Hot Smut Novels & Stories

Hot liquid spills out, dripping all over my closed lips, down my chin, and all over my neck as he removes his hand, covering me in his cum as he watches in fascination. Taking his fingers, he smears it around, covering my skin in the sticky substance as it drips down my cheeks and into my hair. He loves it. Forcing my mouth open, he scoops a generous glob off my throat and shoves his fingers into my mouth, pushing them to the back of my throat so his cum trickles down it. Satisfied with his masterpiece, he sits beside me, leaving me painted from head to toe in cum as he lights two cigarettes and passes me one, admiring his work of art.

"Fuck, I promise you're going to sit for breakfast with my cum dripping through your panties while I smile at your mom, thinking what I've done to her daughter without her knowing." "You're sick," I moaned, but I cum twice more before he even finished. He pulled out, and his cum pulled a rope across my stomach. He rubbed it with his palm, smearing it like he was drawing something. I lay there, coated in him, inside and out, watching him smear his cum on my skin until even my pussy clenched. "Let's quickly go and take a shower before our parents come down and find us like this," he said. "It'll be too bad if we get caught."

The cool air on my heated skin only heightened the sensation. Emma repositioned herself so her head hung slightly off the edge of the bed, her mouth open and inviting. Sophia dove back between her thighs with renewed hunger, sucking noisily on her clit while fingering her deeply. I stood at the edge, guiding my throbbing cock to Emma’s lips. She licked the underside slowly, savoring the taste, before taking me deep into her warm, wet mouth. The heat enveloped me instantly.

A woman, broken and hastily glued back together. I let the water run in the shower, very hot, until the room fills with steam. Under the burning stream, I rub my skin with a violence bordering on self-mutilation. The company's perfumed lemon soap fails to mask his smell that mixture of leather, spice, and male sex that seems to have eaten into my pores. I wash my private parts with surgical precision; the touch of my fingers brings back a painful and shameful echo of the pleasure that overwhelmed me minutes before. I despise myself for this retrospective shiver.