Mark Thomas Nudes Novels & Stories

He peeped in. Right there on the bed was Doris, she was stark naked, lying on the bed and masturbating with a toy. Thomas watched her. She was so calculating and slow in what she was doing, gliding the toy in and out of her, in slow intense moves. Thomas didn't move, nor stir, nor make any sound. He just stood and watched. And before he knew it, his manhood was already standing. “Don't just stand there and stare,” her voice cut through him like a hot knife would do to butter, “come on in,” she finished.

What should've been simple had turned into an archaeological dig through London's worst male specimens. "Thomas, twenty-nine, 'financial consultant,'" I continued, narrating for Gwen, who had given up pretending to work and was now watching the show openly. "First photo: nice suit, big confident smile, he looks civilized. Second photo: he's posing shirtless in a bathroom mirror like a bodybuilder, oiled muscles glistening. Third photo, he's… oh wow. That's him licking his own bicep?" "Gross," Gwen winced. "Block that one immediately."

"Excuse me?" "Yeah," Thomas grins wickedly. "I took her virginity—I was her first, so she will never forget me, Maddox. It doesn't matter if she is your girlfriend. I've marked her mind forever. The memory of me will always haunt her. Never will it let her rest." What a sick fucking psychopath. I've slept with plenty of virgins and never been as obsessed about them as this man. Thomas is sick. How could Michelle ever sleep with him? Was she desperate? Thomas is good-looking, but nothing is happening inside his thick head.

I responded making him quiet then took another pack to smoke. "Well I don't." "Same as I." I responded with a smile. We were silent for a while before Thomas started the conversation again. "So why aren't you with the King boy?" "He ain't in school. Saw he got beaten up pretty badly. Whoever did it has my approval of a wonderful artist." I responded then huffed my smoke. Thomas started to smile then faced forward when I looked at him before he huffed his smoke. I searched his thoughts for more information and saw that he loves money and women and was addicted to watching porn and taking drugs.

“Let’s go?” He turned around and looked at Una up and down, shocked at how different she looked from her usual vintage dress and cardigan ensemble. He crossed the room so he was standing right in front of her, eyes never leaving her as he took in her look. The image of Una’s naked body in the bathroom suddenly flashed in his mind. Immediately, he shut his eyes close and took a deep a breath. “Are you okay, Mr. Thomas?” When Glen’s STD scare was slowly losing its effect, he focused his mind to tear away from the image of Una’s body a little bit more. After a couple of seconds, he opened his eyes and took another deep breath.

she mused, “I saw the craziest thing on the internet today.” Thomas froze for half a second. She didn’t miss it. But just as quickly as the hesitation came, he masked it. He turned, sipping his whiskey slowly. “Oh? And what would that be?” Margaret smirked. “Some scandalous photos. Two naked people, tangled in sheets. Their faces were covered, but the headline was very interesting.” Thomas remained silent. Margaret stepped closer, her voice laced with mock curiosity. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, darling?”

Thomas sits nearby, crushing herbs with a smooth stone. When I try to sit up, a thick blanket slips from my chest. I realize I’m shirtless, my clothes drying near the fire next to Thomas’s. He’s shirtless too. “At least you didn’t strip me completely,” I groan, pushing myself up to lean against the cave wall. A clean bandage is wrapped tightly around my shoulder. “I would’ve arrested you for harassment.” “Believe me, I’ve seen worse,” he says with a faint smile, rubbing herbs onto the chicken before turning it. “Fathers see their children naked. It’s not much of a deal.”

He wants fear to do its work. They then open a door onto a screen: a small portable screen, scratched, showing blurry images of the living room, the lawn, my mother curled up. My heart tightens to the point of pain. They have images, looks, proof. My intimate world, exposed like a trophy, like a justification. The man's voice grows firmer. — You will cooperate, he says. You won’t be killed if you cooperate. But if you lie, if you run away… he leaves the threat hanging.

But he couldn’t tell Marcus the real reason without sounding insane. He begrudgingly let himself be dragged toward the showers, towel slung low on his hips. The moment he stepped into the steamy room, the usual naked bodies he was used to seeing filled the space. Water cascaded over broad shoulders and powerful thighs. Laughter and banter echoed off the tiles. But right beside the two remaining empty stalls stood Raphael Thorne — completely butt naked and looking unfairly sinful. Water streamed down his muscular back, tracing the defined lines of his shoulders, down the deep groove of his spine, over the firm curve of his ass. Good God!

A deep grunt echoed, and my pulse quickened instantly. He was in there. Working. Sweaty. Alone. My breath hitched. I reached the bottom of the stairs and followed the sound, the towel still loosely tied around me. When I reached the doorway, I paused and watched. Mark was hunched over the workbench, shirtless. The muscles in his back flexed and moved as he worked, the sheen of sweat making his skin glisten like polished bronze. A tattoo curled around his left shoulder, something jagged and tribal and I stared at the way it moved when he breathed.