down over the seat, his cock buried deep inside me.And then—God, then he did something I didn’t expect.The bike roared to life beneath us. The engine’s growl thrummed straight through the seat, straight into my clit.And fuck—it hit my clit like lightning.I gasped, my whole body jerking forward as the rumble beneath us sent shockwaves through my core. My thighs clamped tighter around the seat, my breath hitched sharp, and my nails dug into my palms.The engine's steady thrum vibrated directly into where I needed it most, each pulse dragging slick pleasure against every soaked, swollen nerve.“Oh my God,” I gasped, voice wrecked already, hips moving without my permissi

Dakota The bar definitely lived up to its reviews. Shady as fuck. The floor stuck to my boots, the air reeked of stale beer and fryer grease, and the lighting was doing some heavy lifting to hide the cracks in the walls. A game must’ve been on—judging by the wall-to-wall crowd of guys yelling at a single oversized TV like their curses could change the score.The menu was one page. Laminated. Sticky. I ordered the burger and fries because it felt like the safest bet. When it came time to order a drink, I glanced at the bartender—who looked like he’d pickled himself in Pabst Blue Ribbon sometime in the late '90s—and knew better than to ask for anything that required more than two ingredients.Whiskey on the rocks. Clean. Sharp. No room for disappointment.I’d always liked whiskey. But I never drank it much. My ex used to say it wasn’t a drink for women—unless I wanted hair on my chest. His idea of flirting was making sure I knew just how unfeminine I was whenever I did something he di

Dakota It took me almost a week to reach out.Days of my mind ping-ponging back and forth. Of rereading his card like it might change. Two weeks of late-night Google spirals—"BDSM sub contracts," "Fantasies dress code," "how to not lose your mind giving up control."All in incognito mode, like the shame would disappear if I deleted the history fast enough. And then, when the fantasy got too loud, the doubt would creep in. What if I wasn’t enough? What if I didn’t deserve what he was offering? When he had given me the card I had been so sure I was going to text him.But then two things happened in the same night that drove me to it: my ex called, smug as ever, asking if I could house sit while he and his new girlfriend jetted off to Cabo. Like we were friends. Like we hadn’t just clawed our way through a messy divorce. Like I hadn’t already given him everything. Asshole.And then, a few hours later, a raccoon broke into my apartment. It crawled through the flimsy screen of my third-f

Dakota The room didn’t actually go quiet—my brain just slammed the door on everything else that wasn’t this. Like my senses got sucked into a vacuum of heat and hunger. My pulse? Thunder. My thoughts? Gone. All I could see was the scene in front of me.The sub on her knees, hands bound tight behind her with thick red rope.Her back was straight, tits out, thighs squeeze together like she needed to hold herself together or fall apart right there. Her skin was already flushed, breath shaky like her body knew what was coming.And the dom? Yeah, he was tall, broad, had that steady energy like he knew exactly how to wreck someone without breaking a sweat. Wore dark jeans and a simple henley, sleeves pushed up, forearms roped in muscle and ink. Calm, controlled. He looked good, sure—but not better than Xavier.Not even close. Because while this guy was focused, locked in, quiet in a way that said watch this, it still felt like a performance.Xavier? I didn't think Xavier would just put o

DakotaThen came the first strike, yanking me straight back into my body, right into his hands. The crop cracked across my ass and holy hell, it lit me the fuck up—sharp and mean and perfect. I gasped, body jolting, thighs trying to clamp shut around his hand on instinct, but they were strapped around the sawhorse.“That’s the game,” Xavier said. His fingers never stopped moving—slipping in and out of me like he had all the time in the world. “You get close, you get corrected.”Another strike. Harder this time. My breath caught in my throat and came out as a cry. I didn’t know if it was pain or pleasure. Both, probably. Maybe that was the point.“You don’t come unless I say,” he murmured. “Not until I decide you’ve earned it.”He pulled his fingers free, slow and slick, and I whimpered—empty and aching and wanting more. Then came the hum. The sound alone nearly made me come. Low, vibrating, deadly. The anticipation was worse than the impact.When he pressed the vibrator to my clit, my