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MAKE ME WET

MAKE ME WET

He dipped his head back between my thighs and placed his hand under my a*s, pulling my waist towards him. He began licking around the edges of my p**sy, closing in slowly to the center. He traced me with the very tip of his tongue until he could taste my nectar. He licked the entrance of the v*****l hole, sucking my juice like it was liquid sin, like he wanted to drown himself in it. Then he dragged his tongue back to my c**t stroking it. I didn’t move, I kept still, as if I did he might stop and I was scared of that. My chest just heaved, letting out the faintest of breaths. Another stroke of his tongue on my sweet spot, and a very quiet m**n bubbled out of my throat. He moved his tongue again, flicking with more pressure and I jolted like I had been electrocuted. I pushed my hips forward and completely enveloped his head between my thighs, my knees bending until my legs were locked behind his head, burying his head deeper into my wet p***y. My body tightened, not like I was about to c*m, but like he was easing all the pressure he had built up. Are you looking for the best e****ca stories? The perfect e**tica content that would keep you on edge wanting more? Search no more, you’ve found the perfect one. Turn the pages and read, if you dare! This is a compilation of extremely erotica content ranging from forbidden s*x between step family members, student and teacher, between best friends, gays and lesbians and so much more! Note: Do not read if you’re below 18 Extremely erotica content!
4.8K viewsOngoingAdded to Library 101 Times as fpe engel x oliver
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Been turning this over in my head all day. What strikes me most about this pairing is the weirdly fertile ground it provides for that very specific ache of emotional conflict—the kind born from rigid ideology versus messy, undeniable personal attachment. Engel’s entire being is wrapped up in the ‘purity’ of the Crusade, right? So throwing Oliver into the mix creates this incredible, constant internal war. It’s not just about hiding feelings; it’s about every moment of affection, every flicker of softness, being processed as a spiritual and professional failure.

I read one fic where Engel kept a mental ledger, tallying every ‘transgression’ of kindness toward Oliver as a debt to be repaid through more extreme acts of devotion to the faith. That sort of self-flagellating logic feels so true to the character. The conflict isn’t resolved with a grand confession; it’s in the small, stolen glances that feel like betrayals, in the way a simple order to ‘stay safe’ gets twisted into a heresy inside his own mind. The horror of the setting amplifies everything, making any vulnerability feel like a potentially fatal flaw.

You end up with this taut, miserable, and utterly compelling dynamic where the romance is almost entirely defined by the effort to suppress it, which somehow makes the rare moments of breakdown hit ten times harder.

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