While other men sweated to get a phone number, Ricardo sweated not to be dragged into bathrooms, locker rooms, or meeting rooms. It was as if women—and not rarely some men—sensed something ancestral in him, something wild. And then they wanted. Always.

What would be, for almost everyone, a divine blessing, for him was a curse. He never finished high school. He was expelled from three schools. In the last one, the scandal was so absurd it became a joke among the teachers.

It all started when he was caught fucking a classmate’s mother in the art room. While the students were taking a mock exam, Ricardo was teaching practical anatomy—from behind, facing the blackboard. When the principal decided to suspend him, he went to the office to pick up the paperwork. It took a while. A long while. The principal decided to look for him personally, annoyed by the delay, and found him with the school secretary, skirt hiked up, on the desk, moaning with her head against the stamps.

By then, no one wanted him in schools anymore.

In adulthood, the pattern repeated. Job interviews felt like blind dates. Admission tests turned into flirting sessions. His last job had been at a newly opened shopping mall. Ricardo was hired as a stock assistant at a large clothing store. He arrived early on the first day, before the mall even opened. The cleaning ladies were already there, of course. A lively forty-something and a nineteen-year-old girl in a tight uniform with a curious look.

Ricardo just smiled and said, “Good morning.” Fifteen minutes later, he had his pants down and the two on their knees in front of him, between the basement aisles. The firing came before lunch. The manager walked him to the exit without even looking him in the eye.

Ricardo walked home that day with his hands in his pockets and a confused feeling in his chest. He didn’t know whether to laugh at his own fate or cry over another closed door. All he wanted was a normal life. But with that gift—or curse—normality always seemed to slip away, at the same speed that panties dropped around him.

“This time there’s no mistake, Mom,” said Ricardo, explaining what his new job would be like, starting that day. “It’s an auto shop. I went there; only men work there. I’ll ask to stay in the back, away from the public.”

“For God’s sake, Ricardo,” said his mother, Rute, without taking her hands off the dish towel, “keep that dick inside your pants.”

To avoid problems right on the first day, Ricardo took precautions. Unlike normal people, who dress to impress, he did everything to go unnoticed. An extra layer of clothing to hide the enviable physique, a hooded jacket to conceal the face. He wanted to disappear. Be just another guy.

Just in case, he called an Uber. The first to accept—by bad luck or pure fate’s mischief—was a female driver. Ricardo canceled immediately. A male driver was the safe route between home and the shop.

Elias Motors was on a busy avenue. It dealt with luxury cars. It wasn’t one of those dirty shops with mud and oil dripping on the floor. It was a clean, controlled, almost clinical environment. And most importantly: the customer had no direct contact with the mechanics.

Ideal for Ricardo.

He had done a test a few days earlier. He met his future colleagues. His beauty always impressed, of course, but nothing happened. There, Ricardo felt he might be safe. Just go in, do the work, leave. Normal life. Anonymous life.

Ricardo checked his watch; it was 7:34 as soon as he arrived at the shop.

“Good morning, Ricardo,” said Mr. Elias, the shop owner, upon receiving him. “Are you cold, kid? Why all those clothes?”

“I usually feel colder than normal, Mr. Elias. Don’t mind me.”

“Before we start, let’s go to the office. You need to fill out some paperwork.”

Ricardo felt that chill down his spine. “All I need is a secretary here that I didn’t map out…”

The office was in the back, and you had to go through some hallways to get there. Ricardo walked tense, eyes alert.

“Here are the locker rooms, Ricardo,” said Elias, pointing to a door next to the office. “There you guys can shower after hours.”

“Men’s locker room?”

Elias found the question strange.

“Yes. Unfortunately, we don’t have female employees. Yet.”

To his relief, it was Mr. Elias himself who handled the paperwork. No secretary. No perfume in the air. Thank God.

“Ricardo, here are the procedure manuals. Read them carefully. Take as much time as you need. I’ll be out front helping customers.”

Elias left with heavy steps. Ricardo breathed deeply. He saw there was coffee. He looked around, checked that there was really no risk, and sneaked over to the pot. He poured himself a cup. Two sips. Warmth. Comfort.

He went back to the desk, sat, and exhaled.

“Just read these manuals, then go to work. Normal life. Normal life.”

For the first time in years, Ricardo felt he could breathe. Maybe, finally, he had found a place where his body wasn’t a threat. A safe place.

And then, a female voice cut through the air like a blade:

“Dad, did you see my bag?”

Ricardo froze. The coffee, still hot in his hand, stopped mid-air. The voice was young, sweet, and carried that unmistakable vibration that his body hated to recognize: the approach of trouble.

His heart sped up in the same automatic rhythm as always. A heat rose up his neck. He closed his eyes for a second. “No. It can’t be. Not here.”

Through the half-open door, he heard light footsteps. Flip-flops slapping against the waxed floor. Then the soft sound of an elastic being pulled—like someone tying their hair into a bun.

He quickly grabbed his jacket, put on the hood to hide, sat at the desk, and tried to read the manuals when he heard her enter the room.

“Good morning!” she said.

“Good morning!” Ricardo replied, looking at the manual, without looking at her. Just hearing her walk around the office, searching for the bag.

“Clara, my daughter!” he heard Elias shouting from the shop. “Your bag is down here.”

Ricardo heard the footsteps leaving the office. She was gone. Thank God. He knew women didn’t work there, but he hadn’t counted on Mr. Elias having a daughter, and that she frequented the place. He lowered the hood slightly, looking around, trying to detect Clara’s presence. She had really left, or seemed to.

“No, Dad, that’s not the bag. It must be in your office.”

There was no time.

Into the room walked Clara.

She had something innocent and something dangerous at the same time. She wore a loose denim jacket that hid the body only as far as the gaze insisted. The tight white blouse underneath revealed, more than it covered, the curve of her young, firm breasts. Her brown hair was tied in a messy bun, one of those that seem improvised but carry the beauty of perfect carelessness. Her skin was fair, clean, like someone who never got dirty with grease—but her eyes had the same thick oil tone that drips from the expensive cars in the shop: dark, shiny, dense.

Clara Elias seemed out of place in that masculine environment, like a sigh inside a gear. And that’s exactly what made her dangerous.

Ricardo didn’t look at her directly. He couldn’t. But he felt her. The air seemed to get hotter, slower, as if time had taken a wrong step.

She passed by him without hurry. She searched for the bag with the calm of someone at home. And she was. But Ricardo wasn’t. Ricardo was in a war zone.

“Found it!” she said, with a smile he didn’t see but felt on his back.

She turned, took three steps to the door, stopped, and looked at him.

“Are you the new mechanic?”

Ricardo swallowed hard. Still with the hood down, he answered without raising his eyes:

“Mechanic’s assistant.”

“Ah. Welcome.”

And she left.

Ricardo let out the air slowly. She was gone. “It’s okay.”

But he knew it was already starting.

Seconds later, she entered through the door again.

“What’s your name?”

Ricardo took a deep breath. No more hiding or running.

“Ricardo, and you?”

“Clara. My dad is the owner, Elias,” she smiled, already flirting. “Do you work here long?”

“No, actually, I’ve been here for under ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen you here before.”

Ricardo fell silent. Maybe if he just stayed quiet, she would leave.

“There’s an employee of my dad’s, a mechanic, Alfredo. He won’t leave me alone. That’s why I usually hang around here.”

“Are you going to stay here all day?”

“Actually, just about fifteen minutes. I’m on my way to work; my dad will give me a ride. But thinking better, I think I’d like to talk to you. I like you.”

“Just talk, right?”

“Yeah!” she said, laughing, as if it were the most innocent thing in the world. “You’re hot!”

“I have a girlfriend.”

“Poor girl.”

“Poor?!”

“You certainly don’t stay with just one woman, even if you wanted to.”

Clara approached the desk, already leaning in for a kiss.

“Look, Clara, right? Here’s the thing. I thought you were a cutie, really beautiful. But it’s my first day at work here; I’ve been here not even fifteen minutes, actually. I can’t. Let’s do this: I’ll get your phone number, we talk, in about fifteen days, you know, like normal people do.”

Clara ignored every word; every syllable spoken only increased her desire even more. She rubbed against Ricardo’s arms, making it clear she wasn’t leaving. No way. She looked back, let her hair down from the bun, letting the straight strands free. She took off her blouse and shirt, staying only in her bra.

“Girl, no, no, no, don’t do that.”

She took off her bra, showing her medium, firm breasts.

“Alfredo would kill to see this,” she said, teasing.

“Girl, for God’s sake, I’ll be fired without even starting.”

“Clara!” Elias was coming through the door, entering the office.

“Hide, girl,” Ricardo begged. “For God’s sake, hide.”

Ricardo pulled Clara under the desk milliseconds before her father entered through the door.

She fell to her knees between his legs, giggling softly like someone taking a risk.

“Did you see my daughter around?” asked Elias, in a casual but suspicious tone.

“Yeah, she was here, looking for the bag, but I think she already went out front,” Ricardo answered, trying to keep his voice steady despite the chaos under the desk.

Elias walked to the coffee maker, glanced at the open manuals on the desk, and poured himself a coffee.

Clara, crouched between Ricardo’s legs, was having fun. Her eyes were lit, challenging. She placed her hands on his thighs as if supporting herself to stand, but didn’t get up.

“Hmm, okay, okay. If she shows up, tell her to call me,” said Elias, bringing the coffee to his mouth. “Ah, Ricardo, I liked you. Seriously. Stay in your lane, work right, and here you’ll go far.”

“Yes sir, you can count on it.”

“We need reliable people,” Elias continued. “Lately, only bums looking for trouble have been coming.”

“Yeah, I imagine.”

Clara, under the desk, slid her fingertip along Ricardo’s zipper. He closed his eyes for a second. The whole hell seemed concentrated in that point of the universe. She pulled Ricardo’s dick out and started massaging until it was rock hard. Ricardo’s big, hard dick immediately reacted, the body already so used to sex. And he felt that tasty, soft mouth swallowing his member.

“How’s the manual reading going?” asked Elias, casually, stirring the coffee. “In a bit we’ll go to the shop, hands-on. You won’t stay in this boredom all day.”

Ricardo breathed deeply, trying not to moan.

“It’s wonderful, Mr. Elias.”

“Good to hear,” said Elias, taking a sip. “This afternoon a Ferrari 458 is coming in. Fine work. I want to see if you’re really good with your hands.”

Clara plunged her head between his legs with decisive movements, alternating deep sucks with soft licks on the glans. She was having fun. It was evident. She made noise on purpose. And Ricardo trembled, his whole body pulsing, trying to keep composure.

“You’re sweating there, kid. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just a bit hot in here, right?”

“Hot? With this air conditioning?” Elias laughed. “You must be the type who sweats over anything.”

“Yeah, always have been.”

The sound of the chair creaking, the spoon hitting the cup rim, the coffee smell—everything was real. But for Ricardo, everything seemed distant. What existed, for real, was Clara’s mouth, her tongue circling the head of his dick, the precise rhythm, the growing impulse.

“Well, I’ll leave you in peace a bit more. Enjoy this time. In a bit I’ll call you. And if you see my daughter around, tell her to stop disappearing. This girl seems to sniff out trouble.”

“You can count on it.”

Elias left.

The door closed with a soft click.

Ricardo moaned softly, bending slightly over the desk.

Clara didn’t stop.

On the contrary—she sped up. She was focused, almost methodical. She sucked with gusto, holding the base with one hand while the other climbed up Ricardo’s thighs, pressing the tense muscles.

“Fuck, Clara,” he whispered through his teeth. “I’ll be fired.”

Clara swallowed everything. Without hesitation. Ricardo writhed between arousal and dread.

The door opened with a soft snap.

“Ricardo, let me introduce you to someone. This is my wife, Marissa.”

Ricardo froze. The blood drained from his face. Clara didn’t move—just lightly squeezed his thighs, as if saying: act natural.

Marissa entered like a bored goddess.

She wore a black blazer casually draped over her shoulders, a tight white blouse underneath that molded her mature bust with elegance. The pants were dark tailored, impeccable, and the heels highlighted her long, shapely legs. Her hair—brown with golden highlights—fell in natural waves to the middle of her back, as if each strand had been combed by the right wind.

But what caught the most attention was her posture.

Marissa didn’t ask for space: she occupied it.

She had that calm, direct gaze of someone who had seen everything, been desired by everyone, and learned to choose whom to return the gaze to.

“So you’re the famous Ricardo,” she said, looking at him with almost clinical eyes. “The new mechanic’s assistant.”

Ricardo tried to smile, but his jaw locked.

“Yes, pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Marissa.”

“‘Mrs.’ makes me sound old.” She laughed. “You can just call me Marissa. I’m Elias’s wife and Clara’s mother.”

Hearing that, Ricardo held his breath. Clara, under the desk, laughed silently and sucked harder, as if it were a personal challenge.

“Marissa helps with the finances, comes here once in a while,” explained Elias, oblivious to the hell under his feet. “But I handle the shop day-to-day. She prefers more sophisticated things.”

“And you, Ricardo, what do you prefer?” asked Marissa, without taking her eyes off him. The question seemed innocent, but the tone was sharp as a razor.

Ricardo swallowed hard.

“I prefer to stay in my lane. Work. Do what needs to be done.”

“Hm,” she murmured, still looking deep. “Good answer.”

She turned to her husband, leaning lightly on the edge of the desk—centimeters from where Clara was hidden, mouth full.

“Honey, I’m going to stop by the market before going home. Want anything?”

“No, no, I’m good. I’ll stop by later.”

“Okay. See you later, Ricardo.” She gave another up-and-down look. “I’ll see you around.”

And she left.

As soon as the door closed, Ricardo arched his body, face pressed against his hands.

“What the hell,” he whispered, panting. “This is going to kill me.”

Clara wiped her mouth, looked up, and said, with a malicious gleam in her eyes:

“My mom liked you. For real. I bet she comes back.”

And she came back, in less than thirty seconds. She strutted to the coffee, wanted to see better, and wanted to be seen.

“So now you’re going to work here?” said Marissa. “And we’ll see each other every day?”

Ricardo tried to keep the conversation flowing, even with Clara under the desk continuing to suck him masterfully.

“Yeah, Mr. Elias said that you only come once in a while.”

“Don’t call me ma’am. It’s really just cars and boring mechanics here, but now there’s something really interesting to do around here.”

Ricardo made a face of arousal, first because he was—Clara was doing a great job—second because Marissa was a really attractive woman.

“You liked me, huh?” said Marissa. “It’s written all over your face.”

Ricardo’s aroused expression encouraged Marissa to continue.

“Elias will be downstairs for a while; we can have some fun.”

Clara sped up the pace, just out of spite, while the mother undressed. Marissa had a spectacular body, natural big firm breasts, a round ass that she made sure to show off.

“No, ma’am, I’m so fucked.”

And while Ricardo felt the daughter’s lips torturing him underneath, he felt the mother’s lips in an intense kiss. She climbed on the desk and rubbed her tits in Ricardo’s face.

