Thigh Pics Novels & Stories

Gera’s ribs sucked in and out frantically, but he rose onto his knees, and he groaned, a pained sound, as he freed his c-ck, closing his hand about the stiff rod as if seeking to hide it within his grasp. “Very nice,” Thaelen approved. Of the man, his c-ck was the prettiest part, smoothly and delicately skinned, faintly blushed by the blood that pulsed within it, its size and width emphasized by the thinly built body that wielded it. “We can do a lot with that. Give it here,” he purred.

A photo of me smiling, now stretched across his bulge. I stared, breath caught in my throat. My thumb moved on its own, zooming in. Heat rushed to my cheeks—and lower—as I realized I was tracing the shape of him through the screen. *What the hell is wrong with him?* I should have stopped. Instead, I kept swiping. More pictures flooded my eyes. Tarzan with his finger between his lips, tongue teasing. A low-angle shot of his powerful thighs and the prominent swell between them. Another of him winking at the camera, shirtless, looking far too pleased with himself.

“I need him to be all over me the next time I see him. Come on, snap me.” I raised her phone and started taking pictures. Click after click. Her tits looked huge in every shot, nipples hard, her wet thong clinging to her pussy. She changed positions, got on all fours, ass up, looking back over her shoulder so her big ass cheeks spread, and the thong string pulled tight against her asshole. I snapped every angle, my own pussy getting wetter with every picture. Then she hooked her fingers in the waistband again and slid the red thong all the way down her legs, kicking it off.

Sheri said, shaking her head as she stood up and Charles typed, zooming the photos out. "No! No! Oh, God, no!" Sheri gasped when she saw that one of the photos was a close-up of an ass with a black cock sticking out of it, beneath which was a pussy whose long inner lips were hanging down and gaping apart, beads of moisture glistening from the dark-tinged edges.

His hard length pokes through his gray tailored pants, betraying his relaxed posture. My thighs shake as I imagine what it would feel like to have that thickness between my ass cheeks again. The sound that rips from my throat is so filthy, my cheeks flame almost immediately. That doesn't stop my hips from rolling slowly, sexier, to meet the thrust of my fingers. The slick, squelching sounds fill the air as my juices run down my fingers.

Some pictures were sexy showing her perfect figure, legs when he bent and when he sat. His favorite was when Yaze fixed her ponytail as her arms were raised up, making her uniform raised exposing her thighs almost showing her blue panties as one button from the hem popped open. He had this picture developed in an 8x10 size and put in the last page of the picture album.

Those long fingers that looked made for pinning wrists above heads, for sliding between thighs, for making a girl beg and strong enough to snap me in half- or pin me down until I begged. And those thick thighs… God, the way his tailored pants hugged them, promising power, promising ruin. I clenched my thighs together under my short skirt, feeling the slickness already coating my panties. Not because of Jax and the stripper but because of the image that flashed behind my closed lids. Image of me, spread open on silk sheets and Tristan’s rough hand sliding up my bare thigh, knuckles brushing the damp lace before pushing it aside. I could almost hear his low, gravelly voice whispering filthy th

Turn around and bend over—show me that ass while you peel them off. I turned, cheeks flaming, and hooked my thumbs into the waistband. Bending at the waist, I pushed the fabric down my thighs, the motion spreading my cheeks slightly under my panties. The shorts pooled at my ankles, and I stepped out, kicking them away. His breathing grew heavier behind me. 'Panties too. I want to see if that pussy's as wet as I imagine from your pics.'

The plain cover hid the pages and pages of pictures Kiana had found in her explorations into the darker side of the internet. Halfway through she found the high-resolution black-and-white photographs she adored, the ones with a pair of red lips barely touching the head of a stiff c*ck or a woman pushed down onto a plush bed by a man taking her from behind. Often she had fantasies develop around these pictures, ones she typed down for her blog – ones she brought with her to bed late at night. She looked at a picture of a tall strong man holding a limp and naked girl in his burly arms, his face hidden by the shadow as he held his prize before him. Claimed by him.

Because of the size of his thighs, the thin fabric of his underwear was unable to conceal the fact that they were incredibly muscular and powerful. And last but not least, he had broad shoulders that tapered down to narrow hips, which gave him the appearance of being very athletic. His thighs were trim and toned, and his calves ended in broad, manly feet that tapered off into thin toes. His feet were manly and broad, but his toes were thin.