Group
Multiple partners, shared experiences, adventurous dynamics
25 stories
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The Loft on Whitaker
I was supposed to be checking the histogram but all I could see was the way the sweat pooled in that little dip above her tailbone.
We Never Actually Finished the Hike
The air at nine thousand feet tastes like cold iron and pine needles, but his skin tasted like salt and expensive bourbon.
Was the Bass Player Always This Loud?
The way he looked at her across the fretboard wasn't about the chord progression; it was a rehearsal for something much louder.
Julian's Flask
The train rhythm was a pulse in my marrow, a low-frequency hum that made my thighs ache before anyone had even touched them.
I Never Liked the Taste of Champagne Alone.
The mask was meant to conceal our identities, but it actually just amplified the hunger I’d been repressing for three solid months.
Surcharge
The ice in Ben’s glass had melted into a single, jagged shard by the time Elias finally put his hand on my knee.
A Red Dot on the Baseboard
Julian leaned into my personal space like a hostile takeover, his thumb hooking into my belt loop while the room watched.
Put Your Hands on the Glass
You are a storm in a silk dress, pinned between the cold window and the two of us, tasting like rain and gin.
Sharp Softness
The rain is a rhythmic pounding against the glass but inside the only sound is the wet, heavy sliding of skin on skin.
I'm Not Saying It Was the Champagne
I watched the way the track lighting caught the sweat on the small of your back while you arched for her, a composition more honest than anything hanging on those sterile white walls.
Deckle
You’re pressing me back against the mahogany shelving, and for a second, I’m terrified the first editions won't be the only things bruised tonight.
August 12th, 3:14 PM
Elias was moving around her like a predator who had forgotten he was supposed to kill, holding that camera like a holy relic.