Pussy A Reclamation Novels & Stories

“Tell me who this pussy belongs to. Tell me why I should let you cum after you were rubbing it all over another man tonight.” “It’s yours!” I sobbed, voice breaking with need. “My pussy is yours, Tristan. Only yours. I was stupid and drunk and angry because you hurt me earlier. But I don’t want anyone else. Please… lick me. Suck my clit. Fuck me with your tongue. I’ll do anything.”

Was it possible to be addicted to a pussy? Everything about her was perfect. Okay, most of the time she really pissed me the fuck off. But then there were times that I saw a different side of her—a less prickly side. And, Goddess, her body, the way she smelled, the way she screamed my name, her amazingly gorgeous tits, her big, round ass, her tight little, wet pussy. I sighed to myself and got up off the floor, peeling off the condom that contained the evidence of what we'd just done. I found a paper towel roll in a cabinet under the closed window where coats were normally collected. I tore off a sheet and quickly cleaned myself, wrapping the used condom and disposing of it in a small trash

That the machinery of feeling hasn’t been dismantled by weeks of silence and cruelty and a word – detour – that lives in my chest like shrapnel. My hand moves lower. Not searching for pleasure. Searching for confirmation. Still here. Still alive. Still capable of heat in a body that’s been running cold since a man I loved looked through me like glass. And I find it. Not fireworks. Not the earthquake of another person’s hands. A pulse. Quiet. Mine. The low, stubborn hum of a woman who refuses to go numb. This is what reclamation feels like. Not loud. Not performative. Just a hand in the dark and the stubborn refusal to let someone else’s cruelty be the last thing my body remembers.

"Yeah, Emma, faster, baby. Suck harder." Derek looked up after experiencing a very fast orgàsm because he imagined Emma squatting down, naked, sucking his manhood. Meanwhile, Emma accelerated her hand movements until her body suddenly shook. She orgàsmed after the image of someone appeared in her mind. Her fantasy world is filled with the men she once rejected.

“Going to ruin this virgin pussy until you’re begging for my cum.” The thought sent her spiraling. Her back arched violently as a powerful orgasm ripped through her. “Lucian—!” she cried out, pussy clenching and gushing around her fingers. She kept rubbing her clit through the waves, prolonging the pleasure until her legs shook uncontrollably and she collapsed, panting, covered in a light sheen of sweat.

His tongue flattened and licked me from entrance to clit in long, filthy strokes, then circled the swollen bud until I was sobbing. Three thick fingers plunged in and out, faster, wetter, the lewd squelching sounds mixing with my desperate whimpers. “You’re clenching so tight around Daddy’s fingers,” he rasped, looking up at me with dark, lust-drunk eyes. “This pussy was made for me. Not for that pathetic boyfriend. Not for anyone else. Say it.” “It’s yours,” I gasped, voice breaking. “My pussy is yours, Daddy—fuck, only yours!”

’ He thought, finding her sensitive nub, he closed his lips around it, cutting off her ability to speak at all. Letting go of her nub for a second, he drags his tongue across her pussy, up and down for a few times until she cries out, using his hair to tug upward. He reached out to check on her, to see if she was okay but she didn’t give him a chance, it was like the mini orgasm made her more wild. She reached for his boxers, tearing it off him. He heard the buttons fly in all directions but didn’t care. The moment her hand closed over his cock, he jerked, throwing his head back.

A furious, simmering awareness that all those years of subjugation, of bending and smiling and pretending, had been for nothing but someone else’s ego. Ava’s fingers toyed with the edge of her bag where the results lay, safe and unread by anyone else. That small folder contained more power than she had ever been given before. It wasn’t just proof, it was leverage. Evidence of every lie that had been told about her, every whispered insinuation. Landon’s impotence, the Donovans’ cruelty, the foundation of her suffering. And for the first time since all these years, she didn’t feel the urge to beg for forgiveness.

Or do I need to remind you how good it gets? Heat floods my spine like molten honey. My thighs clench. And I may or may not make a noise that sounds like I choked on my own soul. Sloane smirks. “Tell me he didn’t just send a dick pic.” “No,” I squeak. “Worse.” She grabs the phone, reads, and whistles low. “Well. Someone’s feral.” I slide it back into my bag with trembling fingers. “We need a task. A mission. A distraction before I end up dragging him into the back seat of his truck in broad daylight.”