Dirty Mind Poems Novels & Stories

I'm a mess – a perfect, filthy, destroyed, worshipped mess. "Don't clean up yet," Ethan says. He grabs his phone. Photographs me – covered in cum, spread on the sheets, the bowl of unused condoms visible on the nightstand, evidence of a night that exceeded every fantasy I've ever had. "Now," he says, setting the phone down. "Who wants to go again?" Round two is dirtier than round one.

Tonight, alone in my corner office, the city twinkling below, I couldn't ignore it anymore. I leaned back in my leather chair, the red holiday sweater hugging my full breasts, skirt hiked up. My fingers trembled as I slipped them under my panties, finding my pussy slick with neglect. 'God, I need this,' I whispered to the empty room, circling my clit slowly. The tree in the corner blinked softly, mocking my solitude. I plunged two fingers inside, thrusting deep, imagining a strong body over mine. My breaths came ragged, hips bucking against my hand. '”Fuck, yes... harder.”

She lubed it fast, dirty. Then shoved it inside—one hole, then the other. Kamara screamed. Double penetration. Hard. Deep. Dirty. She fucked her against the railing, cuffs rattling, the ocean crashing below. “You’re mine now,” Nia hissed. “Not his. Not anyone’s. Mine.” Kamara shattered Again. Again. Again.

* I saw the beauty of the sky Colors so vibrant you'd think they never die * I saw the beauty of the waves Every splash telling a story of younger days * I saw the beauty of the rains Every drop falling freely like horses without reins * I saw the beauty of the night For only then were the stars alight * I saw the beauty in the flames of a fire Each one burning with a different desire * I saw the beauty of Gold Glistening with bitter stories untold * Oh I saw the beauty of dust and clay Simple reminders of our end someday.

“Well, I’m no longer gambling, just really out of cash and in need of some, and winning this would help me out a lot and Marcus Castillo can kiss my ass when I do.” We are soon standing before the machine and after my seventh input, I’m out of pennies to play with. I still don’t get it, if the poem Keeping his demons tamed, Annihilating every form of stain Redeeming his soul day by day Embracing him without casting blame Never letting him go insane.

Anything. I am not immoral or rotten. I am not a sex addict. I am not the kind to be found in this kind of place full of shameless whores. God knows that my mind is far away from sex right now, even with this hunky-dory ass grinding my front as if her life depends on it. Forget my member who is giving her the pleasure that my hands and emotions are denying her. The shock that slapped me today made me lose my focus. Can someone explain to me what the fuck is happening in this cursed life of mine?

The night sky stretches above, clear and star-studded, a canvas of serenity that contrasts with the chaos within me. I've always found comfort in writing, and tonight is no different. The words flow from my fingertips onto the screen, a form of therapy that helps me process the storm of emotions raging inside me. As I jot down a few lines about my situation, the poem takes shape, capturing the essence of my pain and confusion. It's a bittersweet creation, a reflection of the tangled web of emotions I find myself trapped in.

For then both drop their masks and find togetherness, happiness, serenity. I ain't barking mad, ma and dad, neither am I barking sad, but would you bar a king, or ba ba a RAM, especially a newborn lamb? I'm playin' is all, play yin and yang for a ball, for a Cinderella sole, for a sash of ash after the fire is cold. Know, I ain't barking mad - I'm mad for a lamb king though, not a lame king, not the kind that's all ear 'e-go again, making a black hole, not a black whole, not a Santa sack goal, but a Santa sack coal - no matter who die - to gamble with lives, to roll the die, to spin the chamber at the poor, for the poor know hearts are are real at least. No, I ain't no saint, but I can see t

He couldn’t even form proper words anymore, just desperate, blabbering sounds as Damien ruined him. Damien leaned over him, biting the back of his neck hard enough to make Elias whimper. He fucked into him even harder. “I’m going to breed this hole every single day while they’re gone,” Damien growled against his skin. “Pump you full of cum until you’re leaking me for hours. Until you can’t think about anything else but taking my load.” The filthy words hit Elias like a shockwave. His whole body tightened. “Ahh…! Mmmh—! Damien…!” he moaned, voice cracking. “I… I can’t… it’s too much… unngh…!”

It wasn't because of nightmare or anything but that fucking dirty, smelly mutt that I couldn't fall asleep. I tried, I really tried to forget about him, to not think about him. I tried to calm my mind but all I could see was that gorgeous, stinky, growling, furry but sexy ass, hot as hell mutt. My mind was filled with his thoughts only or you can better say, the dirty thoughts about him. I wanted to do so many things to him. Many dirty things and my mind was filled with it. Many evil thoughts were running through him, like how, what and where to do with him.