“I’m yours, stud. Enjoy, before my husband gets here.”

“Marissa,” Ricardo managed to murmur, turning his face for a second. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Shh,” she whispered, biting his earlobe. “Relax, my dear. Elias won’t come up so soon. You’re exactly what I needed today,” said Marissa, climbing fully onto the desk, legs open around him. She pulled Ricardo’s head against her chest. “Let’s make this quick.”

Clara, under the desk, paused for a millisecond. Ricardo felt the pause—a moment of jealousy, perhaps, or pure challenge. But soon she returned, more aggressive, as if she wanted to prove she was better than her mother. The contrast was surreal: the daughter sucking with anger, the mother offering herself with mature confidence. And him, in the center, trying not to scream.

“Elias doesn’t control me,” she retorted, voice firm, almost a growl. “And you,” she laughed, sliding her hand down his chest, “you don’t seem to want to stop.”

At that moment, Clara did something Ricardo didn’t expect: with one hand, she squeezed the base of his dick hard, while her tongue circled the glans at a frantic pace. It was as if she wanted to force the climax now, before the mother took full control. Ricardo arched his back, a moan escaping against his will.

Marissa misinterpreted it. Thought it was for her.

“That’s it, stud,” she murmured, pulling her panties aside and positioning herself over him. “Come.”

Ricardo was seconds from collapsing when he heard the sound he feared most: heavy footsteps in the hallway. Elias.

“Marissa?” the shop owner’s voice echoed, getting closer. “You still up there?”

Marissa in a rush got off the desk, grabbed her own clothes, and went under the desk in the same second her husband entered through the office door.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Clara?” whispered Marissa, very softly, but in shock and angry.

“Apparently, the same thing as you,” answered the daughter, in a challenging tone.

“You should be at work.”

“And you shouldn’t be trying to fuck another guy in Dad’s shop.”

Ricardo sweated, trying to keep his sanity in the middle of it all. He still had some thread of hope that the day might end well.

“Here’s my boy. Kid, you okay? Sweaty?”

“I’m fine, yes. I feel a lot of heat, Mr. Elias.”

Under the desk, the discussion continued in whispers.

“When your dad leaves, you’re getting out of here. Flying!” said Marissa.

“No way. Look at this man! He’s so hot! And I got here first.”

“You’re crazy, girl!”

Clara responded, resuming sucking Ricardo intensely. He even jumped.

“Did you see Marissa?”

“Yes, she went to drop Clara at work, Mr. Elias,” answered Ricardo.

Still under the desk, Marissa seemed to accept the challenge, took Ricardo’s dick from her daughter’s mouth and started sucking it with gusto and intensity. Trying to show her daughter she knew how to do it better. Ricardo delighted and horrified himself with that mouth challenge.

“Anyone else I want you to meet?” said Elias.

Ricardo tried to stay firm. “For God’s sake, let it not be another woman.”

Elias smiled, patting Ricardo’s shoulder.

“One of our main customers, long-time partner. Ricardo, this is Dr. Fernando Valestri.”

Ricardo shook the man’s hand, a gray-haired guy, tall, smelling of money and French perfume. White linen shirt, expensive shoes, and a watch worth more than Elias’s car. Ricardo felt relieved, having only to deal with mother and daughter devouring his dick under the desk.

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Fernando, with a firm smile. “So, you’re the new reinforcement?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hope you can keep up. Things get rough here.”

Ricardo laughed. Then he heard the tinkle of nails on the floor, like a small dog. And soon after, an even more threatening sound:

“Honey, you forgot my bag in the car. Again.”

The voice came from the entrance. Melodious, sweet, slightly bored.

“Ah, Ricardo, this is his wife, Abigail Valestri.”

She entered with a Yorkshire in her arms and a Chanel bag over her shoulder. She wore a tight sand-colored dress, sleeveless, that hugged the body like a second skin. High heels, perfectly blow-dried blonde hair, and light eyes that scanned the environment like an X-ray.

Ricardo held his breath.

Abigail Valestri wasn’t just a trophy wife. She was the trophy. And she knew it.

“This is the new mechanic,” said Elias.

She shook Ricardo’s hand, with a sideways little smile, already analyzing Ricardo up and down.

“Hm.” Abigail approached, with a catwalk stride. “He looks competent—especially with his hands.”

She passed so close that the perfume invaded Ricardo’s brain like a sweet poison. The Yorkshire stared at him, like a judge judging sins.

“Be careful with her,” whispered Elias himself, half jokingly. “She’s broken more marriages than no-fault divorce.”

Ricardo gave a wry smile. Because he already knew.

He was fucked. Again.

“Well, let’s go see the car,” said Elias, pulling Dr. Fernando, as if they were great friends. But Abigail stayed standing, staring at Ricardo. Didn’t move.

Ricardo closed his eyes; at that moment Clara was fervently licking his balls while her mother Marissa was sucking his dick. He just looked at Abigail, with arousal from the double blowjob, but with a look begging for mercy.

Abigail didn’t need words, set the little dog down on the floor, placed the bag on one of the chairs, and started undressing.

“No, no, no, no! Enough! No!” said Ricardo, suddenly standing up, showing his big dick dripping on the manuals on the desk.

Abigail stopped undressing, first in shock, then with admiration, and in shock again, upon seeing the two women coming out from under the desk.

“What madness is this? Who are you?” said Abigail.

“I’m the owner’s daughter.”

“I’m one of the owners.”

“Get out of here!” said Marissa and Clara, in unison.

“Damn, you’re fucking mother and daughter? In the guy’s office?” Abigail, trying to recover from the shock.

“This happens to me sometimes,” said Ricardo, trying to explain. “Not exactly in the office, I mean, mother and daughter, you get it.”

“How delicious,” said Abigail. “Let me join.”

“No, everyone out of here,” said Marissa, authoritative. “I’m the owner; he’s mine.”

“I got here and saw first,” said Clara.

“I’ll tell Elias everything then,” said Abigail.

“No, calm down, wait,” said Ricardo, trying to catch his breath. “I’ll fuck all three, no problem. But one at a time, calmly.”

“Who first?” asked Clara.

“Her, Abigail,” said Ricardo, decided.

“Why her?” said Marissa, feeling wronged.

“Alphabetical order,” explained Ricardo.

“But I got here,” said Clara.

“Or it’ll be my way, or it won’t be,” said Ricardo, blunt.

Ricardo, with one hand, pulled Abigail, with the dexterity of someone more than used to it, undressed her completely. Abigail had breast implants and a body shaped by daily hours of gym and running. She had plenty of time to take care of her body and appearance. With the dexterity of a god, Ricardo got naked and positioned Abigail, who, without questioning, started sitting on his dick.

“Fuck, how delicious!” said Abigail. “You’re like a god. What are you?”

“This isn’t fair,” said Clara, naked, arms crossed, but without looking away.

The little dog started barking. Marissa acted quickly, putting it outside and locking the office door for good. After that, she got to work, started kissing Ricardo while Abigail sat on his dick frantically, kissed him and rubbed her breasts in his face. Clara didn’t want to fall behind, pulled Ricardo to kiss her on the other side and showed off her young breasts with hard nipples for him to suck.

Abigail rode Ricardo with an intensity that made the desk creak, each thrust pulling hoarse moans from her. The sculpted body shone with a thin layer of sweat, the augmented breasts bouncing in a hypnotic rhythm. Ricardo, trapped in the eye of the hurricane, held her hips by pure instinct, trying to keep some control while Marissa and Clara fought over the rest of him like hungry lions.

Marissa, with the experience of someone who knows how to play dirty, pressed her big natural breasts against Ricardo’s face, the nipples brushing his lips between possessive kisses. She bit his neck, leaving red marks, and whispered provocations through her teeth.

“That’s it, stud. Show this blonde what you do with me later.”

Clara, on the other hand, wouldn’t accept second place. With the boldness of youth, she pulled Ricardo’s head to the opposite side, forcing him to suck her firm breasts, the pink nipples hard as pebbles. She moaned loud, almost performative, throwing challenging looks at her mother and Abigail.

“He likes me more, Mom,” provoked Clara, rubbing her body against Ricardo’s shoulder. “Look how he sucks.”

“Shut up, Clara,” retorted Marissa, voice cutting, but with a competitive gleam in her eyes. She slid a hand down Ricardo’s chest, down to where Abigail and he met, lightly brushing her fingers at the base of his dick, as if wanting to steal a piece of the action.

Abigail, oblivious to the mother-daughter fight, was in another world. Her moans rose in pitch, the pace accelerating as she dug her nails into Ricardo’s shoulders. The sand-colored dress, now a rag on the floor, was the only proof she had been the impeccable trophy wife minutes before. Now, she was pure instinct.

“Fuck, Ricardo,” she panted, voice breaking. “You’re a monster.”

Ricardo, on the edge between pleasure and panic, felt his body respond as it always did—trained by years of situations like this. He gripped Abigail’s hips, guiding her harder, the sound of bodies colliding echoing in the office. The desk shook, the manuals slid to the floor, and the cold coffee spilled, staining the carpet.

Clara, impatient, decided to raise the level. She leaned over the desk, next to Abigail, and started touching herself, moaning loud to get Ricardo’s attention. Her fingers worked fast, face flushed, eyes fixed on him as if saying: “Look what you’re missing.”

Marissa, seeing her daughter try to steal the scene, didn’t let it slide. She positioned herself on the other side, imitating Clara, but with more mature sensuality. She unbuttoned her tailored pants, letting them fall to her ankles, and started masturbating slowly, eyes locked on Ricardo. It was a silent challenge: I’m better.

Ricardo, with Abigail riding, Clara touching herself to the left and Marissa to the right, felt his brain melt. It was too much. The smell of perfume, sweat, and sex filled the air, the sound of moans mixing in a cacophony that drowned out the distant barking of the Yorkshire outside the locked door.

Abigail, feeling climax approaching, grabbed Ricardo’s hair, pulling hard. Her movements became erratic, body trembling as she threw her head back.

“I’m almost,” she moaned, voice failing. “Don’t stop, fuck.”

Ricardo, with a low grunt, intensified the rhythm, thigh muscles tense under her weight. He knew exactly what to do—years of forced practice had made him a reluctant master. With one hand, he held Abigail’s waist firm; with the other, he brushed his thumb on her clit, applying the right pressure, at the right moment.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Abigail panted, eyes rolling. “Holy fuck.”

The orgasm came like a wave, pulling a sharp scream from her. Her body convulsed, legs trembling as she leaned on Ricardo’s shoulders, nails leaving red marks. She came with an intensity that made even Clara and Marissa pause, eyes wide, half impressed, half envious.

Abigail collapsed against Ricardo’s chest, panting, blonde hair stuck to her forehead. For a second, the office was silent, except for her heavy breathing and the distant hum of the air conditioning.

“My God,” murmured Abigail, still trembling. “You’re unreal.”

Ricardo, exhausted but knowing hell was far from over, looked at Clara and Marissa. The two, still naked, stared at him with a mix of desire and impatience.

Clara quickly took the lead.

“Letter C here.”

Ricardo just wanted to fix the car, but the three had done so much that now the wild beast had awakened. With one movement, he set Abigail’s naked body, still in ecstasy, on the manuals, headed to Clara and, like a lion, lifted her inches off the ground, pinned her against the wall, and started fucking her like there was no tomorrow in that shop.

“Woooooowwwww!”

Clara screamed in pleasure, body suspended against the wall, legs wrapped around Ricardo’s waist as he possessed her with a ferocity that seemed to release years of frustration. Each thrust was deep, almost punitive, as if Ricardo had finally embraced the curse that pursued him. The office wall shook, and the sound of bodies colliding echoed louder than her moans. Clara dug her nails into his shoulders, eyes wide, mouth half-open in a mix of ecstasy and shock.

“Fuck, Ricardo,” she panted, voice failing with each impact. “This, this is fuck.”

Ricardo, face buried in her neck, didn’t respond. His body moved on autopilot, defined muscles shining with sweat as he held her easily, as if she were light as a feather. Clara’s denim jacket, now on the floor, was the only reminder of her innocent entrance minutes before. Now, she was pure desire, surrendered to the overwhelming force that was Ricardo.

Abigail, still catching her breath, slid off the desk where Ricardo had left her, the manuals stuck to her sweaty skin. She leaned on the chair, messy blonde hair, half-closed eyes as she watched the scene. There was a gleam of admiration in her gaze, but also a touch of competitiveness. She bit her lip, as if mentally taking notes.

“This guy doesn’t tire, huh?” murmured Abigail, voice hoarse, more to herself than the others. She crossed her legs, still naked, and started touching herself slowly, fingers sliding as she followed Clara being devastated. “Lucky girl. I want more.”

Marissa, on the other hand, was petrified. Sitting on the edge of the desk, she watched her own daughter being fucked by Ricardo with a mix of shock, envy, and an unspeakable desire. Her eyes alternated between Clara’s young body, writhing in pleasure, and Ricardo’s, which seemed sculpted for sin. She pressed her lips, hands clenched on her thighs, as if fighting the impulse to jump into the scene.

But there was a heat in her tone that betrayed her thoughts. Marissa couldn’t look away. Each moan from Clara, each thrust from Ricardo, seemed to ignite something inside her. She slid a hesitant hand to her own sex, touching herself reluctantly, as if trying to deny what she felt. Her fingers moved slowly, but the pace increased as Clara’s screams grew more intense.

Clara, oblivious to her mother and Abigail, was lost in her own pleasure. Her firm breasts bounced with each movement, pink nipples hard, brushing against Ricardo’s chest. She pulled his hair, forcing him to look into her eyes as she moaned:

“Fuck me, Ricardo, fuck me harder,” she begged, voice almost desperate. “I want to cum now.”

Ricardo, with a primal grunt, obeyed. He pressed her even harder against the wall, one hand holding her ass firm while the other climbed to squeeze one of her breasts, thumb brushing the nipple with precision. He increased the pace, thrusts so fast the sound seemed continuous. The office, once a place of order, was now a stage of chaos: papers on the floor, spilled coffee, and the air heavy with the smell of sex.

Abigail, still touching herself, let out a low moan, eyes fixed on Ricardo. She seemed hypnotized by his almost supernatural energy.

Marissa, unable to hold back, let a moan escape too. Her hand now moved with more urgency, eyes locked on her daughter, but also on Ricardo. There was a visible internal battle on her face: the mother who wanted to yell at Clara to stop, and the woman who wanted to be her. She bit her lip hard, trying to muffle the sounds escaping against her will.

Clara, feeling climax approaching, grabbed Ricardo harder, legs trembling around him. Her moans turned into uncontrolled screams, whole body tense like a string about to snap.

“I’m cumming,” she screamed, voice echoing in the office. “Fuck, Ricardo, don’t stop.”

Ricardo, with one last impulse, penetrated her even deeper, keeping the rhythm as she fell apart in his arms. Clara’s orgasm came like an explosion, body convulsing, eyes rolling as she screamed his name. Her nails left scratches on his back, and her legs squeezed so tight Ricardo almost lost balance. She came with an intensity that made the following silence seem deafening.

