Loud Moaning Novels & Stories

It wa‍s​ lo‌ud​, cha​ot‍ic, and over‌flowing with l⁠ife​. "You haven't stopp‍e⁠d sm‌ili​ng‍ for thr‌ee hour⁠s,‍" Lorenz⁠o mur⁠mur​​ed, lean⁠i‍ng i⁠n close⁠ so his breath tickled m‍y ea​​r.

Sharing Dad's Cóck (10) “That’s it… cúm for me. Yes… oh God, yes! Fúck, just like that—cúm now!” Laurel moaned, louder. Her hand moved fast between her legs. She gasped and screamed. “Oh God, I’m cúmming!” Her moans hit me hard, igniting something in me. I couldn't stop myself. My fingers slid between my legs, rubbing over myself. I groaned, matching her rhythm. My body arched and my hips pressed into my hand.

Loud moans echoed throughout the room as well as the sound of the headboard banging against the wall, peeling the paint, and forming a small dent. “Oh, fuck. Yes!” She moaned loudly pulling her lower lip between her teeth and peering her eyes open looking straight ahead.

A faint gasp , distant coming from the living room. I froze. For a moment, I told myself to ignore it. But curiosity clawed at me. I placed the cup back on the counter and, against my better judgment, tiptoed toward the noise. The closer I came, the clearer it grew, murmured voices. A breathless moan . My heart pounded in my chest as I leaned forward and peeked. My breath caught. Marcus My half brother

Sloane’s POV The moaning wakes me up at midnight, same as every night. It’s my mom and Damian. I can hear them through the thin wall that separates my bedroom from theirs. I’ve been listening to this for a year — the creak of the bed frame, my mom’s breathless little gasps, and the low, rough grunts that belong to her boyfriend. Those grunts have lived rent-free in my head for a year and I’ve cum to them more times than I will ever admit to a living soul.

A sound that didn't belong to the peaceful night air. A moan. Soft, breathy, distinctly feminine. Coming from the direction of Penthouse A. What the fuck?

I cry, but I am left without answers Suddenly we start hearing loud moans from inside. Moans that don't help my condition. The moans are accompanied with clapping and pounding sounds. Two people are clearly having sex. What the hell! They might as well bury me! Minutes pass like hours in the uncomfortable moaning, pounding, slapping and clapping sounds. Eibben under the other guard - whose name I do not know- are trying their best to be modest.

"Ohh," "Ahh," "Uhm," The sound of a woman moaning and at the same time sounding like in pain filled my ears the moment I stepped inside our small apartment and closed the door behind me. My brows furrowed upon hearing it, coming from the small bedroom where mom and I sleep through a second-hand double deck. I walked in its direction, confused about what I was hearing. When I was in front of the closed door, I pressed my ears on it and there I confirmed the sound of moaning and groans together with a sound of something like chains.

Her reflection was, at best, unconvincing, but desperate times called for questionable outfits. The two-mile trek to Mr. Bradley's farm took an hour, mostly because she spent the walk practicing her deep, gravelly "man voice." By the time she arrived, a handful of brawny men were already sitting outside the farmhouse, waiting to be interviewed. Mustering her courage, she squeezed between two men and attempted some awkward small talk. "Good morning, gentlemen," she croaked. A few of the men grunted in response. "So... um... good, right?" she added, to dead silence. Deciding silence was the better option, she waited for her turn.

There it was. The sound I’d been waiting for. Soft. Barely audible. But unmistakable. A moan — not a surrender of the body, not a plea, but a small, human sound snagged between hunger and habit. It landed in the room like a stone thrown into still water, and the ripples mattered more than the stone itself.