Novelas y relatos de Feminist Sex Stories

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.

Someone slides underneath me and sucks hard on my clit while others continue fingering me and abusing my sensitive nipples. I cum again. And again. Each orgasm different, more shattering than the last. My juices drip down my thighs. The sheets are soaked. I’m a trembling, submissive mess. Blindfolded. Owned. Addicted. Just as I feel another devastating climax building, I hear the bedroom door open again. More footsteps. More soft feminine laughter. “Oh fuck…” I whimper. Vanessa laughs low and wicked, fingers still buried deep inside me, curling relentlessly. “The rest of the group just arrived, baby. Twenty of us in total tonight. And we’re not stopping until sunrise. Your husband won’t reco

Warning: This is GAY sex story, please skip it if you are not into LGBT content. "Oh God! Professor Cross! Please!" Peter's desperate cry echoed through the locked office as Professor Damien Cross pounded into his ass with relentless precision. Peter was bent over the massive oak desk, his pants around his ankles, his shirt pushed up, completely exposed and vulnerable. And he'd never felt more alive. Damien's fourteen-inch cock stretched him impossibly wide, filling him so completely that Peter could feel it in his stomach. Each brutal thrust pushed Peter forward on the desk, papers scattering to the floor, the wood creaking under their combined weight.

In the twinkle of an eye he was gone, the door clicking shut soft behind him As my breathing evened out it began to really sink in that I had just had sex with Leo. Leo who was 33. Almost two times my age. And I felt good about it. Really good. In fact I wanted more. I wanted to feel him in my pussy, sliding in and out and stretching me there, filling me completely

I wanted to be like the women I found in the stories in the back. Women that had unforgettable sex, a lot more interesting than my own awkward and unsatisfying sex life at the time. The story that really stood out centered around a woman who went camping with her husband. They couple made a few friends and one thing led to another and five men fucked her and filled her with cum. The next encounter came in the form of p**n video one of my immature guy friends put on at a party. From the woman’s bleached blonde hair to her giant fake tits, everything about it fell into the category of fake.

I could feel the sweat beginning to pool in the small of my back, the air in the office becoming thick and humid with our combined heat. "Yes! Oh god, Professor, harder!" I wailed, my voice cracking, losing all its composure. I could feel his chest pressing into my back, his breath hot against my ear, and I knew I was gone. I wasn't the group leader or the top student anymore. I was just a woman being broken open by the only man who could do it. When he found my clit, grinding his hand against me while he kept up that punishing pace, I felt the world start to crumble. The pressure was too much, a perfect storm of internal and external friction that pushed me right to the edge. I was sobbing

The idea of me helping Sarah conceive, of sharing my seed with another woman under my wife's blessing, was a taboo that had turned my blood into liquid fire. Lillian pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, her gaze predatory and hungry. She didn't say a word at first; instead, she slid her hand down the front of my boxers, her fingers curling around the thick length of my cock. I groaned, my hips instinctively arching into her touch. She began to stroke me, a slow, rhythmic glide that made my toes curl.

The dimly lit loft pulsed with a low, sensual hum, velvet curtains drawn to shield the night outside, the air thick with perfume and anticipation. I stood near the bar, my silk dress clinging to my skin, the fabric teasing my curves as I surveyed the room, my adventurous spirit drawn to the whispered rumors of this exclusive gathering. I’d explored my desires before, but the promise of a lesbian orgy—a tangle of women lost in pleasure—ignited a wildfire in my core, my pussy tingling with eager curiosity as the first guests arrived.

My moans echoed off the stone, raw and unfiltered, and bouncing back to me as if the crypt itself were moaning with me. He watched through the lens, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with lust and something colder—calculation. “Tell me your worst secret, Elara,” he said, voice low and coaxing. “The one you’ll never print.” I gasped, hips rocking into my own hand, thighs trembling. “I… I came to expose you,” I confessed, the words spilling like wine. “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—”

She bit her lips, pressing her legs together to ease the ache in her snatch. Ashley's eyes lit up. "Well, as for me I've already done it. I went to a shady club a few years back and got bent over the bar and fucked stupid. The guy was relentless on my pussy that night. My cunt felt hot, thank heavens the bartender chick came up to lick my cunt after he was done." Kate's eyes bored into Ashley's. She couldn't believe Ashley did that and she didn't tell her. They told each other everything. Even when she had sex the first time, she told her. But she also understood why she didn't tell her. Kate would have lectured her about her bad choices.