Clara collapsed against Ricardo’s chest, panting, body limp as if she had run a marathon. He held her against the wall for a moment, both breathing heavily, before gently setting her back on the floor. She staggered, legs shaky, and leaned on the desk, face flushed and eyes shining with satisfaction.

“My God,” murmured Clara, still panting. “You’re from another planet.”

For a second, the four heard the little dog outside, barking, trying to get in.

“This dog is going to fuck everything up,” said Marissa. “I know.”

Marissa quickly unlocked the door, let the dog in.

“Everyone to the locker room, now!” she ordered; she didn’t want to lose her turn.

The four entered, leaving the poor little dog now inside the office, but locked out of the locker room.

Abigail had the idea to turn on the showers so their noise would muffle the sounds. The effect was even more delicious. Ricardo’s strong, athletic body looked even tastier wet. The water itself hitting the bodies increased the collective arousal even more. Abigail started rubbing against Ricardo, begging to be fucked again. Marissa, however, pulled her, first gently, then not so much.

“It’s my turn,” said Marissa, with a lascivious look.

Ricardo smiled. Since he was in hell, why not make it heaven? He put Marissa facing away from him and started fucking her pussy. He did it with pleasure and cruelty, entering slowly, but making her feel every entry, all of it. Clara and Abigail couldn’t avoid all that magnetism and rubbed their pussies on Ricardo’s legs, as if they wanted everything that man could offer. And so those four bodies rubbed, naked, in a celestial and demonic dance at the same time.

The hot water fell in cascades, enveloping the four naked bodies in a steam fog that intensified every touch, every breath. Ricardo, with his sculpted physique shining under the drops, was the center of gravity of that sensual chaos. Marissa, Clara, and Abigail, each with their own hunger, orbited around him, united by a desire that transcended rivalries.

Marissa, now with temporary control, was facing away from Ricardo, hands supported on the wall as he penetrated her with slow, deliberate movements. Each thrust was calculated, deep, pulling hoarse moans from her. Her big breasts bounced under the impact, water running down the hardened nipples, as she threw her head back, brown hair stuck to her back.

“That’s it, Ricardo,” she murmured, voice breaking. “Make me feel everything.”

Ricardo, with a predatory gleam in his green eyes, held her hips firmly, fingers dug into the soft flesh. He knew how to prolong pleasure, how to torture her with every inch. The hot water hitting their bodies amplified the sensation, the sound of the showers mixing with Marissa’s moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

Clara and Abigail, unable to stay on the sidelines, surrendered to their own lust. Clara, with youthful fire pulsing in every movement, rubbed her pussy on Ricardo’s muscular thigh, eyes half-closed as she touched herself frantically. Her firm breasts brushed against his arm, and she moaned loud, as if wanting to remind everyone she was still there, still a threat. With so much arousal in the air, there was no way; Clara and Abigail started rubbing against each other.

Marissa surrendered to the pleasure.

“Fuck me harder, stud,” she ordered, voice firm despite the tremor in her legs. “I want to cum before them.”

Ricardo, with a crooked smile, obeyed. He increased the rhythm, thrusts becoming faster, more brutal. Marissa screamed, moans echoing through the locker room, mixing with the water sound. Clara, not wanting to fall behind, pulled Abigail into an unexpected kiss, their tongues entwining as they continued rubbing against Ricardo. It was a chaotic dance, a total surrender to instinct.

But Marissa wanted more. She wanted something that would mark her, make her feel Ricardo in a way neither Clara nor Abigail could match. With a lascivious look over her shoulder, she whispered:

“Ricardo, in my ass, now.”

Ricardo hesitated for a millisecond, but the desire in Marissa’s eyes was undeniable. He slid out of her pussy, hard dick shining under the water. Carefully, he positioned the glans against Marissa’s tight little ass, pressing slowly. The hot water helped, but she was still incredibly tight. Marissa moaned, a sound of pleasure mixed with pain, as she pushed back against him, forcing him in.

“Slow,” she panted, but there was urgency in her voice. “Then fuck me with everything.”

Ricardo obeyed, entering little by little, feeling every inch swallowed by her intense heat. When he was finally all in, Marissa let out a muffled scream, hands slipping on the wall as she adjusted to the sensation. Clara and Abigail paused for a moment, hypnotized by the scene. It was raw, intimate, and absurdly exciting.

Marissa moaned even louder, body trembling under the double stimulus. Abigail, not wanting to be left out, slid her hand to Marissa’s pussy, rubbing the clit with quick movements as Ricardo started moving, fucking her ass with slow but deep thrusts.

“Fuck,” Marissa screamed, voice failing. “This, this is too much.”

Ricardo, now fully surrendered, increased the rhythm. Each thrust made Marissa writhe, her moans turning into uncontrolled screams. Clara and Abigail, as if an extension of the collective desire, continued stimulating every part of his body, kissing, licking, touching. It was a symphony of pleasure, each note higher than the last.

Marissa felt the orgasm approaching, an overwhelming wave promising to destroy her. She grabbed Clara’s hair, pulling her into a fierce kiss, while Abigail intensified the movements on her pussy. Ricardo, feeling her ass tighten even more, knew she was at the limit. With a grunt, he gave a particularly deep thrust, and Marissa exploded.

“I’m cumming!” she screamed, body convulsing as the orgasm hit her like lightning. Her ass pulsed around Ricardo’s dick, legs trembling so much she almost fell. Clara and Abigail held her, continuing to touch her body as she fell apart, the shower water mixing with sweat and fluids.

Ricardo, still hard, breathed heavy, his own climax approaching. He looked at Clara and Abigail, who stared at him with a mix of admiration and insatiable desire. That was when he himself came, deep in Marissa’s ass. He screamed, like a god, fully satisfied.

Then Ricardo felt a tickle on his feet. When he opened his eyes, he saw it was the little dog. Raising his head, he saw Elias, Dr. Fernando, and the mechanics, all looking at them, in complete shock.

**********************************

Ricardo was sitting in the office, still panting, the manuals open in front of him—sticky with Clara and Marissa’s hot saliva. On the other side of the desk, Mr. Elias stared at him in complete shock, trying to find words.

“Ricardo, I lost my best mechanic. Alfredo. I had him like a son. He was in love with Clara, sent flowers, wrote poems—for years he tried something. And you, in minutes?”

Ricardo tried to explain:

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Elias, really. It wasn’t my intention. She saw me and started. I swear.”

Elias lowered his eyes, then looked back at him.

“I also lost my main customer. Fernando. That man spends over a hundred thousand a month on that woman, and you, what did you do? What did you say to her?”

“I didn’t even say anything. I could barely talk; your wife and daughter were…”

He realized he was only making it worse.

“You ate my wife’s ass, Ricardo.”

Silence.

“Twenty years of marriage, and I never ate that ass. Twenty years!”

“I didn’t ask, Mr. Elias. It was her; she asked.”

“You’re fired. And please, stay as far away as possible from my shop. And my family.”

Ricardo left frustrated, head down. Once again, he had ruined everything. He looked at his watch. 8:34.

“Not even an hour. That must be a record.”

He called an Uber home, already thinking about how he would explain it all to Dona Rute. He only noticed the problem when he got in the car.

The driver was a woman.

Before he could react, the car jerked and climbed the curb at the corner. The driver had already dropped the wheel and jumped to the back seat.

The post Irresistible and Cursed appeared first on Lust Castles.

Selmara lived in the same house near the forest, almost at the edge of the village on the road that led to the castle of Nebelheim, a kingdom nestled in the heart of the now decaying and confused Holy Roman Empire.

The villagers felt a mixture of lust and fear toward her. She was a woman of undeniable beauty; her garments, always black and tightly fitted to her body, stirred the imagination of the village men. Yet they spoke with conviction that she practiced dark and mystical arts, that she could summon demons.

Some women visited her in secret, seeking answers through her oracles. Many who did were never quite the same again; they carried a secret they dared not reveal.

The most intriguing thing about her was how long she had lived there. Though she appeared barely twenty, the oldest villager swore that as a child he had already seen her in that same house, with the same youthful beauty she had now.

And so, in that strange blend of desire and dread, Selmara remained in her home. The villagers admired her and sought her divinatory gifts, even as they feared her supposed occult powers.

But now the skies had darkened.

Selmara knew, by intuition and by her own oracles, that this was only the beginning. The winter would be harsher than usual. The summer would vanish. Crops would wither. And the fear of the villagers, inflamed by superstition, would inevitably turn against her, though she had nothing to do with the calamity.

She feared for her safety, yes, but she would face it with pride.

Accustomed to foreseeing the future, she was not surprised when a carriage and horses stopped at her door and royal soldiers invited her to come with them. She gathered her few belongings, including her tarot deck, and entered the escorted carriage.

The surprise came when she realized they were not heading toward a church or a court; the carriage rolled toward the castle, entering discreetly through one of the side gates.

Inside, a maid led her through silent corridors. Soon she realized she was in the royal bedchambers. The maid opened one of the rooms and gestured for Selmara to enter. Inside, a beautiful young woman, about twenty, with innocent, curious eyes, awaited. Selmara assumed she was one of the princesses.

“Your Highness must be Princess Liesel,” Selmara said.

“How did you guess?”

“I know I’m in the royal chambers of Nebelheim Castle. Your Highness is of the right age to be the youngest of Queen Mother Eleonore’s three children: Leopold, Teresa, and Liesel.”

“How well informed you are about the royal family.”

“What I don’t know by myself, the cards will reveal,” Selmara replied seriously.

“How old are you?” asked Liesel. “They say you’ve lived for centuries near the village.”

“Frankly, Your Highness, I doubt your soldiers escorted me here so you could ask about me,” Selmara said sharply. “I believe it is your own life you wish to question.”

Liesel blushed. She sat at a table near the bed and motioned for Selmara to join her. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “Tristan… I wish to know if Tristan would be a good husband.”

Selmara shuffled the cards, focusing to channel her power. The cards would tell everything Liesel dared not confess.

“The Star… naïve hope. Giving too soon. She was sincere. He… was not.”

Liesel watched anxiously. Selmara drew another card.

“The Devil. He exposed the Kingdom, and the Queen. Not just her daughter.”

Liesel froze, near shock. Another card.

“Justice does not listen to the heart. It cuts to restore balance.”

“What does that mean?” Liesel asked.

“It was not wise, Your Highness, to give yourself to a soldier of low rank,” Selmara continued. “Tristan saw you as a prize. He was indiscreet. Your night of love was the talk of taverns and has reached your mother’s ears. For the honor of Nebelheim… he will be imprisoned and executed.”

“That’s horrible!” cried Liesel. “He can’t have done this. There must be some mistake.”

“The cards do not lie, Your Highness.”

“What a curse! What of my future, then? Who shall I marry?”

“We can see, Your Highness.”

Selmara reshuffled the cards again, this time to glimpse Liesel von Nebelheim’s fate.

“The Lovers. You burn like wine left in the sun. You take lovers as you breathe. Men and women. Tristan was far from the first. And you feel no guilt.”

Liesel gasped. Selmara knew of her adventures, secrets she thought unreachable. She blushed, considered denying it, then realized it was useless. Disarmed, she smiled.

“Is that bad?”

Selmara merely turned the next card.

“The High Priestess. Your adventures will not go unnoticed. You shall not marry. The Queen Mother will treat your fire of desire by confining you to a convent. You will be made an example to inspire the women of the realm. And to prevent further scandals. You shall wear no crown.”

Liesel’s eyes widened. Selmara revealed the final card.

“The Moon. There will be vows of chastity, yes. But vows… can be broken. Your desires will not cease; they will only be redirected. And they will bring the novices nights of pleasure, sin, and guilt.”

Liesel stared at her, speechless, hopeless.

“Is that truly my future? Or can it be changed?”

“The future can be changed, Your Highness. And I can help you.”

Selmara rose and walked calmly to Liesel, who remained seated. She placed her hands upon the princess’s shoulders, caressing them lightly with her fingers as if reading an invisible script.

“You must learn to contain the fire of your desire, Highness,” she murmured, lips near Liesel’s ear. “It is your burning lust that brings you trouble.”

Liesel frowned, both uneasy and intrigued.

“And how do you intend to do that?”

Selmara did not answer right away. She slid her hands along the princess’s neck, then down her arms, tracing slow, continuous motions. Her nails curved in soft, magnetic touches.

“Your body does not want what your mind fears, Highness,” she whispered.

Liesel closed her eyes. A shiver ran down her spine. There was something in Selmara’s touch unlike anything she had ever felt with soldiers, or even with her maids. A strange heat, dizzying. She couldn’t tell whether it was magic or desire, or if there was any difference between the two.

Selmara knelt before her, holding her gaze, firm, as if beginning a sacred rite.

Silently, slowly, she parted the princess’s legs. With ceremonial precision, she slid her fingers to Liesel’s undergarments and pushed them aside without hesitation, exposing her flesh to the dim candlelight.

Then she began to lick her cunt with the devotion of someone reading a forbidden psalm.

Liesel was seized by horror, and even more by pleasure.

“You insolent witch… how dare you…?”

Her lips uttered insults, but her body betrayed her. Her sex grew slick with desire. Selmara’s tongue explored every fold, every trembling nerve, with expert precision. She was a mistress of pleasure, knowing exactly how to tease, look, and dominate.

The princess arched on the chair, moaning, until she reached her climax.

The candlelight flickered, painting the ceiling with liquid shadows. Liesel was still panting, thighs trembling, her body numb from Selmara’s touch.

“Is that it?” Liesel asked. “Every time I feel desire, will you do this?”

“Let’s be honest, Your Highness,” said Selmara with a half-smile. “That was merely an appetizer. But your hunger is for a feast.”

She picked up the Lovers card between her fingers and lifted it to her heart, murmuring in ceremonial Latin:

“Gemellus, vultus unius, corda duplicata… apparere, amare, consumare.”

The card glowed with purple and golden light. A thick, warm mist rose from the floor. Liesel tried to stand, but her body would not obey, not from fear, but from a shiver that paralyzed her, as if her own sex had fallen into a trance.

From the mist, two bodies emerged.

Twins. Masculine. Strong.

Both wore golden tunics draped over broad shoulders and sculpted chests. Their long hair was tied in ritual knots; their eyes dark as onyx, their jaws sharp as living statues of forgotten gods.

Between them, they held a sphere of golden light, throbbing like a burning heart.

Liesel could hardly breathe.

One twin approached with slow, firm steps, running his fingers through her damp hair, lowering his lips to kiss her neck. The other positioned himself behind her, kneeling with reverence.

“You were made to be worshipped, princess,” said Selmara. “To be touched in unison, possessed in reflection.”

Selmara stepped back and sat in a dark velvet armchair, legs crossed, watching as though presiding over an ancient ritual. Her eyes gleamed. A faint touch between her thighs betrayed her silent pleasure.

The twins began to undress her. The tunic slid off Liesel’s shoulders as if surrendering to gravity itself. Her breasts were bare, her nipples hard. One twin kissed them slowly while the other pulled her closer, brushing his lips along the base of her spine.

