Favorite Sex Stories Novels & Stories

I had soaked the sheets down to the mattress. The faintest grin crossed Nathan’s face. “You need some kind of pleasure in your life. I can’t give it to you. Not like this. Remember all the fun we used to have? All the sexy shit we used to do.” A shiver ran down my spine as I thought about Nathan in healthier times. Our love life had never been an issue. No matter how broken we were, or how petty the argument, our sex life was something that never suffered. Sometimes we would fight over the smallest of things just to end up fucking like rabbits. It was a miracle I didn't get pregnant.

“You really are the club’s favorite little cock whore, aren’t you, Felicia?” “The biggest and sluttiest one,” I answered proudly with a wicked smile, then dove back down. I took him into my mouth, sucking the head with wet, hungry pulls while my hands worked the thick base. He started swelling fast, growing longer and harder on my tongue with every bob of my head. I went deeper, letting saliva run down my chin and drip onto my tits, making them shiny and slick. “Yeah… just like that, Felicia,” Jaxon growled. “Suck it nice and slow at first. Get me rock hard so I can tease all those screaming girls out there. Tell me how much you love this dick.”

When I was done, I headed for my office, shutting the door behind me. Walking to my desk, my hands shook as I pulled the bottom drawer open. In it, several worn paperbacks of my secret stash were laid out. With titles like- CLAIMED BY THE PACK, BRED BY THE BEAST AND TAKEN WITHOUT MERCY. I grabbed Taken Without Mercy, the cover showcasing a naked curvy woman with a fucked out pussy, big tits and two guys by her side with huge mighty cocks. I slid onto my chair, the urge to resist failing me. It's being months and I told myself I'd stop, but the ache in me needed to be satisfied.

that felt like the most powerful ending for this couple. Okay, that was the heartfelt, literary reason. Now for the completely, utterly ridiculous and honest reason: I literally could not write another sex scene. I am not joking. We were closing in on 80,000 words on this thing! A hundred thousand words! Do you have any idea how many different ways there are to describe a hand running through hair? Or a deep gaze across a room? I was starting to lose my mind trying to come up with fresh, non-repetitive action. I truly don't think I would have survived trying to write a fresh, unique, meaningful, and non-absurdly-long sex scene at this point in the narrative. My fingers were cramping, my thes

As I moved towards the master bedroom, I could hear the sounds of pleasure and ecstasy slipping through the gap of the door. Looking thrоugh the little gap by the dооr, I saw my fiancée on all fours with her ass in the air, getting fucked dоggiе style bу Ellen, who had on a strap-on dildo. Selena's hands were tied and hooked up to the poles by the head of the bed. Mу fiancee has a small fetish about being tired and rendered immobile or rеѕtrаinеd. Once ѕhе iѕ, she's willing to go along with anything you want. She really gets turned on by it.

Between sex stories, voyeurism, between cases of betrayal, each one begins, with a swing, with stories of pleasure, tales of passion, involving this company, the multinational Wagner Weber. In which still, the three among their supervisions, among the branches, the cases involving several employees of the companies, the buildings where the passion cases show their countless employees, the sexy secretary, their managers and partners, the passion tales, sex and seduction that surround the centrals. Embark on passion stories in which each tale has its own love affairs, in which each of them has the power of control, amidst the power of pleasure they exert over their lovers, in different moments

“The abuse stories. The missing girls from the Boston church. The rumors of payoffs, of girls who vanished after private ‘counseling.’ I thought you were—” He cut me off with a kiss, mouth bruising, and tongue claiming, tasting of smoke and holy bread. His hand replaced mine, two fingers curling inside me, thumb on my clit, and relentless, perfect. I came hard, knees buckling, and his arm the only thing keeping me upright, my release flooding his fingers, dripping down my thighs, and pooling on the stone. The cameras caught every shudder, every tear, and every drop. He pulled back, lips wet with me, eyes glowing in the candlelight.

I leaned back in the deep leather chair of my private office, the late afternoon light filtering through half-drawn blinds and casting long shadows across the Persian rug. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and clean linen, a deliberate choice to help clients feel both grounded and safe. My name is Dr. Adrian Hale. For the last six years I have practiced a form of sex therapy that most traditional therapists would never dare. I do not simply talk about intimacy. I create it. I guide my clients through their blocks, fears, and inhibitions by sharing physical connection with them, always with clear consent, strict boundaries, and their complete agency. The body remembers what words alone o

The way he had told me he wanted me to call him Daddy. I pushed my middle finger inside myself. I was so wet that it slid in easily. The heat and tightness made me moan again, longer this time. “Ahhhhh… yes…” I added a second finger and started fucking myself in slow deep strokes. My palm rubbed against my clit with every thrust. Wet sounds filled the quiet bedroom. I could hear how soaked I was every time my fingers moved. The scent of my own arousal rose between my legs. I thought about Victor pinning my wrists above my head. I thought about the silk scarf around my throat. I thought about his mouth on me while he kept me on the edge. My fingers moved faster. My hips rolled up to meet ever

My arms locked around his neck as I tried to kiss him back, but he easily took control again, dominating the kiss with that same older, superior energy. When we broke apart, his hand shoved my panties aside and two thick fingers pushed inside me without warning. The stretch felt so good it was almost painful. Sinful. Wrong. I still couldn’t believe my step-uncle was finger-fucking me on my own kitchen island. I was so wet the sounds were embarrassingly loud. “Please… hngh—” I moaned as he curled his fingers and hit that perfect spot. “Please what, Katherine?” His voice was low and mocking. The way he said my full name made me clench hard around him. “Fuck… you dirty girl. You like it when I