Pink Suit Filthy Frank Novels & Stories

I stood up on legs that barely felt like mine, knees soft, blood humming. Every inch of my body pulsed with memory, with desire, with that reckless craving that had never really gone quiet since the retreat. Slowly, deliberately, I peeled off my scrubs. Not all at once. I let them slide down my hips with a kind of teasing ease, like my skin was aching to be bared. Underneath, I wore the set I had no business wearing to work. Blood red. Lacy. Practically a sin.

If I knew I would've lost my job, I wouldn't have wasted my money on it. It was a plain red dress with single spaghetti straps that had a deep v-neckline, showing a lot of cleavage, and ended just below my ass. It was complemented with a pair of four inches silver stilettos. I knew I looked hot, and Alessandro just verified that by the lust in his gaze. "You aren't innocent, but I was talking about your mind. You shouldn't follow me if you don't want it to be tainted with darkness." He resumed walking again, expecting me to follow, and I did. "Besides, why are you dressed like a hooker?"

Five hundred meters sang, steel dented, dust sneezed. Pauly’s first string wrote the word NOPE around the silhouette like a scattergraph. He lowered the pistol, cheeks pink. “At least he won’t be making babies,” he said, forcing levity he didn’t feel. Frank rolled to sitting, patted the deck beside him. “Come here.” Pauly sat, wary. Frank took the sidearm, locked it back, handed it back. “Is the gun heavy or are your thoughts heavy?” Pauly blinked. “Both?”

Then proceeded, “When Aunt Jeni would see a man with well defined veins, while we were out and about. She would say, ‘Vein porn! I’d tap that.’ And well it just made me giggle.” Frankie took a couple of steps in my direction and looked down and said with a definite shit-eating grin on his face, “So you’d tap that?” I don’t know if it was the deep baritone of his voice or the absolute mischief in his eyes, but my core began to throb with a need that only Frankie could satisfy.

“To get them undone, just unbutton the top couple and pull the fly apart and the buttons will come undone quicker than a zipper.” “Yeah?” Liam nodded. “Try it when you get changed. I want to see the other pair on you too.” “Fine,” Frankie said, moving back into the changing room. “So if you’re here with me, where’s Mia and that Darius fucker?” “She’s with him doing the same thing I’m doing with you.” Frankie grunted and then came out to show Liam the second pair of pants. They were chinos this time, a mustard color and more of a slim fit than Frankie was used to.

Every second I’m off-screen the chat gets filthier, spamming guesses and begging for skin. When I step back in, pink satin tied tight across my tits, they lose their shit. Hearts, flames, filthy emojis fly like confetti. I give them a slow twirl, tilt my hips, laugh right into the mic. “Think you picked well?” They answer by blowing up the screen.

the second replied with a shrug. Inside, Frank shed his coat and handed it to a waiting attendant, revealing a sharp pinstriped suit beneath. The slot machines rang out in a constant, dizzying chorus as he approached the counter and traded cash for chips, then made his way to the poker table and sat down. A waitress drifted over, her smile practiced and warm. "What can I start you with, Franky?" "I'll take two shots of whiskey, sweetie."

Even the damn orange juice tastes like pity. Paulina’s seated just beside me. Her legs are crossed, and she has a perfect posture. Her nails are red. The kind of red that screams blood sport. Her dress? An emerald green silk number that clings to her like she’s starring in a perfume commercial. No bra. Of course. Her hair’s slicked back in a bun so tight, I’m convinced it's the reason she’s so unhinged. And that face… smug. Full of collagen and calculation.

“This ass belongs to me now. Your fiancé will never stretch it like this. He’ll never make you feel this full and filthy.” He pulled out of her ass only when she was shaking and dripping. He turned her onto her back again, straddled her chest, and pushed her full breasts together around his spit-slick cock. He fucked the tight valley of her tits with rough, deliberate strokes, the thick head of his cock hitting her chin and lips with every thrust. Spit and precum made the slide filthy and wet. He leaned down and sucked one nipple into his mouth, biting hard enough to leave deep red marks, then switched to the other, leaving both peaks swollen and throbbing.

Randy Pierce. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that fell just over his brows and a jaw that was so sharp. He just slid into the chair, wearing a charcoal jacket with no tie and the top button of his shirt was undone. “Relax sis”, he said low enough that only I could hear. When I turned to glare at him, he had this stupid smirk on his lips. “You're sitting like you're about to be executed”. God, I hated him right from when we met before the wedding.