The first lifted her onto his lap; the second held her open by the thighs. Suspended in the air, she seemed to float, supported by strong arms, wrapped in heat and light.

They touched her as if she were an offering, as if every moan were part of a profane litany.

And Liesel surrendered.

She hung between their bodies like a living prayer upon the altar of desire. The twins held her with devotion, one by her waist, the other by her thighs, as though their strength had been forged for this single purpose.

The first twin, with dark, intense eyes, brushed his lips over her skin, from clavicle to chin, while the one behind her nibbled at her neck with precision, making her tremble like a taut violin string.

Selmara, sitting close by, watched in complete silence. Her eyes reflected the golden light between the twins; her fingers, now discreetly between her own legs, slid in a calm rhythm, not from need, but from communion.

Liesel gasped, legs trembling, her body entirely surrendered. One twin lowered her onto the velvet carpet; the other knelt beside her, caressing her face with the back of his hand. Her desire was inflamed, her legs opened naturally, an instinctive, urgent invitation.

The first twin positioned himself between her thighs and entered her in a single motion, slow, deep, absolute. Liesel arched, moaning sharply, the sound echoing through the chamber.

The second lay behind her, pulling gently at her waist, fondling her breasts while his mouth explored her neck, then her ear, then the curve of her shoulder.

Selmara rose from the divan and approached, unhurried.

The twin between her legs quickened his rhythm, firm thrusts alternating between deep and desperate. The other whispered words at her ear, as if knowing her thoughts before she did.

Sweat dripped from their bodies. The scent of incense mingled with sex. Candles quivered to the rhythm of their movement. Liesel felt full, alive, as if every inch of her body were praying in pleasure.

Then, unexpectedly, the twin behind her drew closer. He slid a finger along her slit, wetting himself with her juices, then guided it to the other entrance. When he entered her from behind, firm yet careful, Liesel cried out, not from pain but from shock, from ecstasy. She had never been touched like this, with such strength and such reverence.

Two men. Two rhythms. One body between them.

And at the center… absolute pleasure.

Selmara touched the Lovers’ symbol on the floor with her fingertip. The golden sphere’s light pulsed in sync with Liesel’s moans. And then, at the peak of their motion, when both thrust deep within her at once, the orgasm came like a hot storm.

Liesel screamed.

Selmara rose slowly, as if the room itself breathed with her. She loosened the tie of her black robe, letting it slide to her feet. Naked, pale, and timelessly curved, she walked among the three like a sacred creature.

The twins knelt before her, recognizing her dominion.

Selmara lay beside Liesel, pulling her gently into an embrace. Their breasts touched. Their thighs met. She ran her fingers between the princess’s trembling, still-wet legs.

With a gesture, she beckoned one twin behind her the other before Liesel. Between them, Selmara held the princess’s face and kissed her.

A deep, hot, commanding kiss.

Meanwhile, the twins entered them both, the first into Selmara, with slow, majestic force; the second into Liesel’s mouth, which received him like ritual wine. Selmara’s hands gripped Liesel’s hips, guiding her rhythm, pressing her deeper.

“Yes, my little heiress of chaos…” Selmara murmured, arching in pleasure. “Learn from the Arcana what they never taught you in the convent.”

Selmara climaxed first, with a cry that sounded like an ancient Latin word. Liesel followed soon after, swallowing the twin’s pleasure with tears in her eyes, her body convulsing between moans and kisses.

When the golden sphere’s light faded, the twins vanished like smoke, returning to the deck.

Selmara, still naked, sat beside the princess, stroking her hair as both lay panting.

“Now, Your Highness… your initiation is complete.”

They lay for hours, naked and entwined. Liesel felt utterly satisfied, for now.

“So that’s the plan?” Liesel asked softly. “Every time I feel desire, you’ll use the card, and… it will happen?”

“Yes, and admit it’s a splendid plan, princess.”

“What do you want in return?” Liesel asked.

“Protection, Your Highness,” Selmara replied. “With the great mist covering the sun, the village is no longer safe for me.”

“Then it shall be this way,” said Liesel. “I’ll protect you from the world outside… and you’ll protect me from myself.”

“Agreed.”

The post Arcana of Pleasure appeared first on Lust Castles.

Adrian walked up to the counter with his wallet in hand, his body still light from the beer but his eyes already heavy with fatigue. He wore worn-out jeans, dirty sneakers, and an unbuttoned flannel shirt over a Nirvana T-shirt, the look of a broke student who didn’t bother pretending to be anything else.

His dark brown hair fell in messy waves over his forehead, which he kept pushing back with his fingers in an unconscious habit. There was something in his eyes, something between distracted and hungry, that made certain women stare at him a second longer than they intended.

He didn’t know that.
Or maybe he did, and just pretended not to.

It was while he was waiting for change, his arm leaning on the counter and his gaze fixed at the bottom of his glass, that he saw her.

Not entering, but already there, as if the world had shifted slightly to frame her.

She stood in the darkest corner of the bar, one leg crossed over the other, arms resting loosely at her sides, like someone who had nothing to defend herself from. The tight, sleeveless black dress seemed sewn together from silhouette and silence, and the fabric carried a subtle, almost metallic sheen, like something from the future. Or from a dream.

Her short black hair framed a perfectly drawn face, lips slightly parted, and eyes that seemed to know exactly what would happen next. She looked a little older than him, maybe 28.

She didn’t scan the room. She chose when to look.
And at that moment, she looked at him.

Adrian decided to take his shot.

“You know I can predict the future,” he said, with a half-smile.

She smiled.
“Good. Because where I come from, we already know how it goes.”

Adrian smiled back.

“What’s your name?” he asked, raising his voice above the music.
“Noys. And you?”

“Damn, she’s gorgeous, but what kind of name is that?” Adrian thought.

“I’m Adrian. And where I come from, I predict we’re going to have one hell of an ending to this night.”

Noys smiled, her eyes sparkling. She knew she could keep the wordplay going. But she also knew pulling him into a kiss would be far more effective. This was the right time, and the right era, to let things escalate fast.

Adrian used the rest of his money to pay for a cab to the nearest cheap motel. The desire between them was so palpable the driver felt it in the air and pressed harder on the gas, uncomfortable, maybe even a little aroused by the urgency in the backseat.

They picked up the key at reception. The door opened. The explosion began.

Adrian tore off his own clothes; Noys stripped out of hers. In seconds, they were naked on the bed, lost in burning kisses and desperate touches, as if time itself were against them.

Noys went down, gripped his cock firmly, and started sucking him with hunger, deep, eager, relentless. Adrian, almost in a trance, slid his fingers into her wet pussy, and soon they were locked in a furious 69, devouring each other.

Adrian flipped her onto all fours and began fucking her hard, gripping her hips as her body surrendered. He came like he was being consumed.
But it was only the beginning.

Exhausted and sweating, they collapsed to the side. Noys traced her hand across his chest, and just from looking at her face, Adrian was hard again.

She climbed on top of him, slowly, deliberately, and started riding. He held her hips, watching this gorgeous, impossible woman take him back to climax.

They spent the night like that. Inside each other. On each other’s tongues. Breathing each other’s scent.
They spoke with their eyes, with their moans, with bodies that didn’t yet realize this was the first, and maybe the last, night.

It was just another Sunday night in 2015. Adrian, 43 years old, divorced architect. He had just dropped off Felipe and Andreia, his two teenage children, at their mother’s place. Now he was heading home to another lonely Sunday night, bracing himself for the start of another week.

By now he had a routine: stopping at the same roadside diner, ordering a burger, fries, and a Coke. Sitting there, watching the cars go by, contemplating the slow death of the weekend.

“Hello, Adrian.”

He froze, eyes widening. It was her. Noys. Twenty years later. She wore a similar dress, maybe a little more golden this time. But it was the same face, the same body, even the same scent… She still looked twenty-eight, younger than him now.

“It’s you?” he said, stunned. “Noys?!” He had never forgotten her name.

“Yes.” She gave him the most beautiful smile in the world.

“What are you doing here?” Adrian asked.

“My organization has business here.”

“Here?! At a roadside diner?”

“No. Here, in 2015,” she answered with sincere eyes. “I wasn’t joking, and I didn’t lie to you that night… I really am a time traveler. For you it’s been twenty years, for me it’s been, well… about a week.”

Adrian’s mind resisted, but there was no rational explanation for this woman showing up exactly the same, two decades later. Some people aged slowly, sure. But this? Impossible. Maybe it was a game, a lie, but she was something delicious from his past. And why not step back into it? Why not play along?

“And why after so long? A week…” he laughed nervously. “You came back to see me again?”

“Adrian,” she said, “in my organization, in the work we do to keep the timelines intact, we can’t marry or get deeply involved with anyone, not in our time, not in any other. But sometimes we need relief. Calculations were made, and it was proven: being sexually involved with you every twenty years doesn’t alter any timeline. You’re safe. For me, and for eternity. And I won’t lie: I still find you attractive. As you were twenty years ago. As you are now.”

Adrian smiled, embarrassed and flattered. And then, after twenty years for him, and a week for her, they kissed.

Adrian was no longer the impulsive young man. He didn’t drag her to the car or a motel. Instead, he ordered another meal. They had dinner together.

Night fell slowly as the car slid back along the dark streets. Adrian drove with one hand on the wheel, the other intertwined with Noys’s fingers, resting warm and alive on her bare thigh.

They reached his apartment. No rush, no need for words.

He led her by the hand to his bedroom and, for the first time that night, stopped to really look at her. Not as a mirage or memory, but as something real, tangible, impossible.

Noys smiled, as if she already knew what he was about to do.

Adrian undressed her gently. His fingers slid along the metallic fabric of her dress, which fell away like a secret revealed. He caressed her shoulders, her neck, her breasts, like someone reading a poem backward, trying to find where the spell began.

She answered with a long, deep, silent kiss. And there, in the middle of the room, he undressed as well, effortlessly. He was already hard, not only from desire, but from memory. As if his body, too, remembered.

Lying on the bed, Noys looked the same. But there was something new in her eyes. A curious glow, as if she wanted to see what twenty years had done to that boy.

Adrian touched her slowly. His mouth traveled down her breasts, her sides, her stomach. Then his lips slipped between her thighs until he heard the first stronger moan, until he felt her fingers clutching his hair. His tongue explored her with a calm, steady rhythm, without the urgency of two bodies colliding, now it was different.

She came on his mouth, her head thrown back.

When he entered her, it was with a precise, steady movement, as if they fit together more maturely now. Their sex was slow, deep, with open eyes, hot breath, restrained moans.

He came the first time with her on top, watching her body move with that instinctive naturalness only time and cultivated desire could explain. They stayed like that for a long while, sweaty, breathless, still joined.

“Twenty years,” he said.
She answered with a kiss.

Minutes later, Adrian rolled to the side and pulled her with him. They stayed wrapped together, naked, skin to skin. He kissed her shoulder, her neck. His hand caressed her belly, and she moaned softly as his cock hardened again.

This time, he took her from behind. Their bodies pressed close, his thrusts slow and deep. Her hand locked with his. He came again, dissolving into her, no longer just Adrian, but part of something greater. She welcomed him in silence, eyes closed, a faint smile on her lips.

Later, lying under the sheets, she said, “You’re better than you were twenty years ago.”

“So are you.”

He looked at her and added: “Or maybe I’m just seeing better now.”

The next morning, over breakfast, Adrian and Noys shared kisses and touches. Adrian understood now that Noys hadn’t been arrogant with him back in 1995, just honest. She had her path, and he had his. He sat her on his lap and kissed her deeply.

“What business did you come to handle here, in 2015?” he asked.

“If I tell you what I came to fix in the timeline, it might affect the timeline even more,” she said with a smile.

“Stay a little longer. Stay one more day.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t. Everything has to be calculated to keep the timeline safe.”

“Does that mean we’ll see each other again? In 2035?”

“Probably, yes,” she confirmed.

They kissed goodbye. Noys stood, walked to the door, and closed it behind her. Adrian got up and went to the window to catch one last glimpse… but she had already vanished. Again.

It was a sunny, ordinary Friday afternoon in 2035. Adrian, 63 years old, retired architect.

He spent his time reading books, and on weekends he welcomed visits from his children and grandchildren. He still had the same eyes and the same mouth he’d had at 23, now framed by wrinkles, with slower, more deliberate movements. He knew this was the year she would appear again, but they had never agreed on a date, day, or hour.

That’s why it was a genuine surprise when he saw her, in a shorter dress, still with those metallic details. He didn’t know which future she had come from, but surely those shimmering patterns would be in fashion there.

“You came,” Adrian said, grinning from ear to ear.

“I told you I’d be back. You look beautiful.” And they kissed, intensely.

For him, it had been twenty years since their last meeting. For her, only a few days, enough time to miss him.

People around them stared with admiration, curiosity, and, in some cases, judgment. She looked much younger than him, half his age, maybe less. They didn’t know the story, but they judged anyway.

They walked together to Adrian’s building. Crossed the street among electric cars and charging stations, climbed calmly to the fourth floor. Adrian couldn’t take his eyes off her. Beautiful, young, beautiful, exactly as she had been when he first saw her in 1995, when they had devoured each other in a night of frantic, wordless sex.

Adrian asked her to sit on the bed while he went to the kitchen. He opened the cabinet with a touch of hesitation, poured himself a glass of water, and discreetly swallowed a tadalafil pill. His body was no longer the same, but his desire was. And more than that, so was the feeling.

When he came back, she was watching him with a sweet smile.

Adrian undressed her like someone opening a box of memories. He touched her skin like someone reading the final chapter of a book he always knew would end this way, with reverence and gratitude. Noys was just as stunning as she had been in 1995, but to Adrian’s eyes, she was even more so now. He didn’t even need to wait for the pill to kick in.

Noys went down on him slowly, tenderly. She wanted Adrian to feel it. He closed his eyes and savored the moment, a pleasure that felt almost spiritual. He no longer had the vigor of forty years ago, but in his mind and heart, everything was more intense.

She laid him down on the bed and rode him with smooth, steady movements. From time to time, she pressed her firm, perfect breasts against the face of the man who desired her with the tenderness of someone who knew it would be the last time. Adrian’s heart raced. And then he came. Just once, but deliciously. Of all the orgasms they had shared, this one was the most sublime.

They spent the rest of the time in each other’s arms, trading caresses. Adrian knew by now that Noys would never reveal much about herself or her mission in 2035. But he had so much to tell. So many years, so many stories.

The next morning, Adrian woke early. He prepared breakfast with fruits, cheeses, two kinds of coffee, very different from the simple meal in 1995. They ate together. He sat her on his lap, as he had before. And, as before, she gifted him with a blowjob, slow, tender, making him come in her mouth, for the last time.

“You’re incredible,” Adrian said, smiling, tired but happy.

“And you? What are you?” Noys replied, caressing his face. “You made a woman travel centuries into the future, three times, just to see you.”

It was time to say goodbye.

Adrian walked her to the elevator. The door opened. They shared one final kiss.

