Salty Stories の小説・ストーリー

Sally comments, “All things considered, inconsiderate.” “Hello!” Rica safeguarded Luke, “Watch what you say.” “Truly? Young lady, he just reported to everybody here that both of you are not dating. Are you actually safeguarding that piece of sh*t? You’re on some significant degree of masochist.” Sally calls attention as she takes a chug from her brew. Rica wavers. However, she takes snatches Sally’s lager and chugs from it, nearly purging the container, Sally comments, “You do you. This is really the main time I like you.”

Winked at herself and tilted her head back to swallow. She coughed a little where it stuck, and pulled a face. The microphone picked up the word, ‘Salty’ from the other side of the mirror, then moments later the guttural sound of Theo getting very close to climax, then backing off before he went to far.

He let out the friendliest of smiles, making Anderson very uncomfortable. Anderson stared back and forth between Suit and the scroll. His mind was racing. The contract sounded simple enough. Straightforward, but he did not understand. ‘What did he mean by survive the stories? Did he not say I was going to tell a story? What does survive the story mean?’ Question after question popped up into his head. He could not help himself. He had no idea exactly what it meant, but one thing was for certain; He would not move forward if he did nothing but constantly question the situation

“Move out of my way. I have work to do” “Would you please tell me’’ Keith blocked Martina’s way and insisted her to answer. “Where is my favorite meal? I thought you’d bring something from outside that’s why I didn’t prepare dinner for today.” Martina shouted and moved Keith from her way “But what made you think that I'll bring dinner today?” “This gold chain!” She held the shiny chain in her hand angrily. “I haven't received my salary yet. This is just a gift that I bought for you from my savings. I don’t have any money I promise.”

So I just said, “It’s been a really long time since I’ve had any.” “Yeah, me too,” she said. That’s when her mom yelled at us to stop talking and get some sleep. We both yelled "okay” and turned over. We left the candle glowing in the corner so we could find our stuff in case we needed to go pee. Sleep wasn’t coming. Not after Sally’s vivid, no-filter storytelling about her sex life. She’d lit a fire in me that wasn’t going out anytime soon. It was too hot under the blanket. I kicked it off. I needed to cum—bad. I was still soaked just from listening to her.

Tatum arched under the touch, breathing heavy. Sloane spread Tatum’s legs wide and dove in with her mouth. She licked and sucked on her clit with raw hunger. Tatum moaned loud, fingers gripping Sloane’s short hair. Sloane added two fingers, pumping deep and steady. She curled them just right, hitting the spot that made Tatum shake. “Come on. Let go for me,” Sloane growled against her wet folds. Trash talk flowed between them. “You think you are better? Show me how you break.”

The head of his cock was smooth and hot against her lips. The taste of him was salty, clean, and unmistakably male. It was a taste that spoke of power and raw, primal need. She opened her mouth wider, an invitation. He took it, pushing the thick head past her lips and into the wet heat of her mouth. He filled her completely, stretching her jaw, the tip of his cock nudging the back of her throat. She gagged slightly, her body’s involuntary reaction, but she didn’t pull away.

Stephen Brock. The man continued spreading lies online almost daily. Interviews. Fake stories. Anonymous articles painting himself like the victim. At this point, it wasn’t even about heartbreak anymore. It was revenge. And honestly? I was tired of being quiet. One afternoon Amelia walked into Sebastian’s office holding a thick folder while looking unusually excited. “You’re going to love this.” Sebastian looked up from his laptop calmly. “What is it?” Amelia dropped the folder dramatically onto the desk. “Evidence.”

I ordered pizza for us and as they gamed, I fired up the laptop in my bedroom, curious to read the stories he'd been stroking to yesterday. As I read story after story, I was shocked both at the content of the stories and by what these stories were doing to me. My pussy was on fire, and my left hand slowly pleasured myself as I read each incestuous story. Some of the stories had dominant sons seducing their mothers, while others had powerful daughters dominating their mothers, while still others were more intimate and egalitarian in the sexual relationships between sons and mothers. I'd never even remotely considered my children in a sexual way, but yesterday's events of my son's masturbatio

I grew up as a sex slave in the yard of Don Clinton, the ruthless Italian Mafia boss. Sold to him at eighteen, I was now twenty-four — broken in, addicted, and utterly used to the brutal rhythm of his fat cock. Life had narrowed to one simple truth: I was nothing but a cum dump.