Drip Drip Drip Story Novels & Stories

Drip, drip, drip… My body won't stop trembling as a cold breeze bathes me. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me I haven't eaten, and my mouth is dryer than a parched desert. Drip, drip, drip… Gods! The sound of water leaking somewhere in the basin is driving me bonkers. Drip, drip, drip… “Please, can someone make it stop?” I whimper softly. “It's driving me crazy.” Exhaustion slowly overrides my body.

My cunt locked down and I started squirting, clear fluid pulsing out around his cock in rhythmic spurts that soaked the paper and his thighs. “That’s it—fuck—look at you flooding me—” He followed with a deep, broken grunt, pulling out at the last second so thick ropes of cum painted my open pussy, my clit, the soft insides of my thighs. He kept stroking himself through it, aiming every pulse over the mess I was already making. “Take it,” he groaned. “Every drop all over this pretty cunt.” I was still shaking, still dripping, when he bent down and dragged his tongue through the combined slick and cum. Long, filthy strokes that cleaned my folds, my clit, the sensitive entrance still fluttering

His cum spilled out around his softening length, running down my thighs in warm, messy trails. Still sitting on Blake’s cock, with my chest heaving, and my pussy throbbing and leaking on his load, I looked straight at Professor Harlan. My lips were parted, my breathing ragged, my body still trembling from the intense orgasm…showing him without saying a single word just how much I had been dripping for him all this time.

I blink some more willing something to come into focus. Plink Drip. Plink Drip. Plink Drip. Plink Drip. I squeeze my eyes shut, which actually hurts, then crack them open again and get enough body awareness to shift my head toward the sound that is like nails on a chalkboard in this otherwise silent space. Finally I can see it. One of the faucets in the communal showers is dripping, I’m still in the locker room. Why was I in the locker room? The obnoxious sound is coming from the water hitting the metal soap shelf and then the drain and sending chills up my spine. I slowly move my head back forward, why am I so slow and groggy? Even thinking is hard. I don’t think I am standing, but I don

It would only lead to further scratching and irritation. The sound of water sloshing echoed in the silent waiting room, but Ashlyn paid no mind to it. Perhaps with his injured hand, he'd become a sloppy drinker. It was nothing of her concern. She tapped her foot anxiously against the linoleum, her head rolling around her shoulders, itching for something to keep her mind busy and away from the haunting thoughts that plagued her mind.

They had left me in here hungry, dirty, wet and with nothing to do but count the times that the water dripped, which was alot. I had to take off my dress not even a few hours after waking up because of the water. My hands could actually make splashes now. I was starting to wonder if they would slowly drown me in this room. Imagine drowning by a drip after a year or two. That would be true torture and I knew torture because for two weeks Klaus tortured me so I would be prepared for what the future holds. I actually think they were trying to make me lose my mind because the bare gray concrete walls were alittle too close causing the dripping to echo somehow. Every drip had me now wanting to pu

My clit is so swollen and my juice are dripping, then his finger move with purpose against my clit, each stroke faster than the last one and unable to hold it any longer a moan escape from my lip but dad is quick to cover my mouth with the blanket to prevent my mom from hearing. "Not too loud honey, we don't want mommy finding out what kind of slut her precious baby is. Do we"?. dad whispers. Dad is right about that, am a slut. I've fantasize alot about him, wondering what lays beneath his thighs. I've thought about what fucking him would be like . I've longed to be under his mercy while he fuck me senseless .

I was starting to wonder if I was dreaming because it just didn’t seem real. Taking my drip bag with me, I sit in the corner, directly under the camera. I had no idea if they could see me in this position, but I felt a little less watched. I play with the drip feed, connecting it and reconnecting it, seeing how long I could go before I felt like I was going to die. I couldn’t get past five seconds. It wasn’t even enough time for me to attack anyone, but maybe I could use the tube, it was long enough to wrap around someone's neck.

Drip. At first I thought it was the leaky sink in the hallway. But the sound was coming from behind the wall above my head. I sat up slowly. The room smelled wrong. Like iron. Like rust. Then came the sound—squelch. Like something soft and wet being dragged along stone. A sickening line of red trickled down from the corner where wall met ceiling. Not water. Not ink. Blood. I blinked. It kept coming. Thick. Red. Fresh.

Water dripped from the ceiling, hitting the floor with a rhythmic tink-tink-tink that echoed in the oppressive silence. "We're safe for a second," Aradaa whispered, his back hitting the cool, damp wall. He slid down until his butt hit the mossy floor, his breathing coming in shallow, jagged hitches. The prismatic light in his eyes was fading, the edges turning a dull, exhausted grey.