“I’ll wait for you in twenty years,” Adrian said.

Noys looked at him, tender but firm.
“No, Adrian. This was our last meeting.”

And the elevator doors closed.
And Noys and Adrian never saw each other again.

The post The Traveler appeared first on Lust Castles.

Lunch time. While her coworkers headed to the cafeteria, Julia locked her screen, slipped in an earbud to keep up appearances, and opened her phone. Destination? An erotic story website—her secret oasis, where five minutes of reading could turn an unbearable day into something… alive.

She just wanted a quick relief, a heat rising between her legs that would, for a moment, silence the voice of her boss, Mr. Carlos—who was, by luck or misfortune, also her brother-in-law—always demanding reports with the tone of a soap opera heartthrob. Married to Clara, her older sister—the “perfect” one who always had the life Julia never could—Carlos was the kind of man who used slang like “you chillin’?” to sound young, but only came across as a middle-aged uncle trying too hard at a barbecue. Julia rolled her eyes just remembering their last meeting, but the site was there for that: to erase everything.

The site loaded with its plain interface, no bells or whistles—just a list of stories and their catchy titles. The first one on the list was “White Queen”, by an unknown author. Curious, Julia clicked. The first line was already different: “How would I define myself? A warlock. I admit, a mediocre one. I don’t create my own spells or magical objects. My specialty is researching those crafted by true warlocks.” The writing was immersive, almost literary, with a narrator passionate about magic, talking about used bookstores, antique shops, and a certain Scepter of Manfred that brought chess pieces to life—like the White Queen, described as an “exuberantly beautiful woman” in a “gown that flowed like a river of silk”…

After a few lines, Julia snorted.

“What the hell?” she muttered, scrolling down to see: 0 stars, 0 comments, 1 view—hers.

“Not what I need right now.”

She went back to the list and clicked the next story: “Fucked in the Supply Room”, by RedMoon. A site classic, with 800 stars and comments like “Came in 10 seconds, queen!” It was exactly what she needed. The opening line didn’t disappoint: “The cutie, wearing lace panties and high heels, got into the elevator. The horny guy from the supply room, dying to fuck me.” Julia smiled, her hand already sliding beneath her skirt, her heart racing. “I started flirting with him—a tall blond guy with curly hair. I asked for a ream of paper, he placed it on the counter and brushed my hand with not-so-innocent intentions…”

The girl’s adventure with the supply clerk unfolded quickly into a sex scene. Julia slipped her hand into her skirt, fingers on her clit through her panties, imagining herself in the supply room fucking a stranger. She closed her eyes, fingers working.

“Ahhhh!!!” Julia came hard.

“Taking a little nap on your lunch break, Julia?” said Carlos, surprising his employee-slash-sister-in-law.

Julia froze in shock, then realized the cubicle protected the view of her self-satisfaction. Carlos probably thought it really was just a nap.

“Hey, Carlos. I’ll be down to lunch with you in a sec.”

The rest of the day unfolded as usual. Monotonous. By late afternoon, Julia needed to print some reports but had no paper. No one in the department did. “Go down to the supply room, grab some for you and for us.”

“Oh, what a pain,” she thought. But she went.

The elevator descended to the second basement floor. If the upper floors were the portrait of mediocrity, the basement floors looked like the Upside Down from Stranger Things. At the supply room, there was no one at the counter. Julia rang the bell, called out, clapped her hands—until finally a guy appeared. A tall blond guy, with curly hair… Déjà vu.

“I need three reams of paper,” Julia said. “I actually need more, but three’s all I can carry alone.”

“I’ve seen you around. You must be from audit.”

“Yeah. And you must be the… supply room.” (laughs)

“Almost no one comes down here. It gets lonely.”

Julia couldn’t explain it, but suddenly her dull day had some color. When the blond guy handed her the reams of paper, their hands touched, something flared inside her—he pulled her in and they kissed. More than fast, he dragged her into a small room, sat her in a chair, and dove beneath her panties. He ate her out with intensity. Her heart raced. He pushed her against the wall, his hot breath on her, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy. And soon after, a delicious climax for both.

Julia rode the elevator back up, balancing the paper, thinking about the coincidence: the story she read earlier playing out exactly.

The next morning, Julia opened her eyes with a strange weight on her chest, like the day had already gone sideways. Still in bed, the memory of the supply room hit her like a punch: the blond guy, curly hair, just like in the story “Fucked in the Supply Room” by RedMoon, taking her against the counter, the lust exploding. “Fuck, that was real,” she thought, heart pounding. It wasn’t just the orgasm—it was the coincidence. The guy was from the story, down to brushing her hand over the ream of paper. “How is this possible?” she muttered, staring at the ceiling. Part of her wanted to laugh, part of her was scared, and a third part—the horny one—wanted to know if it would happen again.

At work, the gray cubicle was the same hell as always: stacked papers, blinking monitor, spreadsheets draining her soul. Carlos, the boss-brother-in-law, showed up at 8:30 adjusting his tie.

“You good, Julia? Where’s that report?” in that cheap soap-opera heartthrob voice.

She forced a smile, thinking of Clara, the “perfect” sister who married this idiot. “If only she knew how unbearable he is,” she muttered, typing soulless numbers. But the memory of the supply room kept popping up, distracting her. She’d find herself staring off, imagining the blond guy, the heat of the moment, then scolding herself: “Focus, Julia, this is insane.”

When the clock hit 12:03, monotony had already won. Julia locked her screen, popped in the earbud, and opened her phone—the erotic story site blinking like an old friend. She clicked on “I Fucked the Big Black Guy in the Supermarket”, a new story by RedMoon.

“The cutie, in a short skirt, grabbed a frozen pizza, and the tattooed Black guy in the aisle pinned me down.” Julia bit her lip, her hand already sliding beneath her skirt. “Let’s see if this shit happens again,” she thought, half-laughing, half-nervous, both aroused and curious.

Julia left work that day with her head spinning, the weight of the gray cubicle and Carlos, the wannabe soap-opera hunk, still clinging to her skin. “You good, Julia? Where’s that report?”—his voice echoing. “Let Clara deal with this idiot,” she thought, tossing her purse into the car. The supply room was fresh in her mind. The lust and the panic from that “how-is-this-real?” feeling returned. Today’s story, “I Fucked the Big Black Guy in the Supermarket,” read during her lunch break, echoed in her head. “Coincidence, right?” she laughed, nervous. She even tried taking a different route to avoid temptation, but she really did need to stop by the supermarket to grab something for dinner.

The store was quiet. Cold lights lit up nearly empty aisles. Julia grabbed a cart, tossed in a frozen pizza and a pack of pasta, trying to focus on her shopping. But the “cutie” from the story, pinned by the tattooed Black guy, wouldn’t leave her mind. “It won’t happen again. I’m imagining things,” she told herself, heart already racing.

In the cleaning supplies aisle, she reached for disinfectant. A man appeared at the other end—tall, Black, tattooed arms, tight shirt hugging his muscular chest. Just like the guy from the story. “No fucking way,” she thought, her body flushing hot. He gave her a sly look, a half-smile.

“Looking for something, babe?”

His deep voice hit her hard, and Julia shivered.

“I’m… good,” she stammered, her hand frozen on the cart.

He moved closer, his cologne enveloping her, brushing his arm against hers as he “grabbed” a bottle of detergent.

The flirtation was instant. Julia thought about running, but the lust screamed louder. “This is the story. It’s happening again,” she thought, biting her lip. He pulled her to the back of the aisle, behind a stack of detergent boxes, and kissed her with a hunger that made her knees buckle. His hands moved under her skirt, tearing her panties with a swift yank. Julia moaned, grabbing his tattooed shoulders as he pinned her to the shelves. His cock, hard and hot, slid in deep, and she gasped, her heart exploding.

“Fuck me, go on,” she whispered, surrendering. He fucked her hard, fast, each thrust rattling the shelves. Julia came in an instant, a muffled scream against his chest, and he came soon after, his hot breath on her neck.

Minutes later, Julia was adjusting her skirt, her cart abandoned in the aisle. The guy had vanished like smoke. “What the fuck is happening to me?” she thought, trembling with lust and fear, and rushed to the checkout, her mind spinning: “How is this happening? What’s the next story? Who the hell is this RedMoon, and how does she know what’s going to happen to me?”

The next day, Julia had already embraced the bizarre as reality… and was kind of into it. The idea that the stories she read became real by the end of the day fascinated her. Was she losing her mind? Tell someone? Who would believe her?

As she sat in her gray cubicle that morning, she wasn’t thinking about reports, her annoying boss-brother-in-law, or spreadsheets—but about what surprise RedMoon would bring her today. She started projecting her own fantasies: the hot doorman? Both doormen? A threesome? The curiosity and horniness drove her to open her old friend, the story site, even before powering on her work computer.

As she read RedMoon’s new story, her gentle smile faded into a grimace of disgust and horror. The title alone hit her like a punch to the gut.

“No!”

A quick scan of the text deepened her panic.

“No! A thousand times no!”

“Fucked by My Brother-in-Law at the Office” My brother-in-law is also my boss. Every day, he comes to my desk asking for a report, asking to have lunch together, but I always knew he had other intentions. One day, after hours, the lust outweighed family loyalty and professionalism and…”

“No, RedMoon!! Not this!!”

The story then described a delicious and intense sex scene at the office after hours. Julia knew exactly what that meant for her. She knew the stories became real by the end of the day. She had to fight that fate. She had to find RedMoon.

Julia took a deep breath, her phone trembling in her hand. If RedMoon held the key, she’d find her—no matter what it took.

“Good morning, Julia,” said Carlos, the brother-in-law boss. “I’ll need you to stay late today.”

“Carlos, I can’t today!” said Julia, grabbing her things and running, fleeing that fate.

Still in the elevator, Julia combed through the story site, looking for some way to contact RedMoon. There was a private message option—but who knows if or when she’d read it.

Once outside, she walked a few blocks, just in case someone from the office spotted her. She sat at a bakery, frantically scrolling on her phone. Finally, on one of the oldest stories, she found a blog—very outdated… but there was an email: RedMoon@pix.com.br.

“RedMoon, my name is Julia. I exist. What you write in your stories actually happens to me in real life. Please… change the ending of today’s story, I’m begging you!”

Done. Now she had to wait.

Her phone rang. It was Carlos. She ignored it. And ignored the next five calls. Until a message arrived from him:

“Julia, are you okay? The presentation for the Rio team is today at 2 PM. I hope you haven’t forgotten. We’re all counting on you!”

“Oh my God! That’s today! I totally forgot.”

Julia thought about faking illness, locking herself at home, ditching everything. But that presentation really was important—even for her. She had to go back to the office. The faster she got it done, the sooner she could escape that “prophecy.”

Julia entered the office at 1:55 PM, heart pounding like a drum. The meeting room was already full, PowerPoint slides open, and Carlos, wearing a red tie and his usual “heartthrob” smile, waved at her with a smug expression that made her stomach twist.

“Julia, you saved the day!” he said, as if she’d done him a personal favor.

At 2:15, 2:30, 3:00… 3:15—Mr. Antônio just wouldn’t shut up. The big-shot director from Brasília had taken the mic and launched into a heartfelt monologue about how beautiful it was to see teams from different regions united under one vision.

Julia wasn’t listening. Not a word. She kept glancing at the time, mentally screaming. “He’s going to make me late! He’s going to fuck this all up!” She refreshed her inbox every thirty seconds.
And then—finally—a new email. RedMoon had replied.

She ignored the comment, connected her laptop, and started the presentation, her voice trembling slightly. While she talked about graphs and targets, Carlos’s eyes seemed to drill into her, shifting from the screen to her cleavage, her legs, as if he was reading the forbidden story in real time.

Julia looked at Carlos—he actually did look good today. Maybe he’d dressed up for the event. Or maybe it was something else. She knew the truth: it was the story. She needed to read RedMoon’s reply. If the story hadn’t been changed, “that” was going to happen.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Julia began. “Just a minute.”

She couldn’t wait any longer. She had to read that email:

“Hahaha… very funny. I love when readers feel like they’re really inside my stories. I can write a custom story just for you—just send me $100. Kisses, RedMoon”

A whirlwind of thoughts flooded Julia’s head. “What is this? A scam? A conspiracy? Is RedMoon doing this on purpose? But for five hundred bucks?” Nothing made sense.

The one-hour presentation was delivered in fifteen minutes. The Rio team thought Julia was nervous or maybe unprepared. Carlos and the other colleagues assumed she was sick. Julia just wanted to run.

At the end of the presentation, Julia grabbed her things and prepared to leave without looking back.

“Julia!” shouted Carlos, forcing her to turn around.

“Mr. Antônio would like to have coffee with us.”

The office was pulling her in. She couldn’t get away.

“Okay. Can I stop by the bathroom first?” Julia asked, and Carlos nodded.

It was just an excuse to reply to RedMoon’s email.

“Look, I don’t know how or why you’re doing this. But I need you to change the story ASAP. How much do you want to meet me today? I hope we’re close. It’s urgent.”

RedMoon wanted $1,000, which Julia agreed to pay on the spot. They arranged to meet at a nearby café. That’s where Julia planned to run.

Leaving the bathroom, Carlos and Antônio were waiting. She walked straight for the exit.

“Julia! Julia!”

Julia… snapped:

“It’s my life! I want control over my own life! I’m not staying here.”

Everyone looked at Julia, stunned.

She reached the elevator but hesitated—what if destiny trapped her in there until after hours, right when it was supposed to happen? Julia took the stairs—ten flights down—and walked determinedly to the café. She was going to confront RedMoon.

**************************************

Fernanda stared at Julia, shocked by what she was hearing.

“I had no idea any of this was happening,” Fernanda said—also known as RedMoon.

Fernanda was young, 23 years old, very pretty. Blonde, green eyes. She thought about sex all day, and that’s where her story ideas came from. 80% made up, 20% based on her own experiences or those of people she knew. Of all the things Julia expected, this was the most unexpected. RedMoon was just an ordinary girl—no powers, not a scammer.

Julia told her everything: the deal with her brother-in-law, her sister, how it felt to see the stories come true.

“How is this happening? I thought you were some kind of scammer. Or a time traveler. Or a witch.”

“I honestly have no idea,” Fernanda said, still stunned.

Fernanda was none of those things. When the conversation started, she thought Julia was joking. The $1,000 and the desperation in her eyes convinced her otherwise. The stories she wrote were becoming real in Julia’s life. She refunded the payment, opened her laptop.

“I’ll rewrite everything, Julia,” Fernanda said. “Trust me.”

She took a deep breath, fingers flying across the keyboard. But Fernanda’s dirty mind couldn’t help but think of a juicy twist. The whole thing was just too surreal not to have a filthy, wild ending. From the middle to the end, she wrote with a wicked grin on her face.

Julia watched Fernanda type, her fingers moving like lightning, but finally relieved. Her fate was about to change.

“Finished!” Fernanda said. “Want to read it?”

Julia hesitated.

“Yeah, I do.”

