Facial Abuse Women Crave This Mga Nobela at Kwento

I didn’t like the smell of cigarette smoke. Almost all the women at Pleasure Brothel smoke, drink alcohol, and are addicted to cosmetic surgery, so most of them have slightly odd-looking faces. Their faces looked scary under the lights, even though they covered them up with makeup. Seeing their reaction, maybe I should tell the truth because I was not good at lying. When my lips parted slightly to explain a few things to them, Carol came towards us from the direction of the living room. “What are you guys doing? Do you want to kill her? Disperse and return to your bedrooms. Now!” Carol shouted with wide eyes, her index finger pointing at them.

"Is this what you want, slut? To be fucked? To be a piece of meat?" I shook my head viciously, though the idea thrilled me. To be helpless, to be taken by a stranger, to be fucked bloody by some uncaring male that I would never see again. It was dirty and wicked and so arousing that I moaned, shuddering under his hands, gritting my teeth not to scream 'yes, take me, fuck me, abuse me.' He grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerking my head back. "Do you want it, slut, filthy tart? You want to be fucked like an animal?"

Courtesy of this woman. “You really are something aren’t you?” I teased as I gave her nipple a lick. “No wonder you need so many men to satisfy you.” Ahbaya snorted then smiled. “As they say… four is better than one.” I hummed in agreement then began to run my fingers on her soft skin. Caressing her soft breast then giving it a squeeze. My eyes locked into her as I sucked on her nipple, making her neck arch in pleasure as she moaned my name in a whisper.

Oh no! I grab her hair and whisper. "What do you call me?" I ask, withdraw and thrust in again. "Ah! Shit, please..." She could have fought me if she really meant her plea but nah, she is enjoying this. It's what she wants. It's why she chose to be my mistress. We, vampires are fucked up. You may not believe this, but we are sick in the head. We are so traumatised that we crave for constant pain. We see distress as pleasure.

Chapter 3 “That’s barely scratching the itch, you idiots, more, I need more, your cocks aren’t enough alone, force both in my pussy, stretch it wider, fill me completely,” I snarled, the craving turning me feral, voice rough with demand, their faces paling with terror even as their cocks twitched back to life.

*** Lucas was showing the video around the table while we were having lunch, and I was angry. "Is that what you do whenever you hook up with a girl?" I have to ask. Seeing that I'm not into the video like the other, Lucas takes his phone, locks it, and is upset. "What are you, a virgin man?" he says. "I just don't like women being treated horribly." "Remind me never to show you any of my sex videos again," says Lucas. I bit into my sandwich angrily. "So, who next are you looking forward to sleeping with?" Toby questions Lucas, amused by his promiscuous lifestyle.

Men might be nasty and all, but women are much more perverted and vile creatures. I was terrified of getting touched by someone like her, knowing that she would do nothing but abuse and degrade me for hours. It was getting more sickening every passing minute of this ordeal. And it only got worse when Skinny continued his demands after his last statement. I couldn't help but to shake, but I tried my best to remain calm so as not to become weaker than I am. " Fifteen Thousand!" Skinny stated smugly, looking at the woman.

"You're getting mugged. Where's your phone and give us all the money you've got!" They looked rough and sounded wicked. She was easily frightened by their imposing auras. "Hey, that's all the money I have in that bag. Please let me go," she cried. When a woman who was cute cried and begged, she became more desirable. Evie was young and very adorable. The tip of her nose turned red along with her ears and the slants of her eyes when she cried. The man pointing the knife stared keenly at her face. His eyes lit up with visible leachery, he could not resist swallowing.

I was accosted almost immediately. "Axel Yakov," a woman purred. "You must be so... pent up after all that time locked away. I'd love to help you release that tension." The flirtatious vixen sidled up to me, her fingers trailing like fire along my arm, pushing her huge tits toward my chest. My body was fucking hungry for touch, for carnal pleasure. Four goddamn years in jail had left me starved and desperate for intimacy, and I couldn't fucking deny that my hormones were in sexual overdrive. But there wasn't a chance in hell I was screwing this woman.

As sick as it was… her mind betrayed her and went back to him. To the nights when he locked her up, whispered twisted endearments against her skin, branded her with his obsession. But he hadn’t let others touch her. He hadn’t allowed strangers to hurt her like this. He had been insane, yes—but at least she’d known the devil she was with. This? This was faceless, organized torment. Robotic cruelty. CRACK. She choked on her sob, tears spilling down her cheeks, mixing with the sweat and humiliation. The women didn’t stop. They didn’t even blink. They simply delivered pain as instructed—methodically, mechanically, until red welts bloomed like angry vines down her back.