Man Pampering Novels & Stories

Lean-in-like-he’s-about-to-launch-a-k-drama-kiss-scene. His face was too close. My brain bluescreened. I could practically hear the Windows shutdown sound. Out of instinct—and maybe pure self-defense—I grabbed the remote off his desk and smashed the button like I was defusing a bomb. The privacy tint activated instantly, darkening the glass walls and shutting out the peanut gallery like the drama version of “closing tabs.” “Too late,” I muttered. “The peanut gallery already thinks you proposed with doves and fireworks.” “Not a bad idea,” he mused.

She whispered, all breathy and needy. I looked down and saw three round studs and pulled at them. Once those studs released the material, those two ample beauties burst out, and I marveled at how those could fit in that tiny bit of material. I lowered my head and gave them some attention, gaining some more cute moans from Pam. She started to undo my pants, but I swatted her hands away and bent down to remove my sneakers and then my jeans and underwear together. By the time I looked back at Pam, she was standing there in all her naked glory. Yes, she had a few life scars, but that did not detract from her beauty, the goddess herself standing before me. I wanted to kneel down and worship her b

And then she arrived. Pamela moved through the room like it owed her something. Her dress was a slinky silver, hugging every inch of her surgically perfect body. Diamonds dusted her collarbone. “Sweetheart,” she said, appearing beside me like a curse, “how are you finding the room? Your first time dancing with sharks?” I tilted my head slightly. “I’ve been to galas before.” “Of course you have,” she said, her smile stretched tight. “Though this one’s a little different, isn’t it? These people don’t hang art on their walls for pleasure. They hang it to cover blood.”

Pamela looks me up and down, clicking her tongue in disapproval. "Look at how thin you've become after a few days at the Vitos! Is your husband not treating you well? He has lots of money but he can't feed you? What a waste!" She swings her ladle angrily as she speaks, her short brown curls bouncing. If I'm not careful, I might be in for another spanking. "Is he treating you well? If he isn't, tell me. I'll go over there and beat his ass. I don't care if he's some head of the Mafia or what. I only care that you, Killian and Jeanne are happy and healthy."

“Not so. I just want to get done with the food and munch on you. You are the main meal here. This is just a warm-up exercise for strength.” “Can I play with your microphone while you eat?” Pam said coolly – already moving her hands towards his genitals. “Oh, Pam. You know I’d get painfully distracted from this meal if you do that. Why don’t you wait for me to finish eating?” “I’d do just that.” Pam removed her hands and redirected them to her breasts. She began to touch herself seductively – moving her hands slowly down her breasts to her hips. Then she stood up and walked up to the stereo to play some twerking music.

She verbally attacked me, making an attempt to hide the dirt that had stained my dress. Papa kept on sipping from his glass of liquor to ease the tension he was feeling. He usually had stomach ulcer attacks stemming from prolonged stress. If he didn't rely on alcohol to drown his worries, he often collapsed and would remain bedridden for three days at the very least. The other guests who remained had started to cast their gaze on my wet gown, and exchanged whispers amongst each other. "I believe I'm not talking to myself Agatha." My mama pressed, grabbing me firmly by the elbow, not caring if she hurt me in the slightest.