Sinful Skins Novels & Stories

Knowing her backstory was the first to be violated, but Daniel's fingertips harassed the exploitation without any care. “No, it shouldn't be…” Jenny let out a broken gasp. Not thinking about the place inside the other body, the feeling is so clear, every small movement of the fingertips is clearly felt. On that beautiful face, was pain along with insecurity and a complicated expression of controlling ambition. The skin color of the small veins gradually changed to a lustful pink color, the inner surface of the thighs that were firmly separated by the other guy was a shy white color like never before in the sun. The slow-changing limit of skin color seemed to be an eerie sexy image, the vital

Gray barely grunted in response as they closed the door. "They're gone." I reminded. "You can let me go now." "Oh?" He queried. "Should I leap at your command as the Skins do?" Skins. Humans. The monsters often called the humans skins. Because they're trapped in their own skin. Unlike most of the monsters, which could deviate from the binding of their flesh. To some extent or another. "I didn't order you." "No." He lurched off the wall to wander to the steaming bath. "You know better."

to be sacrificed to the Great Earth Mother. His skin was sheened with sweat, phallus jutting aggressively from the tangled mass of pubic hair, balls cushioned on the sheet between splayed legs. Karen smiled to herself as she shed her dress and knickers, seeing Sinclair’s weapon thicken at the sight of her naked breasts, slim thighs and wet pussy.

My final weapon, the last fragment of power Caleb had not yet stolen from me. I glanced around. No eyes watched me. Carefully, I drank, then hid the remainder beneath the rusty sink. Hooded, I banged on the metal door, coughing and clutching my chest. “Help! I’m dying!” I screamed, letting my voice quiver with pain. It didn’t take long for Caleb’s guards—the skin walkers—to appear. Freshly peeled skins clung to their bodies like grotesque second layers. They were notorious for vanity, for stealing flesh for pleasure rather than survival.

I beg. I beg because I'm no longer in control of what I should feel or not feel. She's changing me, making me think of her in ways a man like me shouldn't. Staring at her now, I desire her so much. I want to kiss her bee-stung lips— those lips shaped like sin. I want to feel how soft her skin is. I want to have a feel of her… of her… I shake my head, refusing the voice in my head that thinks of what it will look like. How pink and tight, and how beautiful it will look.

"Show the street exactly who owns the title to this skin." Elias obeyed with a frantic, submissive urgency, his pristine executive persona vanishing completely under the weight of his infatuation. He scrambled over the leather driver’s seat, his palms flat against the cold glass of the windshield, his back arching into a deep, vulnerable curve that pushed his hips up and out. The dark purple bruises from the Sullivan Street basement were still clearly visible on his inner thighs—the permanent brand of his corruption.

SINNER’S PRAYER (G×G) EVELYN HARPER & LUCIA VALDEZ EVE I have always known I was damned. Every Sunday I sit in the same pew, third from the back on the left, fingers worrying the rosary beads in my lap while Father Michael speaks of mortal sin and the fires that wait for the unrepentant. I nod along, my lips moving silently through the responses, but my mind is elsewhere. My gaze drifts to the stained-glass windows, to the painted lips of the female saints—lips I have imagined pressed against my own in the dark of my bedroom while I touch myself and then cry into my pillow afterward.

I slowly gazed upon her, taking in every inch of her as she laid there, lol on sinfully tempting. She had a red lacy transparent thong on that left little to no imagination on, matching it with it’s pair of lacy transparent bra, showing her erect bud standing proudly in the bra. Her skin glimmered in the lights as a wave of peaches and cream envelopes my senses, engulfing me in her scent and rendering me powerless. Her full lips was molded in a heap of red lipstick, her lower lips caught between her teeth as she battered her eyelashes at me rather innocently.

The sky outside the penthouse was painted in shades of deep indigo, the city below blurred in golden halos of streetlight. Ivy stood barefoot on the cool marble floor, her coat folded neatly over her arm, her body already bare underneath. She had stopped pretending to be surprised by their messages. There was no hesitation now. No need for them to lure her in with soft words or promises of pleasure. She came because she wanted to be ruined again. Because no one had ever touched her the way they did. No one had ever seen her the way they did. And she knew that tonight would be the last time. The kind of last that didn’t need saying. She could feel it in the air, thick and quiet like the still

A cruel grin twisted my lips, a grotesque mask of malevolence that reflected the abyssal darkness within. The flickering light, a feeble sentinel against the encroaching shadows, cast ominous shapes upon my countenance, morphing me into a nightmarish harbinger. Instruments of torment, laid out with meticulous precision, gleamed ominously, each one an artisan's tool in the sculpture of agony. "How does the melting skin feel, Cillian?" I uttered, each syllable dripping with venom. "How does it feel when the skin slowly melts away with the acid and what remains behind is the burning sensation?"