Feminist Sex Stories Mga Nobela at Kwento

Celeste kissed her slowly, tongue teasing, hips rocking. The woman stripped out of her dress. No lingerie. Her body was toned, curved, and commanding. She walked to the bed, climbed on behind Celeste, and pressed her body flush against her back. Her breath tickled Celeste’s ear. “I’ve heard about you.” Celeste moaned as her fingers slid between her legs. “Damian’s little masterpiece.” Her hand was skilled. Slow. Teasing. Dominant. Celeste gasped as the woman’s fingers slipped inside her, curling expertly, already finding the spot that made her eyes roll back.

“Tried to hide it with a cough earlier. Cute. But we both know what you are.” I should have pushed him away. Instead my legs opened wider the second he touched me again. “Say it,” he ordered, two fingers pushing deep inside me without warning. The wet sound was filthy in the quiet hallway. “I’m a whore,” I whispered. “Louder.” “I’m a slut.” My voice cracked as he curled those fingers and started working me in earnest. “Your brother’s wife… and still a fucking slut for you.” He kissed me hard—teeth and tongue—while he finger-fucked me against the counter. My hands fisted in his shirt. Every thrust of his fingers made more wetness spill down my thighs.

I panted heavily. He stilled his movements, then looked up to give me a wolfish smile. "No, you don't." Marcello moved my panties aside, plunging two fingers straight inside me, kissing my lips to stop me from crying out. I hadn't had sex in over two years, so I was tight as fuck. He didn't care as he kept moving in and out of me, his thumb stimulating my clit. He was right. How could I hate someone who gave me this kind of pleasure? "Marc… more." I breathed out.

Now lost to her pleasures, Yasmine continued fucking herself, unable to contain her moans and groans. It wasn't until she was done that she realized the cou9le in the other room had stopped, and she could only hear the whispers coming from their room. “I think she's alone and having sex with just herself!” Yasmine's eyes widened in horror. Had she just been caught masturbating?! Author's Note: The F1 series will continue soon, guys. I just wanted to toss this in. Apologies for the long wait. Thank you for reading.

"Sorry, folks. Duty calls. I'll check on you two again in a little while." "Sex writers," I mused. "I wonder exactly what that entails." Noah grinned at me. "Considering a career change, darlin'?" I shook my head. "I don't think so. Although I have to say that I'm intrigued. Do they just write books about sex, or do they write erotic fiction? Or both?" "Maybe they also write scripts for porn," Noah suggested. "If that's the case, they need to up their game. Most porn is seriously lacking in storylines and decent dialogue."

“And most people just skim between the sex scenes, anyway, in these types of books.” Gregory laughed, losing his breath. “Most people don’t have your absolute focus on sex, Vixen.” “Shame, that. If everyone focused on getting off, they wouldn’t get into all other sorts of strife,” she was teasing him. “Do you want me to tell you a real porn story, rather than one from a book?”

Attached to a rope chain, it hung in the valley between Callista's large breasts. Since she had begun to explore her new sexual freedom after almost twenty years of marriage, Gabrielle had developed no small fascination with both alternate lifestyles and sexual adventures. So far, having spent the night with a man almost young enough to be her son had been the most daring of her erotic adventures. That fascination had extended to lesbianism and bisexuality, two subjects which were barely discussed the last time she was single. So far, her interests in the topics hadn't extended beyond the theoretical. Not including of course, her active imagination. An imagination that Gabrielle was sure at

You have to claim them. When he’d gone, because I wasn’t finished yet, I lay on the rumpled bed, and brought myself off with my fingers. I thought of how he’d behaved earlier, sadistic and cruel, reveling in my cries from the pinch of the clamps and the slam of his cock. Then I fell asleep for an hour or so. When I woke, my hair was in a crazy, damp tangle and my breasts were a mess of scratch marks and blotches. And he was probably eating wild turbot because he usually does when it’s on expenses at Saxby’s. I would too. The point I’m making: sex isn’t like it is in the movies; it isn’t even like porn. Sex isn’t like anything except itself.

"Hillian told me everything about you. How you look when you cum. How long you’ve been untouched by the old man. How you touched yourself in his room that day. I listened to every word he told me." My throat had gone dry by now, I looked from one face to the other. Hillian squeezed my hands. "I’m asking you again. Do you want this? From both of us." I should have said no, I should have stood up and walked out. Instead I let my body answer first, I could feel myself getting excited. I had never had sex with two people before. It had always been a fantasy I kept private, but now it was standing in front of me actually playing out in real time. "Yes," I whispered.

Mara dropped into the window seat like her body weighed a thousand pounds. Three straight days of workshops, crisis calls, holding other people’s pain until her own felt numb. She needed these five hours. Just noise in her ears and nothing else. She pulled out her phone, plugged in her headphones, and opened the playlist. The private one. No title. Forty-seven tracks of the stuff she never let anyone see. Women moaning loud and broken, filthy commands, wet sounds, her own breathy voice in a few recordings where she’d touched herself and whispered every dirty thing she wanted but never asked for out loud.