Dirty Minded Poems Novels & Stories

I scream, struggling in vain while he just keeps thrusting into me, his grip on my hips and ass tight. He laughs again, "Yes, this dirty lowlife is fucking you. Look at your pussy clenching around my dirty cock. You like this, don't you? Being a dirty slut, a cum bucket." "You-----------" I moan when he hits that spot again, my head thrown back against my will, moaning loudly. "I thought so," he grunts, pounding harder into my pussy, his heavy balls slapping against my pussy lips. "Filthy whore. Take my cock."

Vladimir couldn’t help but feel intimidated by his eyes. Head angling to the side, wearing a blank facial expression, Mort had no desire to answer him. As much as possible, he did not want to waste saliva on this filthy little skunk. "What makes you think Boss will give that?" Klauss asked, laughing half-heartedly. His voice shaking with anger from the nasty dirt attaching him. He feels like he is the dirtiest person in the world, dirtier than a greasy person, and has more germs than a sewer. His blood boils in rage and the feeling of revulsion badly wants him to go on killing this time.

His voice was dark and full of promise when he whispered, “I’m going to own all of you. Body, mind, and soul.” A shiver ran down my spine, and my body clenched even harder around the one beneath me. His words weren’t just dirty—they were a vow. A claim. My body responded instantly, heat rushing through me, my heart racing like it might burst. His hands spread my cheeks apart slowly, exposing me in a way that made me whimper. I felt completely at their mercy, open and vulnerable, but instead of fear, there was only need. Then I felt it—the wet, hot slide of his spit hitting my tight, untouched hole. I gasped out loud, my head snapping up at the sensation. The act was filthy, shameless, and it

Not to my quiet house, not to my respectable life. I'd belong to the craving, to the filth, to cocks and the kind of sin that eats you whole. But was I really about to fuck a man at a public restroom?

Sometimes the dirtiest things were the most honest. There was something liberating about being filthy with a stranger, saying the words most people kept locked inside, words that hummed with a forbidden thrill. Tarja had never been good at hiding desire. Finnish directness, perhaps, or simply a structural integrity that demanded honesty. When James had first suggested video chat, she'd simply said 'Yes, but I want to see everything.' And she had. The screen had been a thin veil, easily pierced.

Ava rode Oliver while I sat on Julian’s face, his talented tongue working my clit and pussy until I came with a shuddering moan. Then Julian had me bent over the edge of the bed, slamming into me from behind while Ava and Oliver 69’d beside us, the wet slurping sounds mixing with our skin slapping. Hours seemed to pass in a haze of pleasure. The room filled with constant noise — creaking bed, wet flesh colliding, moans, grunts, and filthy encouragement. “Take Daddy’s cock deeper, princess.” “God, Ava, your pussy is gripping me so tight.” “Leena, come on my tongue like a good slut.”

A painful expression appeared on his ugly nasty face before I threw his hand away and growled in his face in a menacing voice while shooting angry, murderous daggers at him through enraged, infuriated eyes, feeling like a bubbling volcano from inside, ready to burst. "You are the most shameless gold digger and dirty bitch I have ever seen, you little slut!!! I wonder how many dicks that little stinky ass hole of yours have taken till now or if it's even clean after so many ruffians and rogues do it. Tell me, is it still small? I wonder if it has stretched so much that it has become a sag by time now. Who knows what kind of disease it must be carrying while being rotten from in and out. How m

We’ve fucked in the Kitchen, shower, tub, Couch, even the woods and once against the hallway wall because he looked at me too long and I suddenly forgot how to behave like a civilized immortal creature. Absolutely shameless behavior, most especially when I spat in his face saying I would never ever be with his type. And hell… As embarrassing as it’s been it’s also been euphoric. Like dangerously euphoric! It’s the kind of pleasure capable of making powerful women ruin their own lives willingly. I was beginning to understand why mortals wrote poetry and that’s a horrifying realization even for me. Honestly the only reason I’d managed to crawl out of bed this morning was pure determination.

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