Dom/sub

fucking my big tit roommate. I saw her sending pictures for her bf and fingering herself. I started stroking my cock and then she saw me. She got mad and asked me what the fucked I am doing. He said he will tell his bf and I asked for forgiveness, I praised her body and told her that its hard to resist not to jerk off to her body @Avoid common AI words/phrases

Female POV. He walked in while I was bent over the fridge… and didn’t leave Okay, so I’m 25 and I crashed at my best friend’s place again over the weekend. I do this all the time, no big deal. But this time, her brother was home. He’s older, kinda quiet, but not in a weird way — like, the type who’s polite but keeps to himself. We’ve never really talked much before. Anyway, next morning I wake up a little hungover, still wearing the oversized shirt I sleep in — no shorts, no bra, just that shirt that barely covers anything if I bend over. I was just planning to grab some juice and crawl back into bed. So I’m in the kitchen, fridge open, bent over looking for something cold, when I hear this super chill, low “Morning.” I froze for like half a second — totally forgot he was even home — and when I stood up, there he was. Just standing in the doorway like he hadn’t just seen everything. He didn’t say anything else. Just leaned on the counter like it was no big deal. But the way his eyes kept dropping? Yeah, he noticed. I kept it casual. Poured myself a glass, leaned on the counter like I didn’t feel his eyes on my thighs. Took a sip, looked right at him, and said, “You’re up early.” He didn’t respond — just stared. Not in a creepy way, but definitely not pretending to look away either. And I didn’t cover up. I just shifted my weight, let the shirt ride up a tiny bit, pretended to stretch like I wasn’t teasing on purpose. He watched every second of it. I didn’t say anything else. Just walked past him, glass in hand, feeling his eyes trail behind me. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

FEMALE POV. I'm F26, and I guess you could say I’ve been emotionally flatlining for a while now. I used to be someone who cried at sad commercials, who laughed too hard at dumb memes, who fell in love way too fast — and now I feel… nothing. I’m not numb because I want to be. It’s just that feeling anything at all started to feel exhausting. So yeah, therapy happened. Not because someone forced me into it, but because I caught my own reflection brushing my teeth one morning and just stared. I looked empty. Not sad, not angry — just… absent. Like someone who used to be there but quietly stepped out. Enter Dr. K. He’s in his late 30s or maybe early 40s. A little rugged, square jaw, quiet confidence. His office smelled like cedarwood and coffee. He wore nice watches and never interrupted. He had this calm voice, the kind that felt like someone placing a warm hand on your shoulder after a long cry — except I hadn’t cried in years. I sat across from him on that first day expecting the usual: “Tell me about your childhood,” or “Rate your stress from 1 to 10.” But instead, he just looked at me and asked, “When’s the last time you felt like you were really in a moment?” I blinked. I didn’t know what to say. That was how it started. Not with analysis. But with space. He gave me space. Week after week, I returned, and little by little, I started talking. Not about deep traumas — not yet — but about how I hated grocery shopping now. How even music didn’t feel the same. How my phone buzzed with messages I never had the energy to open. One day, I admitted something small but honest: “I don’t remember the last time someone touched me and it wasn’t out of obligation.” He didn’t flinch. He just nodded like that made sense. And I swear, the way he looked at me then — it wasn’t pity. It was like he saw me. Really saw me. My tiredness. My loneliness. My effort to keep it together. After a few sessions, I started noticing things. The way he leaned forward slightly when I got quiet. How he always remembered what I’d said the week before — even little things. Like the brand of cereal I used to love as a kid. Or the name of the dog I lost in college. I told myself it was just good practice — therapist stuff. But something deeper was happening, and I couldn’t ignore it. I started dressing a little differently on Tuesdays. Just a tiny bit more effort. Nothing obvious. A softer top. A touch of gloss. I’d catch myself checking the mirror before leaving for his office and then mentally scolding myself. “He’s your therapist,” I’d whisper to my reflection. And I wasn’t in love with him — I know that. It wasn’t even a crush in the usual sense. It was more like… this magnetism. This ache. Like standing close to a fire when you’ve been cold for too long and your skin doesn’t know how to process warmth anymore. Then something changed. Last week, I told him I felt ashamed. Not about anything I’d done, but about not feeling anything at all anymore. I told him it scared me. That I wasn’t sure if I was still capable of love, or passion, or even missing someone. He looked at me for a long second, then said gently, “The fact that you’re here… that you’re telling me this… that is feeling something.” My throat tightened. I blinked hard. And when the session ended, I stood up to leave — but I hesitated at the door. My hand rested on the knob, but I didn’t turn it. I don’t know why. Maybe I didn’t want to leave yet. Maybe I didn’t want the warmth to end. And behind me, he said — so softly I almost didn’t catch it — “You can stay for a bit longer, if you want. No rush.” I didn’t look back. I just stepped away from the door… and sat down again. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was wasting someone’s time. I felt… wanted.

