I still feel his hands on me, like it just happened. God, it was last night, this guy I met at that dimly lit bar downtown. We locked eyes across the room—tall, rough around the edges, stubble shadowing his jaw, that smirk saying he knew exactly what he wanted. I was in a tight black … Lire la suite
I remember slipping into that médiathèque last Tuesday, the air thick with that musty book smell mixed with fresh coffee from the corner machine. I’m 27, and yeah, I was feeling bold—wearing this tiny red thong that rode up just right, hugging my ass like it owned it. Black skirt, short enough to tease if … Lire la suite
I swear, girls, last night was insane. I was at this dimly lit bar downtown, sipping my gin and tonic, when this guy slides onto the stool next to me. Tall, sharp jaw, wearing this crisp white shirt with a silk tie hanging loose like he didn’t give a fuck. His name was Alex. We … Lire la suite
I swear, I was starving after that party last Friday night. It was like 2 a.m., streets empty, my heels clicking on the pavement, pussy still throbbing from dancing all evening. Spotted this little kebab joint still open, neon sign flickering. Pushed the door, bell jingled softly. The smell hit me first—grilled meat, onions sizzling, … Lire la suite
I swear, I can still feel his rough hands gripping my hips, slamming me back against him as we fucked like animals in that dingy hotel room. Sweat dripping down my back, the air thick with the musky scent of our bodies mixing with cheap whiskey on his breath. I’m 27, and yeah, I’ve always … Lire la suite
I swear, everything that went down last night feels like it happened five minutes ago. My thighs are still a little sore, and I can still smell his cologne mixed with sweat on my skin. Okay, so picture this: it’s Friday, I’m stumbling home from drinks with friends, heels clicking on the hallway floor of … Lire la suite
I swear, I can’t stop thinking about Kléber from the office. That guy… he’s this smooth 32-year-old bachelor, tall, dark hair, always with that cocky grin. All the women there go weak—married, single, young interns, even the bossy 45-year-old in accounting. He’d flirt shamelessly, brush a hand on your arm during meetings, whisper shit that … Lire la suite
I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but… it happened last week. My husband’s the big boss at the factory, you know? Total control freak, always barking orders. Me? I’m the perfect wife—dinners on time, smiling at his parties, looking hot in my pencil skirts. But that union rep, Jake? God, he’s his worst nightmare. … Lire la suite
I swear, I just got back from that audit gig, and my thighs are still tingling. Picture this: massive open space office, fluorescent lights buzzing like angry bees, the hum of printers and keyboards everywhere. I’m 27, killer curves in my pencil skirt, blouse half-unbuttoned ’cause it’s hot as hell in there. And him? This … Lire la suite
I was at the dump last weekend, hauling these massive boxes from my garage cleanup. Sweat dripping down my back, the sun beating on my tank top, sticking it to my tits. God, it was heavy shit—old furniture parts, rusty metal. I could barely lift the damn crates. That’s when I spotted him. This rugged … Lire la suite