Dirty Short Stories Mga Nobela at Kwento

She only has a week left to finish her deadline before her editor kills her for real. Sam sighed, bored out of his mind. He had been staring at Gina who did nothing but stare at the laptop. He closed his eyes to take a nap, but the loud sound of the thunder outside snapped his eyes open. It wasn't what caught his attention, but the tiny whimper coming from his mate, and he abruptly stood up when he noticed her shaking.

I began, my voice shaking a little at first. “It started about a year ago and it just keeps getting worse. I get these waves of uncontrollable arousal all the time, even when I’m not thinking about sex at all. My pussy just starts getting wet, really fucking wet, like I’m in heat or something. Sometimes I’m sitting in class trying to focus on a lecture and suddenly I feel it start dripping down my thighs. I have to excuse myself and run to the bathroom just to wipe up or change my panties before it soaks through my clothes. And the wet dreams… every single night. I wake up humping my pillow like a desperate little slut, sheets completely soaked underneath me, my clit throbbing so hard it act

My mind screamed yes, more, fuck me right here on this couch where Jake sits every night. He broke the kiss, breathing heavy, forehead pressed to mine. “We shouldn’t… but goddamn, I’ve wanted this too. Those little shorts you wear around the house, bending over in front of me. Teasing me every damn time.” I laughed softly, wild and needy, nipping at his bottom lip. “Then take it. Jake’s gone all day. We’re alone. Touch me like you mean it.” I shoved his hand inside my shorts, past my panties, letting his thick fingers slide through my slick folds. Two pushed inside me easy, curling just right, and I cried out, clenching around them. So full already.

The man's mouth parted slightly as he watched her touch herself. She pinched her nipples between her fingers, gasping at the sensation. The stranger's free hand drifted down to palm himself through his boxers. The sight of him touching himself while watching her sent another flood of wetness to her already soaked panties. She let one hand slide down her stomach, over the lace of her underwear. Her fingers pressed against her clit through the fabric, making her hips jerk slightly. "Fuck," she whispered to the empty room. Her legs trembled as she continued touching herself, circling her clit through her panties.

His length stays upright, standing tall as a blatant dare. I crawl over his waist, leaning down to press a quick, mocking kiss to the tip before positioning myself over his thigh. Now I just want to see how far I can push him. How much of that calm, stubborn control I can strip away. “Tell me a Bible story, Brock,” I whisper, slowly guiding his tip to my aching cunt. “I heard you used to be quite the storyteller in your youth.” I lower myself onto him, but I stop halfway. I refuse to take the full length. When dealing with a man who can split you in half, holding back is the only way to survive.

His grip on her chin tightened, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh until she could feel the imprint of each one. “Such a greedy little slut,” He murmured, his lips brushing against hers with every word, his breath mingling with hers. “Say it. Say you're my dirty little slut." "I.. I'm a dirty little slut'" She said, not even feeling ashamed. "My dirty little slut" He corrected huskily. "I'm your dirty little slut" “That’s right. But you're still not getting anything yet." His thumb traced the shape of her lower lip before slipping inside, pressing down on her tongue. “Let’s play a game, my dirty little slut.”

WARNING‼️ THIS STORY IS A PARANORMAL STORY 🔞 Chapter 1 My skin felt sticky from sweat as I peeled off my damp shirt and stepped closer to the tall antique mirror I had dragged out of the closet earlier. I wiped sweat from my neck and stared at my reflection, for a second everything matched. Then my reflection smiled a heartbeat after I did. My pulse jumped. I blinked hard and shook my head I was just tired that was all. I turned away to grab a towel but something made me glance back. My reflection stared at me, eyes darker, lips parted.

The living room clock chimes once, a lonely sound that cuts through the thick, heavy air. It’s three in the morning. The TV has gone to a stagnant screen, the blue light washing over the three of us like a cold wave. I’m still sitting on the floor, my back against the sofa, with Ria and Remi draped over me like fallen soldiers. Their skin is cool now, the sweat drying into a tacky film, but the heat between my legs hasn't fully subsided. I look at the wreckage of the room, the ripped clothes, the spilled drinks, and the rug that will never be clean again, and I realize we can’t stay here.

It jumped at my touch. “Feel that?” he said. “That is what winning does to me. And right now, I want my prize.” My heart slammed against my ribs. “Here? Now?” “Right fucking now.” He shoved me down to my knees on the dirty concrete floor. The smell of sweat and blood was stronger. His bloody hand tangled in my hair and pulled my face against the bulge in his shorts. “Suck it, pretty boy. Show me how bad you want this story.”

I collapsed onto my back, my chest heaving, one forearm slung over my eyes to block out the dim glow from the city lights through the blinds. “Fuck,” I whispered to the dark ceiling. Seven months. It had been seven months since a man had touched me. The last one—Mark, the architect with the nice smile and wandering hands—had lasted three dates before he “realized he wasn’t ready for commitment.” Translation: he’d met someone easier. Before him there was Daniel, who cried after sex because he missed his ex. Before that, Ethan, who ghosted me after I mentioned wanting kids someday. The pattern was exhausting.