Dirty Stories To Read Novels & Stories

I spat, my voice filled with disdain. " You are not only incompetent in bed, but you are also abusive!" I mocked. " I wonder what the media outlets will say if they learned that the perfect Tates heir, Derek Tates strangled his wife to near-death." I whispered, and I watched in amusement as his face paled. Of course, to those rich and elite families, their reputations were everything. They'd do anything, selling their souls if necessary, just to guard their privately screwed personalities.

keeping their bed undefiled. But everything changed when she stumbled on Mark's aged diary. Out of curiousity due to how he pampered and hide the diary, she decided to read. Cindy got the greastest shock of her life, when she started flipping the diary’s pages. Mark fantasy had always to be treated like a shameless cuck, used, abused and humiliated publicly. Reading his shameless fantasy, Cindy cummed like never before, flicking her clit furiously.

"There's no story." "Oh, I disagree." She waves the polaroid in my face. The image had developed now—Simone's face half-hidden, but my profile is clear. "Damien Adams, tech philanthropist, fucks a stripper raw in a strip club. He calls himself daddy and begs her to cum." She tilts her head. "Your shareholders would love that." I remained unfazed. "This is illegal, whatever you publish would be taken down." "Who said anything about publishing?" She steps back, tucks the Polaroid into her tiny clutch purse. "You know where to find me."

We stayed joined against the counter until our breathing slowed, and then he eased out, and the warm slide of his come leaking onto the tile made my stomach tighten with filthy satisfaction. That same night, after my mother had returned and gone to bed, he came to my room again in the dark. The visit was quieter and more desperate, the risk of her waking only a few doors away making every thrust sharper. He pushed into me from behind while I stayed on my side and the slow deep strokes built until I came with my face pressed into the pillow to muffle the sounds. He filled me again and then stayed inside me until his cock softened, and only then did he ease out and leave me with the evidence o

Stephen Brock. The man continued spreading lies online almost daily. Interviews. Fake stories. Anonymous articles painting himself like the victim. At this point, it wasn’t even about heartbreak anymore. It was revenge. And honestly? I was tired of being quiet. One afternoon Amelia walked into Sebastian’s office holding a thick folder while looking unusually excited. “You’re going to love this.” Sebastian looked up from his laptop calmly. “What is it?” Amelia dropped the folder dramatically onto the desk. “Evidence.”

My library professor whose deep commanding voice made my thighs clench during lectures. The man I’d fantasized about bending me over these very tables and fucking me senseless until I can’t remember my name. I opened the book, and the dedication page read: For those who crave quiet darkness.” My breath hitched. I flipped to the next page and started reading. “She knelt before him in the silence of stacks, skirts pushed high, panties already soaked. “Read it out,” He ordered. “Every filthy word, while I taste how wet you’ve become for me.”

She came fast—thighs shaking, milk spraying across both faces in erratic bursts—then sagged between them, panting, while they licked the mess from her skin and each other’s chins before slipping back to their day like nothing had happened. Nights stretched filthier. At 3 a.m. on the living-room rug, after the baby settled, Emily lay back on the soft wool while they stripped her slowly. Daniel between her thighs, Marcus at her chest—they nursed for what felt like hours, long deep draws that emptied her gradually, then greedy kneading until milk soaked the rug beneath her shoulders. Fingers joined mouths: two sets stretching her pussy, curling, scissoring, until she squirted across their wrist

“Leonard told the golf story again.” “Crime,” I said. “Punishable by lemon tart,” she said, and handed me a shortbread like a bribe. “What are you reading?” “Medieval trade routes,” I said, as if that were a thing I do without a man in my closet. She squinted at me over the kettle. “You’re flushed.” “Kettle heat,” I said.

I dived into my bed with the magazine. “Just what I needed.” I muttered, I was very horny, but I tried to fight the thoughts that were coming to my mind, but the magazine in front of me wasn't helping matters. "Fuck it," I muttered, carefully scanning the magazine. It was a sex and foreplay guide. My eyes nearly popped off at the next picture. A man was sucking off the breasts of a woman who was obviously enjoying herself. I felt a rush to my pussy. I instantly knew had to do this before I completely lost my mind.

Anyone could walk in at any moment and see us, but none of us seemed to care. There was a certain thrill to it; the fact that we could get caught. We weren't doing anything illegal, but it sure felt like it. "You shouldn't be pleasured after your actions, yet here you are, enjoying it like a good little slut." I literally moaned. I'd thought dirty talk was overrated, but this… this right here was everything.