روايات وقصص ضمن Play Dirty By Sandra Brown

I thought about Sebastian again and his cold voice after saying this didn't mean anything and I just wanted to see what it was like, but it meant something to me, it meant something and I didn't know what to do with that. I reached over and grabbed a dirty T-shirt off the floor and wiped my stomach and my chest, the fabric rough and cold and I didn't care, then I pulled up my boxers and my jeans and did up the button and the belt with my hands still shaking a little. I rolled onto my side and pulled my knees up on the lumpy mattress where the sheet was damp with sweat and come and I didn't care about any of it, I just closed my eyes and Sebastian was still there behind my lids and in my ches

She looked at Justin, who wiped his mouth, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face, Debby seemingly forgotten. “Fine,” Sandra said, standing up. She pulled her top off in one swift motion, then shimmied out of her skirt. She stood naked in the center of the circle, her body confident and proud. “You.” She pointed at Brody. “On the floor. On your back.” She pointed at Justin. “You. Behind me.” Brody lay down, already freeing his hard cock. Justin stood, unzipping his jeans, his eyes locked on Sandra’s ass.

The warm cloth moved over my swollen pussy lips, cleaning away the mess of our combined juices while his fingers occasionally brushed my still-sensitive clit. Every touch sent little jolts through my body and I let out a soft whimper. “This is part of it too, Freya. I use this pussy when I want, and then I take care of it afterward. That’s the full dynamic now.” I bit my lip hard as he continued cleaning me so intimately, spreading me open a little more so he could wipe every fold. “It feels dirty when you touch me like this after you just fucked me so rough,” I admitted, my voice breathy. “But I like it.

Sandy completed my sentence for me, “Imagining what we were doing at the club…and imagining what she wishes she had the courage to…do with us.” “You think?” I said rather doubtfully. “Does the Pope wear a pointed hat?” “I don’t know…fantasy and real life are sometimes pretty far apart.” Sandy snickered, “Boy are you an easy mark, not only has she spent the night imagining this stuff, but she’s obviously put some pretty serious mileage on that little vibrator of hers.” “And how would you know that?” “I guess you didn’t see the old batteries in her trash can along with the plastic wrappers for a new set?”

He rolls his hips, and the head of his cock drags against my clit through the fabric and my eyes nearly roll back. "Bending over my counter. Saying goodnight to me on your way to my son's room. Knowing he doesn't have a fucking clue what to do with you." He grabs a rag and wipes his right hand clean. His left hand stays greasy, gripping my hip, leaving a dark print on my skin. His clean hand pushes my sundress up to my waist and slides between my legs, pulling my panties to the side. The first touch of his fingers on my bare pussy makes me gasp. His fingertips drag through my slit, parting me, and the groan that tears out of him is deep and raw.

My clit was throbbing against Dominic’s pelvis every time I rocked forward, oversensitive and swollen from how many times they’d already made me explode. But the next one hit like a freight train. No warning, just a sudden, white-hot wave that crashed over me so hard my elbows buckled. I cried out, my walls clamping down so violently around both of them. “This is eight, baby" Damian rasped, his fingers digging bruises into my hips as he kept pounding. "Fuck, our perfect little slut fuck can’t even count straight.” Dominic’s hands slid up my sides, cupping my swaying tits and pinching my nipples hard enough to make me jolt. “Good. Let her lose it. We’re just getting started, baby. Jarrett’s g

My hands pressed into the wood, my knuckles white, as I whispered a frantic prayer. “Lord, cleanse me. Wash this filth out of my mind. I am Yours. I am not this woman. I am not.” But my body… my body wouldn’t stop trembling. Because the truth? For one wild, reckless second… I liked what I saw. I grabbed the phone again and my thumbs flew across the screen. Gloria: Don’t you ever send me something like that again. This is disgusting, sinful. You need repentance, not this filth.

His free hand dipped into her leggings, finding her panties soaked. "Fuck, you're wet," he said, fingers circling her clit through the fabric. She bucked, moaning his name. The realism hit her—the scratch of the rug, the pop of embers, his stubble rasping her skin. No fantasy; this was Max, the guy who'd bandaged her scraped knees, now unraveling her.

'I want you to take me to bed and go down on me. Sandra never used expletives, not the bad ones anyway; this was about as dirty as her talk got, so I was immediately aroused. Besides, I loved performing cunnilingus on her, loved the sight of her glorious red bush and light brown cunt lips. Loved the taste of her juices. She'd said once that her husband had refused to lick her out, stating that she "smelt horrible down there, like all red heads". It was an awful thing to say and totally untrue. Sandra's scent was strong but highly arousing and I loved it. I was only just beginning to realise how much trauma she had suffered at his hands.

“Lock the door behind me. Eat the damn pizza. Shower. Try not to spontaneously combust. I’ll be back.” True to her word, Sandra returned three hours later, arms laden not just with more snacks (ice cream this time), but with fuzzy blankets, her favorite ridiculously cheesy rom-com DVDs, and a determined glint in her eye. “Operation Brain Scrub commences,” she announced. “No talk of emotionally stunted exes or current chaos agents. Only terrible dialogue, predictable plots, and excessive amounts of dairy.”