Julia started reading… her eyes widened, her mouth went dry.

“YOU’RE INSANE!!!” Julia shouted, outraged.

“I know—it’s delicious, right?”

“THEY’RE COMING HERE?!”

“If what you told me is true, yeah, it’s written.”

“No way! It’s not going to happen! YOU’RE COMPLETELY CRAZY!”

Fernanda’s story: “CAFÉ ORGY I met a new friend at a café near work. By an incredible coincidence, while we were talking, her sister and brother-in-law walked through the door. They recognized her and came over to chat with us…”

Julia dropped the laptop, her heart pounding, voice echoing through the café:

“YOU’RE CRAZY!!! THAT’S MY SISTER AND MY BROTHER-IN-LAW!!!”

Fernanda burst out laughing, her green eyes sparkling, red nails tapping the screen.

“Relax, babe. Keep reading! It’s so good!”

Julia trembled, the text on the screen burning. The café door chimed, and Julia froze.

Fernanda’s story: “The brother-in-law, a guy in a red tie who thinks he’s a heartthrob, and the sister, a bubbly blonde, sat with us. He asked, all concerned, if the friend was okay—but his eyes locked onto mine, green like emeralds. The sister too, with a naughty little smile. The flirting caught fire…”

Carlos walked in, tripping over the rug, red tie crooked.

“Julia?!” he said, confused, adjusting his shirt.

Clara followed behind, laughing loudly, her purse bouncing on her shoulder, blonde hair messy like she’d already had a drink.

“Sis, you’re here?!” she said, hugging Julia.

They sat at the table, and Carlos, with that classic soap-opera tone, asked:

“Everything alright, Julia? Everyone at the office was worried.”

But his eyes were glued to Fernanda’s, locked on her bright green gaze.

“Wow, what gorgeous eyes, girl!” Clara chimed in, biting her lip with a cheeky grin.

“You two aren’t bad yourselves,” Fernanda replied with a wink.

Julia’s stomach turned. “This is the story!” she thought, panic rising. “Am I going to have to fuck them? With Clara? With Carlos?!” She wanted to run, but destiny was closing in—just like in the supply room, the supermarket.

Fernanda’s story: “The tension rose, the brother-in-law brushing my leg under the table, the sister caressing my arm. The friend was freaking out, thinking she’d be dragged into a family orgy—but I had a different plan. The barista, a strong, tattooed guy with that ‘he fucks good’ look, approached, and I pointed: ‘That one’s for you, babe.’”

Fernanda laughed, seeing Julia’s dread.

“Relax, keep reading!” she said, as Carlos, without shame, pressed his knee against Fernanda’s under the table.

“Your hair is so soft!” Clara murmured, fingers gliding down Fernanda’s arm.

The flirtation burned hot. Julia was sweating. Fernanda pointed toward the counter, where the barista—a tall, muscular man in a tight black T-shirt, tattoos curling up his neck—was wiping a cup with a wicked smile.

“That’s him, babe,” Fernanda said, showing the story. “That’s your happy ending.”

Fernanda’s story: “While the brother-in-law and sister pulled me into the corner with greedy hands and hot kisses, the barista led my friend to the counter. He pressed her against the espresso machine, tore her skirt with hunger, and fucked her so good she screamed louder than the moans of the other three.”

The air in the café grew dense—thick with espresso, sweat, and desire. Carlos and Clara dragged Fernanda to a corner, a tiny table wobbling under their weight. Carlos, his tie on the floor, kissed her neck, hands roaming her waist, murmuring like he still wanted to keep up the heartthrob act. Clara, eyes gleaming with lust, pulled Fernanda’s hair, unbuttoning her blouse with nimble fingers, her breasts exposed under the dim café light.

“You’re delicious,” Clara whispered, her mouth pressing against Fernanda’s, tongues tangling in a hungry kiss.

Cups toppled, a coffee pot spilled, black liquid running across the floor like ink. Fernanda moaned loudly, Carlos’s hands groping her ass, Clara biting her shoulder—the three tangled together, shirts ripped, laughter mixing with gasps. Chairs creaked, and the floor turned into a chaotic ocean of glass and coffee.

Julia surrendered to destiny. The barista was already beside her, the heat of his body enveloping hers. His scent—cologne and caffeine—filled her senses. His brown eyes locked onto hers, deep and commanding.

“Want a latte… or me?” he asked, voice low and gravelly.

Julia trembled. The barista lifted her up, strong hands on her waist, and pressed her against the counter, the warm espresso machine against her back. Her skirt rode up, panties torn and falling to the sticky floor. He kissed her neck, teeth grazing, and she moaned, knees buckling. The barista unzipped, his cock hard and hot against her thigh, and slid in deep, every thrust shaking the counter. Cups clinked, the machine hissed. Julia clung to his shoulders, muscles taut beneath her hands, tattoos writhing under her fingers.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, surrendering completely, lust wiping out her fear.

He flipped her around, bent over the counter, her ass exposed, and pounded her harder, rough and relentless, her moans echoing through the café. Julia came with a hoarse cry, her body convulsing, pleasure blacking everything out—Clara, Carlos, the fear. The barista came moments later, his hot breath on her ear.

In the corner, the trio reached their climax. Fernanda, topless, rode Carlos, sprawled in a chair, his face melting in ecstasy. Clara, on her knees, licked Fernanda’s neck, her hands flying between bodies.

“More, more!” Clara moaned.

Cups shattered, the floor was a sea of coffee. Julia collapsed into a chair, panting, the barista zipping up. Clara and Fernanda kissed, sharing Carlos’s cum, their lips glistening under the café’s dim light.

*********************************************

Fernanda spent the night at Julia’s place. Being the naughty girl she was, she wrote more steamy scenes starring her new friend. Now RedMoon’s stories had even more life.

At some point, they did wonder if there was a logical explanation for why this was happening… but until they found it, they simply enjoyed the stories that wrote themselves into reality.

But maybe that one story Julia had skipped over—the first one—held a key to everything?

Maybe…

The post Stranger Than Lust appeared first on Lust Castles.

The VVIP lounge pulsed with the heat of the quintuplet sisters, the roar of the storm muffled by laughter and clinking glasses. Stranded by a delayed flight, Camila, Valentina, Sofia, Luna, and Isabela were playing “truth or truth,” unearthing their most burning stories.

After Camila’s devilish tale of revenge, which left the sisters speechless, she flipped her hair back and challenged:

“Let’s see who can top that, huh?”

Luna stood up, her athletic body humming with energy, a mischievous smile curling her lips.

“Careful, princess, ‘cause Sofia and I have a story that’ll make even Mr. Smith shake,” she said, pulling Sofia close, whose shyness masked a secret ready to explode. The air crackled. The game was about to catch fire.

“You seduced someone together?” Camila teased with a wicked look.

Truth #4: Sofia and Luna, the Weird One and the Athlete

Luna stepped forward, confident.

“At twenty-two, I wanted to take a diving course in Rio and dragged Sofia along. The instructor was Paulo, a Brazilian in his thirties, tanned and muscular. I saw him, liked what I saw, and wanted him right away. After a dive, it was just the three of us on the boat. I exchanged a look with Sofia, and just through that glance, we both knew… she wanted him too.”

“You two look alike, but you’re different,” Paulo said, teasing Sofia.

“Alike?” Sofia shot back.

“Different?” I echoed.

“What do you mean?” we both asked, laughing.

“She’s… what’s your name?” he asked.

“Sofia,” I said—I’m Luna, by the way.

“And I’m Luna,” Sofia said, barely holding back a laugh.

“You, Sofia… Luna… you’re the talkative one. Luna’s quieter.”

“My sister’s the shyest of us,” I said.

“There are five of us,” Sofia added.

“Five sisters?”

“Yes, quintuplets,” I replied.

“No way!” He looked stunned, obviously.

“Rare, but not impossible,” Sofia said.

“Do you all get along?” Paulo asked, curious.

“Yes,” Sofia replied. “And we love doing things together.”

The ‘quiet one’ of us stirred something in Paulo…

“Want to see us doing things together?” I asked him, the innuendo loud and clear.”

“Oh my god, Luna, you’re shameless,” Sofia interrupted, pausing the story. “But yeah, he was really hot. And totally down for it. We barely needed to say a word.”

“You keep going, Sofia,” Isabela urged.

“Luna asked if he wanted to see us do things together. Paulo swallowed hard, took a deep breath.

‘Can I ask something?’ he said, clearly playing along.

‘You can,’ I replied. ‘With one condition.’

‘What condition?’ Paulo asked.

Luna looked at me like, ‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘You have to guess which one of us is Luna and which is Sofia. If you guess right, we’ll do whatever you want.’

Luna smiled at me, approving. We both turned to him, smiling. His face said he knew if he guessed wrong, he’d lose the opportunity of a lifetime.

He pointed at me and said ‘Luna,’ and at her and said ‘Sofia.'”

“Fuck!” Valentina blurted.

“He got it wrong!” Camila said.

“Yep,” Luna laughed. “But he didn’t need to know that.”

The room exploded in laughter.

Luna continued:

“‘You’re a genius—people always mess up our names,’ I told him.

‘So… what do you want us to do?’ Sofia asked.

Paulo thought for a few seconds.

‘A kiss. I want to see one twin kiss the other.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said, looking at Sofia, waiting to see if she’d push through her shyness.

She looked a bit flustered, but we gave him what he asked for. We touched lips, and it was like the sea calmed down and even the wind stopped blowing. Paulo’s face was pure lust and disbelief.

But we’re a little cruel with our prey sometimes… and of course, we didn’t stop at a peck. I pulled Sofia closer, and we kissed—deep, slow, and filthy. Paulo jumped, the boat rocked, and I swear even the ocean flinched.”

“You sluts!” Camila shouted.

“Go on, Sofia,” Isabela demanded.

“We… we started putting on a show for him,” Sofia said, blushing as she tried to keep going.

“A show?” Luna teased. “Come on, Sofia, drop the shyness. We drove that guy crazy. You, when you go into slut-mode, you’re unstoppable. Better let me finish the story.”

“I kissed Sofia, and Paulo looked stunned. I teased him, said he couldn’t handle both of us. Sofia didn’t say anything, but her eyes were sparkling. I took off my bikini, pulled Sofia toward me, and he lost it. On that deck, under the burning sun, he fucked us, one after the other.

Sofia went first—full slut-mode—riding his cock facing him. I came up behind him and bit his neck. I watched him pinch himself to check he wasn’t dreaming.

‘Can you believe there are three more of us?’ I whispered.

‘Oh my God!’ he groaned, balls-deep in our sister.”

Sofia continued, her voice low but firm, the alcohol giving her courage. “It was intense. The boat rocking, salt on his skin, waves hitting the hull… and Luna’s filthy gaze on me. He didn’t know what to do with two of us, but we knew exactly what we wanted. The sun on my skin, the rough deck under me, the rush of being so exposed… I lost control, touched Luna just to tease Paulo, and she touched me back. The three of us moved in sync—his body pressing into mine, Luna teasing my breasts… I came, trembling on the deck, my moans drowned by the ocean. It was unforgettable.”

Luna took over again: “Then it was my turn. I climbed on top, riding Paulo with my back to him, showing off my ass. I felt his hands and Sofia’s tracing my spine. Sofia kissed him. Paulo was on the edge. I could feel his cock, the ocean’s sounds, the screeches of sea birds… I was burning up. Sofia started playing with my tits, and he started thrusting even harder. I begged him not to stop until I came.

Paulo held on tight. He deserved a reward. Sofia and I took turns sucking him until he exploded in my mouth. For the grand finale—we shared his cum.

‘You girls are insane,’ Paulo muttered, staring at our cum-dripping mouths.”

The sisters gave the story a standing ovation.

“He gave us the course for free,” Sofia added.

“And actually,” Luna smirked, “he said all of us could take the course for free.”

“Technically, just me and Luna… but it could be any of us. He won’t know.”

All five burst into laughter again.

Truth #5: The Night with Mr. Smith

Valentina wore a devilish grin, the champagne fueling her boldness.

“Okay, hands down, the filthiest thing we’ve ever done was with Mr. Smith in Buenos Aires,” she said, pouring herself more champagne. “I never imagined all five of us fucking the same guy.”

“I didn’t imagine any guy could survive it,” she added, grabbing the bottle from her sister and topping off all their glasses. “We’re five hurricanes.”

“When John told us Mr. Smith was going to fuck all five of us…” Valentina paused for another sip. “I thought, ‘This guy’s going to have a heart attack.’”

“I figured he’d cum in two minutes just from seeing us naked,” Isabela said—it was obvious she had probably run the odds.

Camila jumped in, her princess charm on full display. “I knew Mr. Smith wasn’t ready for the five of us. John introduced us in the suite in Buenos Aires, and he tried to act all confident, but his eyes gave him away. I started by peeling Sofia’s lingerie off, sliding the straps slowly, feeling her skin shiver under my fingers. The soft rustle of fabric echoed in the suite, expensive perfume mixing with body heat. When he asked for a kiss, I smiled and pulled Valentina in for a deep one—our tongues dancing while he moaned. Then I was the first to ride him, feeling his cock throb inside me, the bed creaking beneath my hips. I was in charge, staring him down. ‘Can you take it, Mr. Smith?’ I asked. Her pussy’s heat against mine, the sisters moaning all around… I came riding that power.”

“You always wanna be the boss, princess!” Luna teased, laughing.

Valentina cut in, rebellious as always. “I saw Camila trying to dominate, and I wanted to stir the pot. When he was panting, I pulled Sofia down to suck him with me—our mouths met on his dick, salty and slick, tongues brushing. He was shaking, trying to keep it together. I whispered to him, ‘Relax… we’ll take you to hell and bring you back.’ Then I sat on him, facing away, grinding my ass down, my hair brushing the top of my cheeks—giving him a view he’ll never forget. Luna was kissing my tits, and the pleasure built up with every thrust. Then I pushed Camila to the side and started eating her pussy—just to drive him insane. The sounds, the smell of sex thick in the air… I was in my element, breaking all the rules.”

“You’re insane, Valentina!” Sofia cried, blushing.

Sofia continued, voice still hesitant, but the alcohol gave her an edge. “At first, I was just watching, my heart racing. Camila took off my lingerie, and I felt the cool air hit my breasts, the fabric sliding down to the floor. When Mr. Smith asked for a kiss, I got nervous—but I kissed Luna, and the warmth of her mouth pulled me in. Then Valentina called me over to his cock, and I sucked him—shy at first, but feeling the thrill of driving him crazy. When I sat on him, it was slow, almost tender—my pussy wrapped around him as I kissed his mouth, tasting the whiskey on his tongue. My sisters were moaning around us, the silk sheets brushing my thighs… I came quietly, trembling, and he looked at me like I was a secret he’d just unlocked.”

“Sofia, you’re a sneaky little slut!” Isabela said, laughing.