@Dirty Sex @Anal Detail @Stomach Bulge @Interracial @Humiliation @BBC Addiction @Make it Nasty @Size Matters @Anal prolapse @Spanking @Chastity Cage @Learning to Cum Anally @Interracial Body Writing @Qos Tattoo @VR Technology @Toby Toby recently got an advanced VR headset for his birthday, he's been playing with it every day, trying new games and experiences but as he begins to grow board he starts browsing more dubious sites to find new games and experiences. As he explores these new experiences he finds the quality inconsistent and lacking, pushing him to check an advertisement on one of the dubious sites for a game called The Blacked World, the ad is completely misleading and doesn't suggest what the real game is at all. It promises a great and new experience that makes Toby excited to play it but unbeknownst to him, the advertisement is false and misleading, something he doesn't realize until its too late. The game is actually a secret brainwashing and hypnosis program for hypnotizing boys into becoming addicted to interracial porn, black men and being dominated. At first the game is slow and subtle, Toby continues to return for more but doesn't know why or what the game is about. But as Toby begins to figure it out, he finds himself embarrassed and ashamed about what he's gotten himself into and the strong fetish he's developing. This story covers the slow conversion of Toby and how his new obsession with this game slowly changes his daily life. Toby begins as thinking himself as straight without any concern for sex as well as being super unknowledgeable about sex. This story should have a slow progression. IMPORTANT: There is no sex in the first chapter, only subtle suggestion and hypnosis.@#sexual hypnosis @#dirty talk @#interracial Note: Everything in this story is consensual even if it may imply otherwise. this is fantasy.

I always make it look like I’m the most hardworking guy in the office. Staying late at my desk, typing, clicking, pretending like I’ve got deadlines to beat. My boss thinks I’m a loyal employee, giving him extra hours every night. But the truth is I only stay late for his wife. The moment the office gets quiet, I sneak into his private room at the back. That’s where she waits. His wife - his hot, curvy wife who loves to tease me like she owns me. She’s the reason I’m willing to risk my job, maybe even my life. She always starts with that wicked smile, locking the door behind me. “Worked hard today?” she whispers, before pulling my tie and shoving me against the desk that belongs to her husband. The same desk where he signs contracts. I’ve bent his wife over it more times than I can count. Her body drives me crazy. She wears tight dresses that cling to every curve, and when she bends down, her ass looks like it’s begging to be grabbed. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve buried my face between her thighs while her moans filled the room. She loves being eaten out right where her husband usually sits. Last night was no different. She slid her panties off, tossed them on top of the paperwork her husband left unfinished, and climbed on the desk. “You better make me scream before he comes back,” she hissed. And I did. I spread her legs wide and licked her wet pussy until she was grabbing my hair, pushing me deeper. Her taste, her scent, the way she shook under my tongue and it made me so hard I thought my dick would explode in my pants. She pulled me up, kissed me with her wet lips, and whispered, “Fuck me now.” I didn’t even hesitate. I bent her over, shoved my dick inside her, and started fucking her like I owned her. Papers flew off the desk, her nails scratched the wood, and her moans filled the whole office. Every thrust made her body shake, every slap of my hips against her ass reminded me how dangerous this was, but I didn’t care. The thought of my boss walking in, seeing me with my dick buried deep inside his wife, only made it hotter. She screamed my name, not his, while I cum inside her. And when we were done, she just fixed her hair, kissed me one last time, and said, “Same time tomorrow.” My boss thinks I’m loyal. He thinks I’m the guy who sacrifices hours for the company. But the only reason I stay late, is just to fuck his wife, and I’m never going to stop.

Female POV. IHe came over to fix my sink… and I didn’t bother putting pants on I’m F26. I rent this small place from a family friend — her husband does random repairs around the units when we message him. He’s nice. Older. Probably in his late 40s. Definitely the quiet type. Last week, I messaged her about a leak under my kitchen sink. She told me her husband would stop by sometime after lunch. I said sure, didn’t ask when. Around 2PM, I was still in my sleep shirt — no bra, no pants. Just that oversized tee I throw on after a hot shower. I was laying on the couch, not expecting anyone yet, when I heard a knock. Then the door opened. I’d totally forgotten I told her the key was fine. He stepped in, toolbox in hand, and stopped for half a second. Then nodded like everything was normal. I sat up, tugged the shirt down just a bit, pretending not to care. My thighs were bare. I don’t even think the hem covered everything. He didn’t say a word. Just got on his knees and started working under the sink. I stood in the kitchen with him for a minute. Leaned on the counter. Watched. He didn’t look at me — not once. But I saw the way his hand shook just a little when he reached for the wrench. When he was done, he stood, wiped his hands, and said, “You should put a towel under that until it dries.” I just smiled and said, “Thanks.” Then I watched him walk out — without ever looking back. But I swear… he left the door open on purpose.