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This is a follow up story to what happened when I had written my GF a story about her getting some BBC after finding out she had a secret desire for BBC from some of her old social media posts I found. I can post that story if you guys want. Long story short, she…
This happened back when we got married. In fact, it was the day before our wedding during the last time we decided to have sex before officially becoming husband and wife. All was going well and normal – she was looking so hot in her white lingerie and her new tan and her freshly shaved…
They did dishes side by side like always—steam, clink, the soft slap of the dish towel—until Brianna finally said, too lightly, “It’s just coffee.” Charles set a plate in the rack and kept his hand there, water tracking from his wrist to his elbow. “No,” he said, not unkindly. “It isn’t.” She turned, the smile…
Pics Last He didn’t guide her. He pushed her. The force sent Maya stumbling forward, her hands landing flat on the scratchy, cheap bedspread to catch her fall. The impact jarred her, forcing her onto all fours. The position was instantly, primally humiliating. She was an animal. A dog. She stayed there, her head bowed,…
Pics Last The quiet of the house was heavy, a silence that held its breath in anticipation of a phone call that would send his wife out into the night. Leo watched Maya from across the living room, the amber light of a single lamp pooling around her on the couch. She was reading, or…
The story that awakened my GFs inner BBC slut It had been a few months since she quit her job as a salary restaurant manager in a busy corporate setting to start a new, more relaxing life as a server in an upscale bar. She was finally feeling like she had her life back after…
Read part one on my page. I turned everything off down stairs and made my way up. Like a good cuck I bought us all up a water for bed. I get half way up the stairs and heard the shower going from our ensuite. I put the water down, and walked in the ensuite…
The silence in the hotel suite was deafening. “Stag”—this… this man… who looked like he’d been carved from rock—just stood there, his cold eyes surveying us. David, my husband, was practically vibrating with nervous energy. He was the one who broke the silence, his voice a pathetic, high-pitched squeak. “I… I just want to say……