Jaz Sinclair Nudes Novels & Stories

The screen finally stopped on a local gossip channel. There, a video played in a resolution that had been enhanced by the television station. It was titled: a video of Howard Sinclaire's abuse of his 'former daughter.' The muffled screams from the television echoed through the living room. Hazel's small voice, pleading and wincing in pain, begged not to be hurt anymore. On the screen, a drunken and violent Howard Sinclaire continuously pinched little Hazel's inner arms, her back, and her thighs, leaving horrific bluish bruises.

Chapter 4: Weekend Breaking The helicopter ride to Marcus’s private estate felt like the final nail in my coffin. I was on all fours in the spacious cabin, completely naked except for the heavy leather collar locked around my throat, the silver tag reading “Marcus Vale’s Pet” dangling between my breasts. A thick tail plug stretched my ass, the soft silicone tail brushing my thighs with every vibration of the rotors. The remote vibrator strapped over my clit buzzed intermittently, keeping me right on the edge but never letting me fall.

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Jace is on the couch, completely naked, his tattooed body glistening with sweat. His muscles flex and ripple with every movement — his abs clenching, his thick thighs tensed, his arms bulging as he grips the woman's hips. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3" And the woman — a blonde with fake tits and a spray tan — is bent over the arm of the couch, her ass in the air, while Jace pounds into her from behind with brutal, punishing strokes. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> I can see everything. The way her pussy lips cling to his shaft with every outstroke, stretched obscenely around his girth. The way her arousal has coated his cock, making it glisten in the lamplight. The way his heavy balls swing forw

Perks of being an artist, you just leave supplies everywhere. Before starting, I went over to Felix' record player and scavenged his vinyl collection. His collection was mainly comprised of Jazz musicians such as Coltrane, Sinatra, Billie Holiday, Etta James, but also Rock artists and bands like Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, and Dire Straits. I decided on an Ella Fitzgerald vinyl, putting the wide disc on the record player. I lit up a cigarette, her sweet voice filling the empty space.

This is so dangerous and reckless and I can't even believe father allowed it to happen. Without knocking on the door, I burst into his office, standing face to face with him, who was sitting down on the sofa with a whore between his legs. She was naked on her knees and the only thing I can see was her head, moving up and down while Angelo is holding her by her hair. Angelo sensed my presence and looked up at me, still holding the girl's hair in his hand and pressing it against him. I could hear her choking, and I wrinkled my face in disgust.

It was a casual, unedited picture taken at some high end tropical resort. Jace was completely shirtless, standing on a deck with a pair of dark sunglasses on. His body was an absolute masterpiece of hard, cut muscle washboard abs, deep v-lines disappearing into his low hanging swim trunks, and massive, thick arms that looked capable of snapping a person in half. His dick print in that swimming trunk was... Gosh.. A sudden, overwhelming wave of pure, unchecked lust hit me like a physical blow. I couldn't control it anymore. The heat in my chest turned into an agonizing, throbbing ache between my legs that demanded to be answered.

Sinclair circled me slowly. “Strip.” The single word sent a fresh wave of shame rolling through me. I reached behind me and slowly unzipped the dress. The fabric whispered down my body and pooled at my feet, leaving me completely naked except for the heels. Mr. Sinclair’s blue eyes darkened as they roamed over every inch of me. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Still marked. Still used. Still so fucking beautiful.” He stepped closer. His fingers traced the faint bruises on my hips, then moved to my heavy breasts, cupping them, weighing them, pinching my dark nipples until I gasped.

I slapped the wall with the side of my fist and thrust two more times before ropes of cum released inside her. Once we both steadied our breathing, I let her down gently and helped her stand. “You’re right, trouble. That was a fantastic fucking good morning.” She laughed. “My legs feel like mush now.” I laughed. “I’m not even a little sorry. I want you weak in the knees whenever you are with me.” She chuckled, “What does Sinclair want?” “She sent me a picture of a huge piece of raw Purple Atlantonite. Then told me we needed to talk and to bring you and Dad.”

In a soft, taunting voice, I whispered, “Shh, Princess. Look at the beautiful scenery. Don’t you want to get fucked like this?” I raised her head to make her see the empty gardens, the flowers blooming in them and the mountains of sand dunes far away from the Palace. Her body trembled, but I held her. “What if someone sees me?” “Tsk, Princess. Let them see what a beautiful fucking sight you are.” Zara let out a gasp when I ran my hand through the spine of her back and lined myself against her wet slit. “Let them see what a naughty slut you are. Getting aroused by—”