Short Smut Stories Novels & Stories

he says with a smirk plastered across his face. “Please no …no. Stop.” *SMACK* “Ahh…I'm a whore. One” *SMACK* “Ahhhh.. I'm a whore. Two” …..Five,....SIX…..Ten…... .Twelve….. Nineteen. “So this is the final deal” Clover fondled her head gently stroking her hair and caressing her ass cheeks with the stick. Her ass was all red and bruised. *SMACK* “Ahh.. I'm a whore. Twenty.”

he smiles, running his fingers through my curls as I pull out of his arms. “I thought so too.” I smile, still refusing to cry. “Okay, so remember, tomorrow you need to set your online profile up, and I want you to use the pen name “The Smut Slut”. I nod, making a mental note of the name. “The quicker you set it up, the quicker you can start working. All dates will be run by me first just to make sure you're not being sent off with a fucking weirdo, a killer, or someone who's just bad news. I'll take care of you like I promised, Savage, so don't worry your pretty little head about a thing.” He knocks back a shot of tequila and smiles, grabbing Lexi and pulling her onto his lap. “Alright, I'll

I threw on a simple tank top that rubbed against my bare tits and soft cotton shorts that clung to my ass, no bra, nipples already stiff from the morning chill. Downstairs the smell of coffee hit me hard and I heard Liam before I even saw my twenty-year-old son loud and excited, talking nonstop about his all-day gaming marathon with his online crew, his voice carrying through the kitchen like he owned the morning. Ryan came down right after, Liam’s cocky best friend who was crashing here for the whole summer. Shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, the thick outline of his cock hanging heavy and obvious, the fat head pressing against the gray fabric every time he moved.

he murmured, guiding me to a secluded corner near the lockers, the gym’s hum a distant backdrop. His hand slid to my waist, fingers grazing my abs, then lower, rubbing my cock through the fabric. “Hard already,” he teased, his touch bold, and I nodded, breath hitching. He unbuttoned my shorts, freeing my erection, and spat into his hand, stroking me with a firm grip. I moaned softly, the risk of being seen fueling my arousal, and he leaned in, kissing me hard, his tongue dominating mine.

Chapter 2: Finger fucking in class I walked into Professor Harlan’s lecture hall the next morning wearing my shortest skirt yet, my heart pounding with excitement. I had no panties underneath, it was just my smooth, bare skin that was already getting slick from the thrill of what I planned to do. After yesterday’s little show in Blake’s office, I knew I had his attention, and now I was going to push him further.

Lu saw her and said: -But why, what did she tell you, they had a fight? -No, no. Miriam told her everything, Lu looked at her and said: "Well, you've already had a fight: -Well, you've already been locked up for a week mourning, it should pass and you have to go on with your life, just like he will be doing, so you stop, take a bath and we'll go shopping and you go to work, go, go.

We never got to see how they lived happily though, but the smile in the last scene after which the The End, flew or swivelled or zoomed in, made it obvious. Nisim did tell me later that The Thief was a short story and short stories ended that way! It was five pages long, much longer than the stories in the book Deuta had gifted me on my eleventh Birthday – Aesop’s Fables – the stories in this book were never more than two pages. And always with a moral at the end. The Thief didn’t have a moral – that was the best part though – I never liked memorizing morals. But the thing was, my brother was calling the longest story I had read till then, a short story! By then, though, I had some idea of a

The Ghost: The Woman Jamia: ‘Where are you?’ Irina: ‘Starbucks,’ I said. ‘I’m having a burnout staying at home, so I am writing my story here.’ Jamia: ‘Is that a love story?’ Irina: ‘Hmmm, not really, but almost a love story,’ I said and placed the straw trapped between my lips. ‘It’s a sad story, though not tragic.’ Jamia: ‘Uh, I don’t like sad endings,’ she said. ‘What are you drinking?’

One message: “Lavatory. 1 hour. Door unlocked.” I stared at the screen for a long moment. Then I typed back: “Make it 45 minutes.” I hit send. He didn’t reply. But when I glanced forward again, he was smiling—just a small, dangerous curve of his lips. I spent the next forty-five minutes edging myself under the blanket—slow circles on my clit, fingers dipping inside, stopping every time I got close. My pussy was swollen, aching, dripping. My thong was useless now—sodden, pushed to the side.

He wanted to reject the call but impatiently answered after Jennifer said something to him. I asked softly, "Where are you?" He snorted. Then, as everyone watched, he snarled, "Are you checking up on me again? Can't you settle down now that you're pregnant? Are you that desperate for someone to love you, Samantha? Will you die without a man by your side? "I've already told you that Jennifer and I are at this old settlement because our museum discovered an ancient tomb! Only a revolting woman with a mind as dirty as yours would constantly mistake our professionalism for us having an affair behind your back!"