Filthy Dramione Novels & Stories

Her knees felt oddly weak for half a second. They stepped inside. Dr. Antonio Sanchez stood at a small sink in the corner, washing his hands with calm, deliberate movements. When he turned, Mira’s breath caught before she could stop it. He was unfairly attractive. Broad shoulders filled out a crisp white button-up that looked like it was fighting a losing battle against the muscular chest beneath it. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing a full sleeve of dark tattoos on his left arm. His hair was long enough to brush his shoulders, dark and loosely curly. His face was sharp and almost ethereal—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a mouth that looked like it knew too many secrets.

Every position came with more filthy dialogue and admissions. "I never knew how much I needed to hate fuck you" Eli groaned as he pounded me deep. "I still plan to take that VP job from you" I moaned back even as my body surrendered completely. Finally they gathered around me as I knelt on the rug exhausted and trembling. Eli and Thomas stroked their cocks over my sweat slicked body. Lena directed the scene. "Cum on her" she ordered. "Mark your new reluctant ally." Powerful jets of hot cum erupted across my breasts, my face, my stomach. Eli came last painting my tongue as I looked up at him with tear filled eyes. The taste was salty and humiliating. I swallowed what landed in my mouth feelin

Even Sarah, she was preparing for bed and she was already in her black silky nightdress when she heard the knock on the door. But she was in the living room when the knock came so it wasn't difficult for her to get to the door. She was abit drunk so she had to stagger alittle on her way to the door. But when she opened the door, her heart sank into her stomach and skipped a beat. Before Sarah Waves, stood the multimillionaire heir, Ron Diego. He was dressed in a grey vintage shirt and a white trouser. His hair was badly brushed, his beards were unkept. There were bags under his eyes, he smelled bad and he looked ugly.

"Grandpa, are you referring to that fake drug that they sold at a ridiculous price? Apparently it cost less than 20 Malian dollars in Malia and Yarroland, but it cost more than ten thousand Dramonian dollars. "Lefre Group announced that they wouldn't sell it to us for a penny less. Many Dramonians were deceived at the time. Some poor families even bankrupted themselves for it." Heston nodded slightly and replied, "That's right. They're now reaping what they had sowed. Frankly, ten million is a little low. We can add another 50 million for the first three months and lower it when Dramonians start selling it to Yarroland at ten million."

This was the place where dirty daddies told you exactly how to finger your dripping cunt on camera, how to spread your asshole wide and show them how tight and pink it was, how to slap your swollen clit until your legs shook and you were begging like a pathetic slut. They made you do all kinds of nasty shit live, moaning their names, stuffing both your holes with toys, and they tipped heavy when you got even filthier, when you spread wider, when you fucked yourself harder and showed them exactly how messy your cum looked dripping down your thick thighs in long shiny strings. This particular “DADDYHUGECOCK” was the filthiest one yet. Even though I had never seen him, I had spent weeks imagini

Her throat milked him through the orgasm, muffled screams vibrating his shaft as clamps pulsed wildly, wax flaking off with her convulsions. Drake groaned, hips snapping deeper, flooding her mouth with hot ropes of cum that she gulped desperately, excess bubbling from her lips to drip onto her wax-streaked tits. He pulled out slowly, smearing the remnants across her face, then stepped back to admire his work, Elena limp against the cross, body a canvas of ice burns, wax seals, clamp marks, and quivering aftershocks, squirt still trickling from her puffy pussy. "Good girl," he murmured, flicking the remote one last time to make her jolt anew. The night was far from over.

I swallow. Open. Show him. He steps forward, aims at my face, and cums – thick ropes hitting my forehead, my cheeks, my open mouth, his load mixing with Damon's residue. He paints me deliberately – making sure I'm covered, making sure every man in this room has left his mark. I lie there. Five loads of cum covering my body from face to thighs. My tongue coated. My tits glazed. My pussy wet with Travis's cum dripping between my folds. I'm a mess – a perfect, filthy, destroyed, worshipped mess.

“I agree. Scraping up your hands aside, you have too much to lose.” “You sound like my mother,” Archer laughs. The conversation shifts from one subject to another, and by the time we’re almost done eating, I’ve finished my drink and the refill Dad got for Danielle. It doesn’t feel like I’ve had that much until I stand up and realize I’m pretty buzzed. Which is fine. But then we move onto dessert and Dean busts out a Mason jar of moonshine he got from one of the guys on the construction crew. He pours everyone but Quinn—and the kids, of course—a shot.

Ryan was high on fear and pleasure, his hands scratching hard on the unrelenting grip on his neck while his legs struggled to hand on both Damien's shoulders. The buff men kept his cock buried to the base inside him, still thrusting but not pulling out while Ryan's eyes began to drop from from lack of breath. “Keep them open, blow your load while I ruin you” Damien shouted. “Ahe ahe ahe” he breathed loudly, his eyes so dark it was scary to watch and to the actors shock, his cock blew a load straight up landing on his bodyguard's mouth and chest. His eyes closed and his body got limp as Damien released burst after burst if sperm into his spent rectum.

"You need something desperately, otherwise you wouldn't be standing in front of me looking like a stray dog that got kicked out." "Go straight to the point, Archer." "I'm making you an offer you would love." He pulled out his phone from his jacket, swiped, and turned the screen to me. The photo showed the club's lower level. Red light and a stage with a pole and men dancing in the background. Most were shirtless. "Male stripper," Archer said. "We're short-staffed. And I'll pay you five thousand a month. Minimum. More on good nights in this city." He paused, watching my face, looking for a reaction. "You learn the routines in two weeks. You're young and lean. You'll pick up fast." Five thousa