Semua Bab Wild Dreams [An Erotic Collection]: Bab 81 - Bab 90

The first time I met Marcus, he was sitting at the end of my bar like he owned the entire city.It was a rainy Thursday night in Chicago, and I was working the late shift at The Velvet Room. I was wiping down glasses when he walked in, shaking rain from his dark coat. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to see straight through people. He ordered a bourbon, neat, and watched me with quiet intensity.“You look like you’re counting down the minutes until your shift ends,” he said after his second drink, voice low and smooth.I laughed softly. “That obvious?”“Only to someone who’s paying attention.” He tilted his head. “Rough night?”“Rough week,” I admitted, leaning on the bar. “Student loans, rent, and my boss being an asshole. The usual.”We talked for hours after closing. He listened when I told him about my dream of opening my own bar one day. He didn’t flinch when I said I’d never had a serious relationship because I got bored too easily. Marcus was s

Laura:I’ve always been good at pretending. At school, I’m the quiet girl who gets straight A’s and smiles politely when teachers praise me. At home, I’m Daddy’s little helper—setting the table, folding laundry, saying “yes, sir” when he asks me to do something. But inside my head? It’s a different story. Lately, the thoughts won’t leave me alone.It started small. A glance that lingered too long when he came in from the garage, shirt clinging to his chest from sweat, the way his forearms flexed as he lifted a box. He’s not my real dad—he married Mom three years ago—but he’s been the only father figure I’ve known since I was fourteen. Tall, broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper hair, that deep voice that makes everything sound like an order even when it’s just “pass the salt.” I used to think it was harmless admiration. Now I know it’s something else.Something that makes me ache between my legs when I’m alone.This afternoon, the house is empty except for the hum of the air conditioner.

Mom left before the sun was even thinking about rising. The phone rang at 3:47 a.m.—sharp, insistent, cutting through the dark like a knife. I heard her muffled voice from the hallway, then footsteps, the zipper of her travel bag, the front door clicking shut. She whispered something about an emergency at her sister’s place upstate, said she’d call when she got there, and then she was gone. The house settled back into silence, heavier now that it was just the two of us.I didn’t get up right away. I stayed in bed, sheets tangled around my legs, replaying last night in the kitchen until my skin felt too warm again. The ache between my thighs hadn’t really gone away. If anything, it had settled deeper, like it was waiting.Around seven the light started creeping through the curtains—soft gold, lazy. I heard him moving downstairs first: coffee maker gurgling, fridge opening and closing. Normal sounds. Safe sounds. Then the stairs creaked under his weight.My door was already open a crac

The lecture hall smelled faintly of old wood and chalk dust, the kind of place where secrets felt safer because no one ever looked too closely at the back rows. Philip and I always claimed the last bench—far enough from the projector’s glow that our screens stayed private, close enough to the exit if we needed to bolt. Today the room was half-empty, professor droning on about structuralism or semiotics or whatever dead theory he was paid to resurrect this semester. We didn’t care.Philip angled his phone so only I could see. The video was already queued: two men, one on his knees, the other standing behind him with a hand fisted in dark hair. The bottom’s mouth was open, eager, taking every inch like he’d been starving for it. Slow thrusts at first, then harder, the slap of skin loud even through tiny earbuds we shared. Philip’s free hand was already under the desk, palming himself through his jeans. I mirrored him—fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my leggings, circling slow,

Melissa The fantasy had been chewing at me for weeks, but yesterday it finally clawed its way out of my mouth.I was still sore from the apartment—thighs bruised where Henry’s fingers had dug in, ass tender from the plug he’d left buzzing inside me while he fucked me senseless. Philip couldn’t sit without wincing; every time he shifted in his chair during morning lecture his breath hitched and his cheeks went pink. I loved it. Loved knowing exactly why he was leaking into his boxers right now, right beside me, while the professor droned about Derrida.But the new thought was filthier.I wanted to be full—stuffed, split open—while Philip was getting wrecked at the same time. I wanted to feel every brutal thrust Henry gave him travel through Philip’s cock into me. I wanted to be pinned between them, used like a toy, and then I wanted them to ruin me after. Rough. Mean. No mercy. I wanted to squirt so hard it soaked both of them, wanted to be made to lick it up while they laughed at how