Sofia Franklin Nude Novels & Stories

(SOFIA QUISPE'S POINT OF When Sofia woke up entwined in the arms of a strong and warm body, her skin against their skin, she thought she was dreaming. Her one night each with Somito and Phuwin aside, this wasn’t really what she did in her ordinary life. So, she thought back to the previous night and remembered where she was, which led her to understand she was also naked in bed, tangled up with "Blood of the Founders!" cried Sofia, jumping away from Nomo's sleeping body. He was not wearing a shirt, and although he was wearing perfectly tailored clothing that indicated he was indeed athletic, they didn't do his body justice at all.

The city lights of the estate glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the only illumination that mattered was the single lamp casting golden light across her naked body. Sofia’s wrists were bound behind her back with the black blood-vow ribbon, her cheek pressed to the polished wood, ass raised high, legs spread wide. Her pussy was swollen and glistening, lips puffy from constant use, her tight little asshole still slightly open and leaking the remnants of earlier. My cock was so hard it hurt — thick, veined, the fat head angry and leaking a steady stream of precum down the shaft. I stroked myself slowly, watching her tremble.

Sofia I watched as Luca took off his shirt and I stopped breathing. Luca was a masterpiece of living, breathing danger. He stood completely naked before me, unabashed and glorious in the dim light. My eyes traced the sharp definition of his abdominal muscles, the V-line that disappeared into the dark hair at his groin, and the tattoos that seemed to tell the history of his violent life on his skin. He was beautiful, terrifyingly so.

He needed to extinguish this fire. "You! How dare you kiss me without my consent." Lisa pointed her slender fingers at Brad. "Why are you making a fuss? Aren't all these normal for a woman like you?" Brad coldly said. "Yeah, a woman like me- who don't have the right to live her life on her own way- a woman who was forced to sell her body- a woman who everyone looked down- a woman who don't have any dignity any shame." Lisa yelled, fresh and hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

She took a step back with her hand on her waist as she waited for the culprit to come open the door. “Alice?” Sofia whispered huskily with the door half opened against her body. Alice gave her younger sister a hard stare from her bed hair to the bare skin in front of her. “What’s going on here?” Alice screeched. Sofia rolled her eyes before replying. “Alice comes on, I was just having a good time trying to forget my urges and you came knocking. What do you want?” Sofia moved out of the door and started walking back to her bed. She was butt naked, leaving her glittering ass for her sister to glare at. She got on her bed and climbed on it. Next, she disconnected the huge brown dildo she had be

I try to stop him torturing me even more, then I speak louder, what a psychological hell! “It’s not necessary, I already know.” Franklin pretends he doesn’t hear me and scan through the little notebook, reading emotionless. “Let me read, start by kicking my ass, fuck me in half, break my nose, rip my arm off, smash my skull with Freud painting, poor Freud. I think that’s it, wait there, I had already forgotten, mark my shitty face with you fingers The Sickle, did I miss anything?” I try to remain serious and start to laugh, Dr. Franklin is thicker than me, even though I’m huge like a bear and sharp like a sickle, he doesn’t care a bit about my ugly face and my closed fists.

Here, on her knees in spirit, she was to offer herself physically. Shaking, her heart hammering against her ribs, she let her knees fall apart. Franklin’s stormy eyes glinted with predatory satisfaction. “Good girl.” His hands slid up her thighs, pushing the hem of her dress up to her hips. The night air and his gaze felt equally cold on her exposed skin. He hooked his fingers in the sides of her plain black underwear. “Lift your hips.” She obeyed, a soft whimper escaping her as he drew the fabric down her legs and discarded it. She was utterly exposed to him, to the vast, indifferent city sprawling behind him.

A full, noisy laugh, all tiny teeth and unreasonable confidence. I power-walked several yards behind them, phone in hand, one earbud in, our group FaceTime open, and my lungs already reminding me that saving Pilates videos in a folder titled Start Next Week did not improve cardiovascular health through intention alone. On-screen, Sofia appeared against the Egyptian desert, wearing a field hat, her dark hair braided and her skin lit by the sun in a way that made her look like an archaeologist in an expensive movie who was about to fall in love with a deeply problematic professor.

Audio crystal clear: my moans, his groans, the filthy things we said to each other. I click to the next video. The studio. Me naked on the platform but we are not modeling, we are fucking. His mouth between my legs, my hands gripping his hair. The timestamp shows 2 PM on a Thursday, when he should have been teaching Renaissance Art. There are six more videos in the thread. “Elena, stop.” Sofia tries to grab my phone from the front seat. I keep scrolling through the comments instead. Thousands of them, multiplying by the second. *She is a slut who knew exactly what she was doing*

But I’m just tired. I slowly erase the traces of makeup. Each cotton pad is a war. A farewell. A return to myself. And in my head, over and over, that scene. That look. Rafael’s look. No anger. Not really. Rather a wounded incomprehension. A poorly healed fracture. He saw me. And he understood that I was no longer the one he had left. It’s him who left. It’s him who decided that I was not enough. Not stable enough, not simple enough, not… silent enough.