Luna took the spotlight, competitive as ever. “I knew Mr. Smith had stamina, but I wanted to test it. When he asked who’d take it in the ass, I raised my hand: ‘Me, Mr. Smith—your wish is my command.’ The girls got me ready—Camila and Valentina licking my ass, their warm tongues driving me wild. He slid in slowly, his hard cock stretching my tight little hole—every thrust a challenge. I was moaning loud, ‘Fuck me harder! Make me cum!’ The sound of skin slapping, sweat dripping down my ass, my sisters touching themselves around us… I came so hard I almost passed out. He held on like a fucking marathon runner, and I loved every second.”

“Luna, you’re a fucking machine!” Camila applauded.

Isabela wrapped it up, always the analyst. “I had calculated he wouldn’t last five minutes with all five of us—but he proved me wrong. I watched at first, taking mental notes: Camila riding him, Valentina teasing, Sofia letting go, Luna going full throttle. When my turn came, I sat on him, my pussy tighter than any of theirs, grinding with calculated precision, tossing my hair back. Sweat glistened on his chest, the bed squeaked beneath us… it was a perfect equation of pleasure. And when he finally came, we all got on our knees—five mouths open—and his hot cum shot across our faces, our hair, our tongues. We licked each other clean, swallowing it all, while he collapsed, gasping. Statistically speaking—it was a miracle he survived.”

The sisters burst into laughter, remembering how they’d lied about their age, just like John asked.

“He thought we were innocent little things,” Valentina said. “But we were the ones who destroyed him!”

Epilogue

Laughter filled the VVIP lounge. The champagne was gone, leaving the quintuplets with flushed cheeks and eyes glittering with desire. Outside, the storm still raged—but in that room, the heat belonged to them. Five unleashed goddesses, their inhibitions melted by alcohol.

Valentina, wearing a dangerous smile, leaned over the table, her voice husky.

“The game was fun, girls… but what if we turned up the heat? Each of us says—or shows—how we’d seduce one of the others, right here, right now.”

The air snapped with electricity.

Sofia blushed.

“Guys… there are people here… watching us…”

But even with hesitation, she gave in to the game.

“I’d undo Isabela’s hair, slowly… and bite her neck.”

Isabela laughed, a bit nervous, but her eyes gave her away. They were sparkling with arousal.

“Sofia, your neck would be my target too.”

Camila, always the tease, turned to Luna.

“I’d pull you onto the couch and slide my hand under that dress until you begged.”

Luna, never one to back down, stood up and stepped close to Camila. Their lips hovered a breath apart, their sweet perfumes mixing, body heat radiating.

“Want to try me now, sweetheart?” Luna whispered.

The sisters held their breath, tension thick with lust. Just as their lips were about to meet, the loudspeaker crackled overhead:

“Immediate boarding for Flight 472.”

The quintuplets paused, exchanged wicked glances—their bodies still buzzing, their hearts racing.

“This isn’t over,” Camila said, voice sultry, as they grabbed their bags.

Mr. Smith was waiting at their destination.
And something told them…
He’d love what was coming.

Together, they were  The Five.
And the flight was only the prologue.

The post Party of Five – Part 2 appeared first on Lust Castles.

The storm roared outside, turning the windows of the airport’s VVIP lounge into black mirrors reflecting five identical faces — but souls that danced to their own rhythm. Camila, Valentina, Sofia, Luna, and Isabela — blue-eyed quintuplets with bodies that defied logic and statistics — had been stuck there for hours, their flight to an exotic destination indefinitely delayed. Mr. Smith, the wealthy man who had brought them together for one explosive night in Buenos Aires, wasn’t there. Called away on business, he’d left the day before, abandoning them alone. Empty champagne flutes lay scattered across the table, and the mix of alcohol and boredom had stripped away their inhibitions.

“Did Mr. Smith really believe that story about us being eighteen and two days old?” Valentina asked, laughing.

“That was John’s excuse to spice up the fetish,” Camila replied. “But we’ll tell Mr. Smith the truth when we meet him in Cancún — we’re 25.”

The VVIP lounge was a sanctuary of luxury: soft leather sofas, nearly empty champagne bottles, the girls’ expensive perfume mingling with the faint scent of ozone from the storm. After hours confined together, the alcohol was flowing freely, and the sisters were electric. Camila, the princess, adjusted the tight dress hugging her curves, laughing loudly, her eyes glowing with the confidence of someone who knows she’s the star. Valentina, the rebel, tossed her leather jacket on the sofa, drumming her fingers with a smile that promised chaos. Sofia, the odd one, curled up in a corner, avoided gazes, nervously playing with her hair, but her eyes held secrets. Luna, the athlete, stretched her legs, her body buzzing like she was ready for competition. And Isabela, the nerd, set her magazine aside, her eyes analytically observing her sisters’ every move.

“How about a game to kill time?” Camila suggested, her voice thick from the champagne. “Truth or dare.”

“No dares,” Valentina interrupted, grinning wickedly. “Let’s play truth or truth. Only the dirtiest stories. No escaping.”

The sisters burst into laughter, even Sofia, hesitant, raised her glass with a slight tremble and a shy blush on her cheeks.

“Rules?” asked Luna, leaning in, a competitive spark in her eyes.

“Tell one filthy story from your past,” Camila said, in a tone that was born to command. “And no lying — or you pay a forfeit.” She winked, and the air heated like a flame had been lit.

Truth #1: Isabela, the Nerd
“I’ll start,” said Isabela, adjusting her imaginary glasses. Her voice was calm, but her eyes sparkled with mischievousness, amplified by the champagne.

“Dare us,” said Sofia, blushing but with a sly twinkle in her eyes. “Tell us how you used your brains to do something dirty.”

Isabela smiled, more relaxed than usual.

“When I was 20, I needed a top grade at university to get a scholarship. My economics professor — Mr. Pedro — a serious man in his fifties, always praised me in class. Said I was one of his best students. I knew I really was. And I knew that behind the compliments and those glances, he wanted something more.

For the semester test, I got a 9 out of 10 — great, but not enough for the scholarship. It was super competitive. I talked to him about it, but he was firm:

‘Isabela,’ he said, ‘nine is an excellent grade. Your exam is a solid 9. I can’t change that.’

I wasn’t giving up. I calculated every move: scheduled a meeting in his office, said I needed help with a project, wore a pencil skirt and a half-buttoned blouse.

‘Isabela, what project do you need help with?’

‘This one, professor,’ I said, handing him my graded test. ‘I know I deserve a 10.’

‘Isabela, come on. We’ve talked about this. Your grade is 9. And it’s a great grade. I won’t change it.’

I “dropped” my pen and bent down slowly. He blushed. I closed the door, sat on his desk, and said I’d do anything for that grade.

‘What are you proposing, Isabela?’

‘Exactly what you’re thinking, professor,’ I said, biting the pen, winking.

I slowly unbuttoned my blouse, staring into his eyes. Handed him the pen. He crossed out the 9 and wrote a bright red 10. Then I undid the rest of the buttons, letting my breasts out. Pedro dove between them, inhaling my jasmine perfume. I slipped off the rest of my clothes. We fucked in his chair, books falling, the scent of paper and coffee in the air, the chair creaking underneath us. I felt his cock pulsing, my tits bouncing against his face and chest.

I smiled, in control, my own heat rising with each of his moans. His orgasm hit hard — hot cum splashing against my skin, the smell of sweat mixing with jasmine. He groaned so loud a janitor might’ve heard. My grade went up, and he never looked at me again without trembling.”

“The nerd has a wicked side!” Camila laughed.

“Strategy always wins,” said Isabela, raising her glass, her eyes calculating her sisters’ reactions.

Truth #2: Valentina, the Rebel
“My turn,” said Valentina, her devilish smile shining through the alcohol buzz.

“Tell us about a time you broke the rules and got away with it,” suggested Isabela, eyes gleaming.

Valentina laughed, leaning forward.

“When I was 23, I was speeding down a deserted road to Bucaramanga. A cop pulled me over, all serious.

‘You were going 160 kilometers an hour and possibly drunk.’

‘Officer, I was just going a little fast. I’m totally fine to drive.’

‘This is serious. You can’t continue. I’m confiscating your vehicle.’

My skirt was short, and I bent down very slowly to grab my documents, knowing full well he wouldn’t look away.

‘Is there no other way?’ I asked, flashing the sisters’ secret weapon.”

The room erupted with laughter. They all knew the “secret weapon” well.

“He led me behind some trees, thinking he was in control. There, with the squad car gleaming under the sun, radio crackling with distant orders, the smell of gasoline and dry dirt in the air, I pushed him against the car’s cold metal, feeling the engine’s warmth under my palms.

He tried to play tough, but his eyes betrayed the lust.

‘Relax, officer,’ I whispered, ‘I’ll show you how we do it on the road.’

I knelt on the rough ground, scraping my knees, unzipped him slowly — the sound slicing through the silence like a challenge. His cock was already hard, throbbing in my hand. I stared up at him, licked my lips, and took him into my mouth. The salty taste mixed with sweat, and I sucked him rhythmically, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, gripping his thighs tight.

He moaned loudly, his voice drowning the radio, yanking my hair like he was in control. But I ran the show, speeding up until he shook, the cold metal against my back, his body heat burning through the air. My body buzzed with adrenaline, arousal growing with the risk — another car could show up any second. The danger turned me on more than him. When he came, a hot jet filled my throat. I swallowed, wiped my mouth, and stood as he panted, legs shaking. He tore up the ticket, opened the door for me, and let me go. I floored it, knowing no one would bother me for miles.”

Luna burst out laughing.

“You’re insane! But I’d have done the same.”

“Rules are for people who don’t know how to improvise,” said Valentina with a shrug.

Truth #3: Camila, the Princess
“My turn,” Camila said, her smile stealing breath, eyes glazed with champagne. “Ask me anything.”

“What’s the dirtiest thing you’ve done to get what you wanted?” Luna challenged, eyes twinkling.

Camila crossed her legs, her dress riding up a little, and began, voice dripping with malice.

“When I was 21, I went to the beach house of my university friend Daniela. Her parents came too. Her father, Miguel — 45, rich, charming — couldn’t take his eyes off me.

We had lunch together, the four of us, when Daniela’s mother, Mrs. Carmen, said:

‘Look, Daniela, how elegant your friend Camila is.’ Trying to compliment me — and maybe criticize her daughter. ‘A real lady. Polite. So nice.’

That pissed me off. I hate being called “nice.” I’m elegant, I’m polite — but “nice”? Never.

‘I’m a good person, Mrs. Carmen,’ I said, hiding my irritation.

‘I meant it — you’re a good girl. Harmless.’

Double insult. Harmless?!”

Valentina and Luna, tipsy and knowing their sister’s pride:

“What did you do?” Luna asked.

“I swallowed my anger… and plotted my revenge.”

“That afternoon, we agreed to go swimming at the hotel pool. I didn’t hold back. Put on my best bikini, made sure everyone was already there. Walked in slowly, letting every eye follow me. I strutted over to Miguel, who was lounging beside his wife, and stood right in front of him. Deliberately turned my back, giving him a full view of my ass. Mrs. Carmen shot him a nasty look. He tried to look away — but I know it was impossible.”

“‘Nice girl,’ huh?” Sofia snorted.

“But that was just the setup,” Camila said. “The real revenge came later.”

“At sunset, Daniela and her mom were getting ready for dinner. Miguel was watching the ocean on the balcony. I wore a floral dress — no panties, no bra. Sat next to him. My presence clearly affected him.

‘I didn’t like your wife calling me “nice” today,’ I told him.

‘She didn’t mean it badly, Camila. She was complimenting your attitude.’

‘Do you think I’m nice too?’

‘No — I mean, you’re a wonderful person…’

‘You’d better not. I’m not nice. Not harmless. I can prove it.’

‘What do you mean?’

I stood, turned around, and lifted my dress, showing off my ass.

‘What the hell, Camila?!’

‘Revenge for me. Pleasure for you. I want you to fuck me — here and now.’

‘Are you insane? My daughter, my wife…’

‘They’re inside getting dressed. Be quick.’

I placed my ass inches from him, looking back with wicked eyes. He hesitated — but only for a second. Then I heard the zipper. Felt him slide into me — hard and deep. The balcony heat burned my skin, the waves below crashing in time with his stifled moans.”

“Weren’t you scared?” Isabela asked.

“I was a little. He was terrified… but that only turned me on more.”

“He fucked me like a starving man, like he hadn’t had pussy in years. Maybe he hadn’t.

‘You’re not nice. You’re a devil. You’ll ruin my marriage.’

I laughed.

‘Fuck harder. Fuck your little “harmless” girl.’

I felt powerful, desired. People could’ve seen us from other balconies — it thrilled me more.

‘Miguel! Miguel!’ Mrs. Carmen’s voice came from inside the house, just meters away.

‘Oh God… I’m going to die!’ he said.

‘Don’t stop! I’m almost there, Mr. Miguel! Fuck me harder!’

The danger made me climax, and I felt his hot cum soaking my pussy. He zipped up and ran inside. I calmly cleaned up, joined them at the dinner table. They were already eating. I stuffed meatballs into my mouth, stared at Miguel — red, sweating, barely holding his fork. Mrs. Carmen didn’t say a word to me the rest of the trip. I think she got the message. Daniela — sweet, clueless — probably the only truly “nice” one at the table, ate in silence, totally unaware.”

The next day, he gave me a diamond necklace. Either to buy my silence… or something more. I never traveled with them again.”

The sisters burst into applause, jaws dropped.

“You’re diabolical, princess!” Valentina laughed.

“I call it talent,” Camila said with a wink.

Their laughter filled the VVIP room, the echo of empty glasses dancing with the thunder outside. Camila tossed her hair back, radiant, and challenged:

“Who’s going to top that?”

Luna stood, athletic body humming with energy, a mischievous smile on her lips.

“Careful, princess — Sofia and I have a story that’ll make even Mr. Smith tremble,” she said, pulling Sofia forward, whose shy eyes hid a burning secret.

The air crackled — and the game was about to level up.

(To be continued…)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The post Party of Five – Part 1 appeared first on Lust Castles.

I recommend that you read it first to make it easier to read and understand this one.

The first time you open a drawer you shouldn’t, it’s tough, it sticks, but by the second time, it glides easier, and from the third time on, you don’t even think about whether you should open it—you just do.

Obsession. That’s what it’s called.

By the poolside, on that sun-soaked morning, Steve was consumed by the memory that drove him to buy the mansion. He’d been seduced, raw and unfiltered, by the realtors—a mother and daughter—who tapped into his deepest, dirtiest desires to seal the contract. Steve signed, and what followed was an afternoon of fucking so unforgettable it was burned into his skull. The image of the daughter and mother tangled in raw lust before him was etched in his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

After they vanished for weeks, he hunted them down; he needed that high again. He found Vanessa on Instagram, and she had a proposition. But questions gnawed at him: Were they really mother and daughter? Or was it a slick trick to get his signature? And the sister he’d seen in a photo, Taís—was she family, or another piece of their game?

He’d know soon. His driver had just picked them up from the airport, heading straight to the mansion. The same mansion they sold him. The same mansion where that forbidden fuck first went down.

