Novel & Cerita Erotic Desi Stories

This gave me more comfortable access to her delicious pussy and let me go deeper with my tongue. Following a tip I'd read in an erotic story somewhere, I began with the alphabet technique, simply recreating the alphabet between her lips. According to the story, the unpredictability of the movements created a wild pleasure that built up steadily. It seemed to be working. By the time I was at Q she was moaning loudly, begging me, "Don't stop, Derek, don't stop!" Of course, I had no intention of stopping. I could have dined on this delicious delicacy all day and all night, wallowing in the amazing taste.

“Is that all?? You can go ahead.” Naomi walked to the bookshelf and bent down. Her skirt lifted high, showing him the blue lace stretched over her ass. She dragged her finger slowly across the spines. “You have a nice collection,” she murmured, pulling one free. She flipped the pages, pretending to read. “Romance.” Her eyes flicked back to him. “Do you have something raw? Something erotic?” "Is that what you want to read?" Raymond asked. "Yeah," she replied. "I love reading erotic stories."

I clamp down on my bottom lip as I take in the scene, allowing the desire that warms my belly to grow. A couple of women in front of me are slowly being undressed from behind by their partners as they are deeply in love. Her breasts protrude as one man slides the dress down his girlfriend's arms. Her lover takes possession of her mouth, but her friend goes straight for her uneven pink nipples. They have a ballet-like choreography to their movements. The display makes me feel good, and that is all I need to be reminded of it. Feeling desperate, I drop the cloth and make my way to Jay's office.

My voice was shaky as I spoke. I saw her smiling before she finally spoke, I black eyes were shining with something I couldn't quite name. No… the opposite of what I was wanting to hear from her… your writing was loving and powerful. I love your story because I love erotic stories myself and I'd like to talk more about it with you. “So are you free this weekend Come to my place Sunday at eight.” I felt my heartbeat increase is it the test that I don't want her to give me that she wants to give me in her house? Or is it something else? I asked myself.

I cried out louder, my hands gripping the edge of the desk as waves of pleasure washed over me. Damien's hands moved to my breasts, squeezing them through the fabric of my blouse. I could feel my nipples hardening, aching for his touch. He trailed kisses up my stomach, his tongue circling my navel before moving higher. He pushed my blouse aside, exposing my bra. With a swift movement, he unclasped it, freeing my breasts. His mouth captured one nipple, sucking it while his hand played with the other. I whimpered, my body writhing under his touch, my pleasure building to a crescendo.

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 body betrayed him even as his mouth tried to refuse. I didn’t give him time to retreat. Stepping closer until my body brushed against his, I reached down, took his large hand in both of mine, and slowly lifted it to my chest. His palm was warm and rough as I pressed it firmly over my left breast. A soft gasp escaped me at the contact. My nipples were already hard and aching. “Feel that?” I whispered, guiding his fingers to squeeze gently. The pressure sent heat straight between my legs. “I want this, Mr. Rossi. I want you.”

I cried out, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. He pushed me back onto the cot, his body covering mine. The weight of him, the heat, was everything I’d dreamed of. His hands were everywhere—kneading my breasts, sliding down my ribs, over my hips. He hooked his fingers into the waist of my simple cotton underwear and tore them down my legs. The sound of the fabric ripping was the most erotic thing I’d ever heard. Then his hand was there. Between my legs. On my pussy. A big, rough-skinned palm cupping me, his middle finger sliding through the wetness I couldn’t control.

I cried out against his mouth, the suddenness making my walls flutter around him. He curled his fingers, stroking that perfect spot inside me while his thumb circled my clit with devastating rhythm. “That’s it,” he growled against my lips. “Feel how greedily your cunt grips me. So tight and so fucking wet for your professor.” The dirty words sent fresh heat rushing through me. I rocked against his hand, chasing the building pressure, my breasts felt heavy, nipples begging for attention. He seemed to sense it. His free hand tugged down the neckline of my dress exposing one breast.