Colby Brock Smut Novels & Stories

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across his muscular, dirty body. Colt walked over to the sink and turned on the water. He started washing his hands, black grease swirling down the drain. But after a few seconds, he stopped, looked at me, and smirked. “Fuck it,” he muttered. “I like them dirty.” He crossed the distance in three strides, greasy hands grabbing my thighs and spreading my legs wide. My sundress rode up, exposing my soaked pussy to the cool garage air. “Colt… this place is filthy,” I whispered, a shiver running through me. “I feel like such a slut sitting here like this.”

“You’re human. Well. Metaphorically. Ish.” He finally turned to look at me, brow furrowed. “What if I already am screwing it up and I just haven’t noticed yet?” I met his gaze. “Then we’ll fix it. Together. No lone wolves, remember?” Colby didn’t respond right away, but the tension in his shoulders eased. A beat passed. Then another. “…You really brought cookies, didn’t you?” he asked, eyeing the bag I’d set beside me. “I bring offerings to the brooding beast.” I opened it dramatically. “Peanut butter chocolate chip. Baked with love and possibly spite.”

Colby said and gave Rodrick a knowing, greasy smirk. After Colby gave me a mocking, suggestive wink, Rodrick gripped his arm and steered him back out, giving me time to get dressed.

Although Colby's back blocked the view of Tanya's pussy, she knew that he slipped his fingers inside there from the way she clutched his shoulders and threw her head back in excitement. She deleted the video as she could not bear to watch it anymore. She played another video, it was likely on a different day since her appearance was different. It was still in his kitchen and Colby had an apron on his body. She entered the kitchen, excitedly hugged him from behind, and leaned her face on his back as she asked, "why does it smell so nice in here, darling?" Colby turned and faced her, "you may have forgotten but how can I? Today is your birthday so I'm baking a special cake for you."

A hurray for me, yay. Sighing, I went towards my locker. She smirked at me, giving me the space to open up the lock. Opening up the metal door, I placed my books inside and closed it. “What do you need?” I said, turning towards her. I was already tired and I didn’t want another drama. “Aw, poor whore is talking back?” Her high pitched voice entered my ears. I winced back. “Oh wait, you’re not a whore, you’re a fucking prostitute who loves to open her legs.”

Nova Colby jumped to his feet, glass in hand, placing himself between us and Dominic. “Docks,” Dominic said in surprise, unable to see us behind him. “Is that water? May I have it?” “Uh…sure,” Colby answered, offering the glass. Dominic downed the rest of it in one gulp. “Thank you. Someone just shoved her tongue down my throat. She tasted like vomit.” “That’s… disgusting,” Colby said hesitantly.

“Are you scared your perfect little boyfriend will find out how slutty you are for your stepbrother?” A wave of anger crashed over me, mixing with the mortification already crawling up my skin. “I’m not slutty for you,” I shot back, my jaw tightening. “And Aaron is going to be my boyfriend, so we can’t keep—” I didn’t get to finish. Because in a blur, he turned me, pressing me against the door, his body flush against mine. A sharp smack landed against my thigh, not painful, but enough to send a jolt of heat through me.

He's right and we both know it and I hate him for making me acknowledge it. "I'm leaving." I turn toward the door. He moves faster. His hand slams against the wood beside my head and we're suddenly inches apart, close enough that his cologne is already doing the thing it always does, cedar and something warmer that makes my body remember things my brain is working very hard to bury. "Move, Cain." "No." "I'm not doing this." "Doing what?" He steps closer, his body almost touching mine. "Talking to your stepbrother?"

Danae curls up on her side, catching her breath from her orgasm, oblivious to the mixture of sexual excrement pooling in the aisle beneath her. I help her retrieve her clothing, adjust her skirt around her sticky ass and tie her top between her bruised and swollen tits. She defines the - ridden hard and put away wet - remark so often heard on college campuses. Her makeup is smeared and her lips are swollen, with no remaining traces of her lip-gloss. Her hair is a tangle of sweat and dried cum, while her thighs are caked with a sticky coating of mixed juices that are dripping from her pussy and her ass.

When he came he’d bite down on her shoulder—hard enough to mark—then wash her hair with rough tenderness before leaving her dripping against the wall. Colt’s favorite was public-adjacent. During club parties he’d pull her under the long bar table in the main room—members laughing and drinking above them, boots thumping inches from her head. He’d spread her thighs, hook her legs over his shoulders, and eat her out slow and filthy while conversation carried on overhead. His tongue would circle her clit, fingers curling inside her, until she was biting her own arm to stay quiet. When she came—shaking, silent sobs—he’d lick her clean, kiss the inside of her thigh, and crawl out grinning like not