Slow Horses

Si Elara Renoir ay isang babaeng matagal nang nangarap ng tunay na pag-ibig. Isang lalaking mamahalin siya sa mundong puno ng panlilinlang. Syempre, hindi mawawala sa kanyang listahan ang gwapo, mabango, at mayamang lalaki. “Aminin na natin,” aniya, “hindi ka mabubuhay sa mundong ito kung hindi ka magiging praktikal.” Hindi siya sakim o gold digger. Gusto lang niyang matiyak na ang buhay at pamilyang bubuuin niya ay magiging maayos at maginhawa. Naranasan na niya ang hirap at ayaw na niyang bumalik doon. Then Rhett Alaric came into the picture. Years ago, she saw him on a magazine cover. Young CEO, perfectly tailored suit, handsome and composed. His gaze was sharp yet calm. From that moment, he became her ideal man, someone she thought she’d only admire from afar. But fate had other plans. One quiet afternoon in a coffee shop, she looked up and there he was. The same man from that magazine, real and breathtaking. For a moment, she could only stare, realizing the man she once dreamed of was standing right in front of her. Ngunit sa pinakanakakahiya pang pagkakataon ito nangyari. Hindi man lang tulad ng mga teleserye moments na may slow motion at background music. Sa pagmamadali niyang maibigay ang kape, hindi niya namalayang natapunan niya ito ng mainit na kape—at sa mamahaling suit pa talaga nito bumagsak ang lahat! Gulat. Pagkapahiya. Kaba. At oo, may halong kilig rin. Ngunit nang magtama ang kanilang mga mata, malamig. Matapang. He wasn’t just a man in a suit—he was the man everyone feared to disappoint. At sa oras na iyon, alam ni Elara na hindi lang kape ang natapon niya, kundi pati ang unang impresyon niya sa lalaking matagal na niyang pinapangarap.

Three women. And maybe more... Three stories. And more... All soaked in desire that doesn't care about rules, vows, or shame. These aren't tales of love-they're confessions of raw, hungry need. Lust that makes your cünt throb, your cöck twitch, your breath catch. Pages moist with sweat, wet with cūm, dripping with sin. Fingers, lips, tongues, hands-everything presses, slides, and fūcks in ways that make your pulse race. You'll read about pūssies dripping, cöcks hard and throbbing, mouths gagging and sūcking, āss cheeks spread, tongues sliding inside folds, fingers plunging deep. Every page pulses with heat, with mōans you can feel, with bodies colliding and fücking without mercy. Inside, nothing is sacred. Nothing is safe. A married woman spreads wide for her forbidden lover. A professor trembles as her student takes her mouth. A stranger is bound and worshiped, every inch of her body devoured. And that's just the beginning. Every filthy craving, every desperate mōan, every secret you've never dared whisper-it's here. Women devour women. Men ravage men. Lovers cross every line they shouldn't. So go on. Pretend your fingers aren't twitching to turn the page. Pretend your thighs aren't already wet. Pretend your cöck isn't straining. But once you give in... once your eyes slide across the first word... you'll feel it- the slow, dirty pull between your thighs, the rush of want crawling through you, your body answering before your mind does. And from that moment- you don't just read it. You become it. Your püssy, your cöck, your jūices, your mōans, your filthy, trembling need-all mine to claim, to taste, to drive wild. So tell me-would you be mine? Would you dare turn these cūm-stained pages?