Sexy Scribe

Bob Mathews’ polished corporate façade shatters the moment cunning saleswoman Carol Parker strides into his office, her jet-black pantsuit hugging curves that scream fuck me in every stride. While demonstrating her company’s software, her musk—a heady cocktail of arousal and power—drowns his professionalism. A “mistaken” demo slide reveals Carol’s glistening fingers buried in scarlet panties, her flushed breasts heaving…and suddenly, the real pitch begins.

She taunts him with those soaked panties, forcing them into his trembling hands before demanding he wear them—his cock straining obscenely against the silk as she palms his trapped balls. Carol’s dominance ignites filthy hunger: her mouth devours him, rough tongue milking his shaft until he erupts down her throat. But as she grins, his spend glistening on her lips, the game twists again…

Will Bob beg for more of her ruthless control, or does Carol have darker plans for her new client? Click to discover how deep this office corruption goes…

John’s Valentine’s surprise wasn’t roses or champagne—it was Paul’s email, tucked beside my wineglass with a wicked grin. “Your fantasy,” he purred. “Make it real.” One call sealed it: a hotel rendezvous with the silver-fox stranger whose voice alone had me wet and squirming by dessert.

Dressed to unravel him—skimpy skirt, sheer stockings, lace so thin it might as well vanish—I watched Paul’s hungry gaze devour me across the bar. John’s possessive kiss goodbye was all the permission I needed. Paul’s fingers teased higher beneath the table, his whispered offer curling like smoke: “Room 109…if you want me.”

Want him? I ached.

The second the door closed, we were a frenzy of teeth, tongues, and desperate hands. His thick fingers split my soaked thong, his mouth worshiped my pussy until I screamed, and his cock—god, that cock—stretched me open on the bed, then my knees, as I begged him to take my ass rough and deep. He spilled across my trembling skin, marking me as thoroughly as John’s feverish reclaiming later—fucking my throat in the car, my ass at dawn—would prove just how much he’d loved every filthy second.

But that first taste of Paul’s dominance? Unforgettable…and far from the last. Ready to ruin me again, gentlemen?

Husband craves watching his insatiable wife Barbara devour massive cocks, so he snags a shady bathroom ad for pro XXX filming at a steal—$100. Enter the slick cameraman and his surprise sidekick: a ripped 22-year-old black stud packing serious heat.

Naked on their king bed, Barb’s lips stretch around hubby’s seven inches, then greedily alternate with the videographer’s throbbing nine-inch monster—thick head pulsing as she slurps both, eyes locked on the lens. Doggy-style delirium ensues: hubby films one pounding her sopping pussy balls-deep while she gags on the other, switching to capture every slick thrust, creamy close-ups, and her muffled moans.

Tension builds to explosive facials slathering her tits and face in ropes of hot cum, plus a deep creampie flooding her quivering cunt—dripping out in lewd pulses. But with Barb now hooked on BBC, will hubby recruit even hungrier studs for round two?

A few years ago, when I was a senior in high school, my family went to Florida on vacation. We stayed in a beautiful hotel, with my sister and me in a room and my parents in an attached room. The room had only one king size bed, so I and my sister had to share it.

We had fun going to Disney World and all that. One night, something happened that I will never forget. It was late and I was in bed with the TV on. I was half asleep, and my sister, who was fifteen at the time, was watching something about HBO. I could never really fall asleep too easily and wake up completely when I felt a little concussion on the bed.

Finally, you tie your homework for the night and come to my door. Silence emanates from within, so you quietly open the door and look. I’m sitting in a full lotus in the center of my room, with my pants and my belt. The incense burns in small supports on three sides of me, and you can see the sticky thin needles in my acupuncture points, each needle with a small burning dart of incense paste on its tip. I look like a rock, no movement, even breathing. My muscles are clearly defined, as if I were tense in all directions at once, but my pose seems to be relaxed. As you enter the hallway and slide the door closed behind you, you hear my voice inviting you to come in and join me. Since you were sure that you had been silent and had not disturbed me, you nevertheless withdrew into my room and face me, sitting in the Indian style, not yet completely at ease in a complete lotus.

I work for a big airline on the west coast. As an employee, I have an opportunity to travel that most people dream about. Basically, I fly for free, paying only the taxes that a normal passenger would pay. It looks great, except you still have your living expenses in a remote land and our wages are low. Not that I complain, but we must be careful in our planning despite everything we have. That’s why I wanted to stay with my friend Yuko in Japan.

My name is Carol and I live alone in a small two-bedroom apartment in a suburb of a big city on the east coast. One of my closest friends is a girl named Lisa. Recently, I invited Lisa to spend the night at my house. We hadn’t met in a while and I thought it would be a good time to talk about girls. We work in different jobs and are far enough away to make a long distance call when we talk, so we usually don’t talk for long.