Dirty Mind Poems Novels & Stories

, I mumbled as I pulled my body from the mattress and ambled to the bathroom. I unzipped my pants and leave my boxer on. I looked down and it's getting bigger and harder. I need to let it go. I need to let go of my orgasms by myself. I wonder how my maids are doing in my house. I miss all of them especially my Ara. She's one of my favorite. I turned on the shower and let the cold water wash the intense heat I am feeling at this moment. I decided to take off my boxer and my underwear and let them fell on the wet tiled floor. I felt the running cold water touches my hard thing and that adds the tension.

That didn't stop me from trying to make myself cum, though. I lost track of time as my mind was 100% focused on my need to orgasm. Had Mistress left me alone for 15 minutes, half an hour or longer? I couldn't hear what was happening downstairs. The incessant buzz of the Hitachi was loud and filled my ears between my moans of pleasure and sobs of desperation. Did Lilly return? Was she currently pleasuring Dawn? That was my job. Maybe the promise to go out to dinner was a ruse and Mistress would be going on a date with someone else while I would be relegated to the shed. Your mind plays terrible games on you when you desperately need to cum.

he groaned, pumping deeper, scissoring and curling his fingers against a certain spot that made me feel something close to heaven. “Is this how wet I make you? Does this tight little pussy get soaked just for me?” he groaned. “Yes— oh god, yes,” I moaned, grinding desperately on his hand. “I’m so fucking wet for you. I'm aching, God…” “Look at you…” he breathed, almost to himself. “You’re shaking.” He finger-fucked me like a starved man, dirty praise spilling from his lips. “Such a greedy little cunt. So tight. So fucking desperate to be ruined.”

Vision whited out, body thrashing till she toppled sideways, gasping like a fish. By 2:15 AM, she'd lost count—five? Six?—each grind more desperate, body pushed to limits. Knees bruised, thighs cramping, pussy a swollen, gaping mess drooling endlessly. Yet she remounted weakly, grinding in slow circles now, chasing the tail-end highs. *Can't stop—it's all I need.* Exhaustion blurred edges, but pleasure anchored her, midnight's ritual etching permanent into her soul. The house slept on, oblivious to her unraveling.

Two pence a heartache, three pence a distaff, the run of my fiber is blood. Hardcore, recoil, my skirts are a gun. I go where the wild fox runs. Two score and twenty days I died long ago – I cannot do this without you. So I reach out my hands, my lustful green hands to catch on the penny inside you. But Devil, you are quick, and Devil, inside me, I'm gutting myself like a blind man. Give that blind man a knife, that blind man a wife, and the Blind God does not kneel before me.

It was already shamefully soaking wet merely from hearing my sister's filthy story, and an unbearable, sweet moisture burst forth, drenching my delicate folds squelchingly. In the place where propriety collapsed, only the dark lust of a corrupted siren bloomed like a poisonous mushroom. Desperately trying to hide my bursting, heated body and my trembling pupils, I coughed dryly in succession, struggling frantically to change the subject. "A-Ahem... T-The wicked inner thoughts of men are truly like beasts, incomprehensible." "Never speak such filthy stories again." Suppressing my burning insides, I feigned a stern scolding. "By the way... That beast-like lowest servant of yours, the one unpac

In a rush, I make my way into the bathroom, desperate to cleanse myself of the lingering remnants of George left on me. Standing beneath the cascading water of the shower, I let it wash over me, hoping that it will cleanse not only my body but also my mind and soul. The memories of the previous night flood my thoughts, images of wild moments and reckless actions that I now regret. I want to wash away those memories and rid myself of the stain they left behind. With a mix of disgust and self-loathing, I begin to rub vigorously at my skin, as if trying to scrub away the evidence of my own indiscretions. The marks on my body serve as a constant reminder of my own actions, fueling my feelings of

I told myself. Writing poems is therapeutic to me, and sometimes I get lost in what I’m writing, not even bothering to think. I let myself write mindlessly, so into it, that I could feel myself humming, yet I couldn’t hear it. I was in an euphoric state. By the time I had come out of it, I realized that I had written a four, full-page erotic poem, and I didn’t have to guess who it was about. Her gaze, striking and fiery,

I sighed when she left the room. I’m tired. Fucking tired from all of this. I went to the bathroom and took a bath. I need a cold shower to calm myself. I put myself under the shower and feel the water running all over my skin. It’s refreshing but every time I remember all my problems, stress took over my system. When I can’t take the cold anymore, I stepped out of the bathroom and changed to my lingerie. It was 10:45 in the evening but still, I’m having a hard time sleeping.

now means this: being used, being claimed, being emptied out on a carpet while skyscrapers watch. And then… the bath. The cleaning. That’s the part that would break me. After he’s been inside you, after he’s made you scream, he washes you like a child. Like something precious he’s just finished using. It’s the ultimate mind-fuck. You’re not a slut; you’re a treasure he just dirtied and is now polishing. How do you come back from that? How do you look at a normal man who fucks you and then falls asleep?