Yuri Lesbian

“Spread that tight little pussy for me. It’s mine tonight,” Callum growled in my ear as he slammed into me. “Yes. Claim me. Use me. Don’t stop.” A strangled moan ripped out of me. He drove so hard I could barely breathe. My nails ripped at his shoulders, desperate to hold on, when another hand yanked my hair back. My mouth fell open, and a second cock rammed into my throat. I gagged as spit streamed down my chin. A third voice cracked across me with a sharp smack to my ass, the sting making me cry out. “Good slut. Take it all. You’re nothing but our toy tonight.” Tears blurred my vision and my throat burned raw. My pussy clenched tight around Callum with every brutal drive. I gasped out the only words I had left. “Yes… Daddies. I’ll take everything." •••••••••••••••••• CLAIM ME, DADDIES isn’t here to tease. It drags you to your knees, rips you open, and leaves you begging for more. Inside, you’ll find hotel-room threesomes that leave no hole untouched, office domination that strips away every ounce of control, step-daddy cravings that cross every line, brutal gangbangs that push you past your limits, lesbian hookups that turn sweet into savage, gay encounters that shatter taboos, and roleplay so filthy it will stain your imagination. Every story is built to ruin you in the best way. This collection is for adults only, 18 and over. It contains explicit sex,raw language, taboo roleplay, and extreme scenarios. All stories are pure fiction and meant for erotic entertainment. If you’re under 18, stop reading now.

Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | 18+ | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Pace It started with a kiss I don’t remember giving. A rooftop. A moan. Someone’s fingers buried in my hair like they belonged there. A mouth on my throat that said I tasted like something they lost in another life. I wasn’t dreaming. The city was already cracking beneath me. Power grids flickering like dying stars. Tech failing. Screens static. The sky bruising in strange new colors. Everyone said it was coincidence. Collapse. Noise. But I knew better. The moment I felt her breath on my skin — even if I couldn’t see her — I knew the end had already arrived. And I had something to do with it. Ten butterflies followed me after that. Not literal ones. Not always. They shimmered in my periphery. Each the wrong color. Each too vivid. Each drawn to me like heat to blood. They touched me in dreams. They watched me when I undressed. They whispered without words. I could taste their want. Some called me cursed. Broken. Unstable. But the truth is simpler. I’m blooming again — and they all feel it. They don’t love me. They remember me. They remember what I used to be — what I still am, underneath the silence. One of them burned me with just a kiss. One broke my spine with kindness. One slid her hand under my shirt like it was always hers. One cries when she touches me. One never speaks, but her eyes dig. One wants to keep me. One wants to ruin me. And one just wants to finish what we started. They think I’m choosing. I’m not. My body already did. And now the bloom inside me is turning darker.

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.