Arabella Field Nude Novels & Stories

The yard stretches out like an arena floor: a square of cement surrounded by high walls, bristling with barbed wire. The sky is gray, but the light is blinding. Women are sitting in groups, some laughing, some smoking, some watching. And in the center, the empty space. The one reserved for newcomers. I step forward. Murmurs rise like a chorus. — That's her… — The madwoman from the north. — The one who took another's face… — The fallen princess. That last word floats, heavy, almost sacred. I receive it like an invisible crown. A figure approaches.

That calmed me—at least there was no other trouble to worry about. Arabella, though… she floored me. Tall, her brown hair loose around her piercing grey eyes and wearing the most daring outfit I’d ever seen on her. A sheer embroidered top—no bra underneath—deep blue florals climbing across the fabric, paired with wide sweeping trousers and a fringed wrap. My jaw damn near hit the ground. “I’m a fashion designer, am I not?” she said, catching my stare. “Besides, soon I’ll be the size of an elephant, heavily pregnant. So I’m enjoying myself while I can.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him as he watched Giselle close the door behind her. "You look breathtaking," Arabella said, pulling back from the hug and catching his attention. He smiled at her. "Well, I am a breath-taker," he said, winking. She hummed seductively. "Alright, why don't Mr. Breath-taker take my last breath away?" she asked, moving toward the bed. She reached for the tiny hem of her blue crop top and pulled it off, giving him a view of her breasts. She smirked seductively as she moved her hands underneath her mini skirt and pulled down her panties.

Like Michael was mine now, even if she didn’t know it yet. We finally got home and walked inside the house. Our parents weren’t around, so the place was quiet. Arabella headed straight to her room, still talking about how sore she was. I went to mine and closed the door behind me. The second I was alone, that smile turned into something darker, hungrier. I stripped out of my clothes slowly, dropping my skirt and crop top on the floor. My nipples were already hard again. I stood naked in front of the mirror for a moment, looking at my body… the same body as Arabella’s, but I knew how to use mine better.

Arabella was already waiting for me with her bra off, displaying her beautiful breasts to my eyes and seemingly calling out to me. "You... took it off first?" I asked a stupid question but couldn't think of anything else as I was stunned by my girlfriend's sudden initiative. He looked embarrassed but nodded while looking at me doubtfully. "You said you wanted to continue from earlier, right? So...." I immediately touched the tops of Arabella's breasts, which immediately let out an erotic-sounding sigh. I swallowed, realizing that what I was experiencing now was much better than the fantasy that had crossed my mind while driving earlier. Arabella's face looks much more beautiful, and the soft

But, on the second day, they took time off and went to a nightclub. Arabella wore a bloodthirsty red dress, with a generous neckline and opening on the sides. She was the personification of sensuality, or debauchery; that depended on the mind of whoever saw it. She had very little left to the imagination, as every line of her body was on display.

“I have a friend of mine which I can't seem to understand. She works for my dear cousin, who so happens to be late as always. Literally, a few days into her work she feels the need to begin a romantic, wait, sexual relationship with her boss! Personally, I would call her a slut but what do you guys think?” The crowd is silent and I get up from my seat, ready to speak some sense into my idiot of a cousin. The curtains open to reveal an anxious Arabella. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't want to fuck her right now. She looks so incredible. I bit my lips as I admire the skin-tight pink lingerie she was wearing in front of everyone. “Here, this is Arabella. Thoughts on her as she models one of my

said an unknown person. Then a picture appeared on social media. Roman in Tokyo, Grinning as he held a glass of champagne. Besides him was Camille Hartley, wearing a red dress that appeared to have been made to order. Arabella switched her phone off. She took everything from her purse, including her ID, cards, and wallet, and threw them all in the motel's toilet the following morning. One by one and then it flushed. She had had enough of Arabella Sinclair. Her name was no longer necessary.

As I soaked myself and submerged myself continually until I felt almost alright. A gaggle of ladies entered and giggled at the sight of me. What was up with these airheads today? "How are you, Arabella? I thought you would still be in bed." Tina said prowling forward naked and unashamed. She had every right to with full high breasts, a flat stomach and an ass that wouldn't just quit. "And why would that be?" I deadpanned, not in the mood for any talk. I wanted to tell her to shut up because the sound of her voice was already grating on my eardrums.

Six I stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against my skin as I walked toward the pool. The soft glow of the underwater lights illuminated the water, casting rippling reflections onto the stone deck. And then I saw her. Arabella. She moved through the water with hypnotic grace, her body slicing through it like a siren born to the sea. The tiny red latex bikini she wore clung to her every curve, not just accentuating but celebrating each perfect dip and line of her frame.