Jasmine Peterson Nude Novels & Stories

Jasmine's body was calm now she watched as Caspian and I undressed quickly. We stripped off our clothes, leaving our joggers and vest in a messy pile on the floor with her discarded PJs. Kalean left his joggers on, staying on the floor. The moment she saw Caspian's cock her eyes widened her gaze locked on it like she couldn't believe her eyes. "Thats…that's huge," she gasped, I smirked, leaning down to press my lips against her ear. "You should see Kalean's cock then, It's a monster cock," I told her, her face burned in a cute blush that crept all the way down her neck.

Jasmine repeated, "you really are from the island." "I'm your English slut, your French whore, your teenage dream," Dana declared, even though she was in her early twenties. Jasmine continued fucking her teenage dream, yet another fantasy of hers was becoming a reality. Although she was mostly submissive and a born pleaser, once in a while she fantasized of domming a young girl, disciplining a student who had pissed her off. Imagining Jenna, an eighteen year old student from last semester who was a pain in the ass submitting to her had occurred a few times and now Jasmine had her own teenager to dominate. These thoughts had Jasmine thrusting hard and deep into her slut's ass, each deep forwa

She reached out and traced one fingernail lightly over the wet spot on his shorts, right along the throbbing head of his cock. “So big,” she whispered. “Even bigger than I imagined when I was touching myself earlier.” Alex groaned. His hips jerked forward on instinct. Elena chuckled softly, dark and promising. She gave the head one teasing squeeze through the fabric, then stepped back. With deliberate slowness she shrugged the robe off her shoulders. It whispered to the floor, pooling around her bare feet. Completely naked now. Voluptuous. Perfect. Heavy breasts with those thick nipples begging to be sucked. Wide hips. Thick thighs. And that dripping, shaved cunt that looked like it was made

Jasmine's POV. I felt boneless after the sex marathon last night. It was deep bone curling and I could feel my inside screaming hallelujah. It had been a long time since they had received such lovely oiling, and I felt their pain deep inside my soul. "How are you doing?" Mr. Blackwood inquired afterward before jumping on his feet. "I should get you something to clean up." He said before walking away. I was in a Zen mode, unwilling to think of anything besides how I could just lay and forget every problem that I had.

In my pursuit of excitement, I lay on the bed with my legs open, frantically pleasuring myself in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Through the dark glass, I could see a strong man on the balcony opposite staring at my body intently. This extreme taboo made my scalp numb, and I grew increasingly depraved. I tried my best to arch my back as I became a shameless, irrational, and thrill-seeking tart. My name was Layla Terra, and I was a dance student.

she shrugged inwardly. It wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before… Ugh. There goes my dirty mind again… “I haven’t seen that movie,” he said gruffly. “So I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She grinned wider. “It would be an honor if you could paint me like Jack Dawson painted Rose DeWitt Bukater. I suggest you watch the movie and let me know what you think. I’m willing to pay, whatever the price.”

I’ve seen hundreds of naked women, but there’s something about Jasmine that makes her stand out, and she doesn’t even know it. She’s of average height, but not any part of her body has gone under the knife, yet every curve is perfection, and her skin looks smooth and soft. “Get in the shower.” With unsteady legs, she steps in while I adjust the water temperature. My cock instantly hardens as she goes under the spray, and the water runs through her naked body. With clenched jaw, I grab my body wash and pour it into my palm, and then I spread my hands on her smooth back.

The taste of despair disguised as calm. The one we’re taught to swallow with elegance. But not this time. Not me. I am not a woman to be replaced. I am Cassandra. I rise, naked beneath the silk dress. And in the mirror, I meet another woman. A wounded woman, yes, but sharp, ready. I think back to his absences. To those nights when he stopped responding. To that foreign perfume on his collar. To that vacant look that told me everything without saying it. And I understand.