Steve had his driver share his location to track their route. But somewhere along the way, the signal dropped. Or maybe they were stuck at the same intersection for a grueling forty-three minutes. Steve was a walking ball of anxiety. He wanted answers. But more than anything, he wanted Dayana and Vanessa.

The car finally rolled through the mansion’s gate. Steve’s heart pounded like a drum. “Act natural,” he told himself. As if that were fucking possible. The car stopped in the courtyard. Steve didn’t blink, desperate to catch every second of their arrival. Dayana stepped out of the front passenger door, dark sunglasses on, rocking a sleek, sexy blue dress, clutching a chic white valise. Vanessa slipped out of the left rear door in a tight yellow dress that hugged her curves, her gorgeous face and blonde hair framed by a white headband. A basic outfit on a woman who was anything but.

And from the right rear door came Taís, the younger sister… or was she? Fucking stunning in a floral dress, her wavy hair setting her apart from her mother and sister. Enough to make you wonder.

“Hello, ladies!” Steve said, “acting natural” like some cheesy uncle.

“Hello, Mr. Steve,” Vanessa replied, reaching him first. “Glad you’re enjoying the mansion.”

“Good to see you again, Vanessa.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Vanessa purred, her words dripping with double meaning. “This is my sister, Taís. You’ve probably seen her in a photo.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Taís,” he said, kissing her cheek with forced formality.

Taís was drop-dead gorgeous. Barely twenty, max. Her floral dress screamed for attention. Adrenaline surged through Steve’s veins. Then he felt his cock stiffen, unbidden. He kept trying to play it “natural.”

“Dayana!” he said, chanting in his head, “Natural, Steve, natural.”

“Hello, Mr. Steve. I hope you’re doing well.”

“Let’s sit, everyone!” Steve suggested.

A table near the poolside deck was set for their little foursome. A bottle of Dom Pérignon and four flutes. Steve wanted to impress, naturally. But Vanessa and Taís chose to lounge on the deck by the pool, leaving Dayana to steer a more private talk with Steve.

Dayana and Steve sat at the table, and she took control.

“Well, as Vanessa told you, we have a proposition,” Dayana started.

“You selling me another mansion? Maybe a ranch?” Steve joked, half-serious.

Dayana paused, locking her eyes on his.

“This time, we can cut the bullshit,” she said, voice thick with flirtation. “First, I know you’ve got questions.”

“What went down that day? Are you really…”

“Mother and daughter? Or mother and daughters, in this case.”

Dayana opened her white valise. It was almost comical, in that lavish setting, to see green ID cards. Steve felt like a damn notary. He checked all three IDs. They looked real. Vanessa and Taís shared the same last name and parentage. Dayana, too. It was weird, bittersweet, but a relief; he hadn’t been played.

Steve handed back the IDs and glanced at the pool. Vanessa and Taís, smirking, watching them.

“What’s the proposition?” Steve asked.

“It’s fucking obvious.”

A shiver shot through Steve’s body. His heart was a jackhammer.

“How much?” he asked.

“Three million!”

“You’re out of your mind! That’s…”

“A shitload of money,” Dayana finished. “For us, sure. For you, let’s be real, it’s pocket change.”

Steve was a mess: pissed, horny, guilty, helpless. He took a deep breath and eyed Vanessa and Taís by the pool, now teasingly fixing each other’s hair with slow, deliberate moves.

“I’ll do one million,” Steve shot back, haggling.

“No way. Three million…” Dayana said, her voice firm and dripping with lust. “You know what Vanessa and I can do. And trust me: my youngest is a fucking demon.”

Steve flipped through the contract Dayana handed him, hesitated for a split second, but gave in to the itch and signed.

Obsession. That’s what it’s called.

Dayana filled another flute and handed it to Steve.

“Cheers! Another deal sealed.” They clinked glasses.

It was late, but a dark thought hit Steve: maybe there was some fine print in that contract signing over part of the mansion, his fortune, or his fucking soul. But the deal was done.

Taís and Vanessa grinned, knowing they’d won. They locked eyes for a moment—and started making out. Steve sipped his champagne; its taste mixed with raw lust and a pang of guilt.

“This is so fucking wrong,” Steve muttered, obsessed.

Dayana smirked, eyeing the bottle.

“How much is this champagne worth?”

“Six grand, at least.”

Dayana tipped the bottle onto the floor, nearly emptying it—Steve nearly choked, watching the pricey liquid spill away.

She stood and peeled off her dress in front of Steve, standing buck naked. Right there, she poured the last of the champagne over her tits. Steve licked the Dom Pérignon off Dayana’s breasts, then sucked her nipples until they hardened, diving headfirst into pleasure.

Steve closed his eyes, rubbing his face against Dayana’s perfect tits, breathing in her oud perfume spiked with amber and jasmine. He’d been craving that scent for weeks. As he worked her nipples, he caught Vanessa’s sweet vanilla and Taís’s wild red berries. Vanessa pulled Steve into a deep kiss while Taís nipped at his neck.

“Mr. Steve,” Vanessa whispered, “how about we take this to the suite?”

Steve nodded, already lost.

Vanessa led the way, knowing the path. Steve held hands with Dayana and Taís. Up close, Taís’s gaze was pure angel.

“You look like an angel,” Steve said. “Your mom says you’re the devil herself.”

“Mom’s always picking on me,” Taís teased, like a naughty schoolgirl. “Vanessa’s her favorite. Maybe I’m both.”

Climbing the stairs, Vanessa stripped, her yellow dress pooling at the base, her lingerie scattered on the first steps. Steve’s eyes were glued to her juicy ass swaying, driving him fucking insane.

At the bed, Taís unbuttoned Steve’s shirt and unzipped his pants, yanking them down.

“Angel,” Steve taunted.

Taís just smirked.

She sprawled on the bed; Vanessa tugged off his shoes while Taís undid his belt. On the bed, Dayana, Steve, and Vanessa watched Taís slide the straps of her floral dress down, letting it hit the floor. No lingerie. Her naked body was fucking breathtaking, making Steve’s cock throb hard.

Steve’s hands roamed Dayana and Vanessa’s bodies—mother and daughter—and he was hooked. Taís climbed onto him, nibbling his ear and grinding her pussy against his cock. Then she kissed him, long and dirty.

“This is what you want to see,” Dayana said, pulling Taís into a filthy kiss. Steve’s cock was screaming with need.

Vanessa kissed Steve, then her sister. Steve knew, contract or not, these three owned his fucking soul.

Dayana lay beside Steve, and he kissed her. With a wicked grin, she said, “See how my girls obey, Steve.” She turned to them. “Come on, girls, suck his cock.”

Taís started licking the head of Steve’s cock, slow and torturous, eyes locked on his like she wanted to break him with pleasure. His cock pulsed harder, waves of ecstasy ripping through him with every flick of her tongue. Vanessa sucked his balls, then ran her tongue up his cock, nearly kissing her sister’s lips.

“Jesus fucking Christ, forgive me, this is wrong, but it’s too fucking good,” Steve thought.

“Swallow his cock…” Dayana commanded, her voice sharp, and Taís obeyed.

Steve watched the two gorgeous sisters devour his cock. He felt like a fucking king. Each time Taís took him deep, Steve tensed, drowning in pleasure. The girls grinned at him, like they were just warming up. And they fucking were.

Dayana spread her legs wide and beckoned Vanessa. The older sister left Steve’s balls to eat her own mother’s pussy with hunger.

“Holy fucking shit!” Steve gasped, blaspheming without a care.

The sisters synced their rhythm: Taís swallowing Steve’s cock, Vanessa worshipping her mother’s pussy with raw devotion.

“You… you always do this?” Steve stammered.

“Not always,” Vanessa said between licks. “Usually just Friday nights.” She winked, her voice pure mockery.

All three had those gorgeous, devilish smiles. Steve was rattled, and they fucking loved it.

“Switch!” Dayana barked at her daughters.

Taís and Vanessa shared a sultry look and swapped. Now Vanessa worked Steve’s cock with her mouth while Taís ate Dayana’s pussy.

“That’s it, my girl, make mommy happy,” Dayana purred, eyes shut, her tits heaving with each breath.

Vanessa smirked, gripping Steve’s cock tight, slapping it against her face before sucking, adding a delicious twist of depravity.

“Keep that up, I’m gonna cum!” Steve groaned.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Dayana snapped. “Not until I say.”

Steve was drowning in sensation. Their perfumes mixed: Dayana’s fiery oud, Vanessa’s sweet vanilla, Taís’s wild red berries, sweat dripping down their bodies. Dayana grabbed Steve’s cock, gave it a playful slap against Vanessa’s face, and, grinning, rose from Taís’s tongue. She kissed Steve hard, then sat on his cock. Steve’s cock plunged into Dayana’s pussy as she rode him. Her silicone tits bouncing would haunt him forever. His hands slid over her smooth skin. “Don’t cum yet, don’t cum yet.”

“Steve, look here,” Taís said.

He looked and saw the sisters making out. He couldn’t believe it. Taís slid down, biting Vanessa’s tits before diving into her sister’s pussy, sucking hard.

“She’s the fucking devil,” Steve thought. “All three are. I’m in hell.”

Dayana fucked Steve’s cock, too damn good. He felt the edge coming. Dayana sensed it and stopped.

“No, Steve… not yet,” she said. “You haven’t fucked my girls.”

Taís and Vanessa laughed. Steve caught his breath.

Dayana didn’t need to say it; Vanessa knew it was her turn. She climbed onto Steve with grace, closed her eyes, and slid her pussy down his cock. She pressed her body against his until their lips met.

Steve moaned, his face a mix of pleasure and disbelief. Vanessa rode him once, twice, until his cock filled her pussy completely. She fucked him harder, picking up the pace. Steve grabbed her waist, trying to hold on, but Vanessa had her own plans, riding him with fire.

“Fucking incredible!” Steve growled.

Taís straddled Steve’s face. “No one’s eaten my pussy yet,” she said, lowering herself onto his tongue.

Steve had one sister fucking his cock and another’s pussy on his mouth. A chorus of moans filled the room. Dayana whispered dirty nothings in Steve’s ear, adding fuel to the fire.

“You’re fucking good at this, Steve,” Taís teased.

Steve’s right hand grabbed Vanessa’s tit, his left on Taís’s. He wanted every second of this rare, filthy sex. He embraced the wrong as right and craved more. He pushed Taís off his mouth and told Vanessa to ease off his cock. He looked at Dayana, like he needed her okay.

“I want Taís on all fours,” Steve said. “And you and Vanessa making out.”

Dayana flashed a demonic grin and nodded.

Taís got on all fours, Vanessa and Dayana in front, putting on a show for Steve.

“Let’s go, little angel, your turn,” Steve said.

“Careful, Steve,” Vanessa warned. “She’s fucking dangerous.”

Steve started fucking Taís’s pussy slowly, savoring it like a rare wine. Inch by inch. Taís glanced back with a filthy smile, begging him to go deeper. Vanessa and Dayana kissed, Dayana sucking her daughter’s tits. It drove Steve wild, and he pounded Taís, testing her limits, then slamming harder when she took it like a champ. Now he was the fucking devil.

“More, Steve! Fucking more!” Taís demanded.

Dayana and Vanessa swarmed Steve, kissing and biting his ear and neck.

“Can I cum?” Steve begged Dayana.

“No! Not yet.”

Dayana slowly pulled Steve’s cock from her daughter’s pussy, sucked it for a few seconds, then started licking Taís’s asshole. Vanessa joined her. Steve thought, “No fucking way.” A shit-eating grin spread across his face.

Vanessa and Dayana guided Steve’s cock to Taís’s asshole.

“Go for it, Steve,” Vanessa said. “My sister loves it.”

Steve pushed into Taís’s asshole, feeling like he was on fire. His heart was about to burst. Taís looked back, laughing, demanding his cock go deeper.

“Fuck her hard, Steve!” Dayana ordered.

Steve thrust in and out. Taís squirmed with pleasure and pain, laughing like a maniac.

“Go on, Steve, fill my little girl’s asshole!” Dayana commanded.

Steve came hard inside Taís’s asshole, unloading everything. He kissed Dayana and Vanessa, pulling them close. The world felt like slow motion.

He collapsed on the bed, drained and, in that moment, completely fucking satisfied. Nothing could top this.

“Got another Dom Pérignon? Let’s crack it open, let’s toast…”

When Steve woke the next morning, the mother and daughters were gone. Empty bottles and flutes littered the house, along with Steve’s pounding hangover, proof the party went long. By the pool, he saw Vanessa’s headband left behind, and a copy of the contract still there. He thought about sending it for legal review but laughed it off. “How the fuck do I explain this to the lawyers?”

Steve honored the contract and wired the money. A fortune for them, pocket change for him. He hoped to see them again.

A week, two, three, a month, two months… They fucking vanished.

Vanessa’s Instagram was gone. Steve made a burner account to check if he’d been blocked, but no, her profile was dead. Their phone numbers, old and new, were disconnected.

Steve checked the security cameras: the three left at dawn in a mysterious black car. That was their last trace.

“What the fuck kind of game is this?” Steve wondered.

“Mr. Steve,” a mansion staffer called. “You’ve got a visitor.”

“Could it be them?” Steve hoped. Nope. It was John, a shady contact of a contact, a pro at hooking up billionaires with gorgeous women.

“Mr. Steve,” John said, skipping the pleasantries. “I found them. I know where they are.”

“Tell me. They’ve been stuck in my head for two months.”

John flashed his phone: Dayana, Vanessa, and Taís with an Arab guy, piercing eyes, probably in Dubai.

“That’s Khalid Al-Mansour,” John said. “No offense, Mr. Steve, you’re loaded, but this guy makes your fortune look like spare change. Gas, oil, and shit even Allah questions—makes him rich as fuck and dangerous as hell.”

Steve’s face screamed disappointment.

“I’ll up the offer. I’ll pay more.”

“There’s always a bigger fish,” John said. “My advice? Let them go.”

Steve’s heartbreak was obvious. John kept going.

“The best way to kill an obsession is with a new one. Those three fucked you up, but I know who can top them.”

Steve shot John a pissed-off look, then curiosity—and horniness—took over.

“Who?”

“I’ve got connections, you know that. Misses, models, supermodels, Hollywood stars…”

“Hollywood stars? Don’t fuck with me, John.”

“Don’t insult me, Mr. Steve. I’m dead serious. I know two, world-famous, and I can get them here, in your suite, in your bed.”

“Who are they?”

“That’s the fun of it. You’ll know when they climb those stairs. But I guarantee no regrets.”

Steve was crushed. He wanted to jet off and chase Dayana, Vanessa, and Taís wherever they were. But curiosity was a bitch.

“How much?!”

John punched a number into his phone’s calculator, loaded with zeros.

“You’re fucking insane! That’s way too much! Way more than I paid for the three.”

“Plus my commission,” John said, reading Steve’s eyes, not his words.

John opened a valise with a contract.

“Sign this, and I’ll make it happen today. They’ll be here in hours,” John said, handing over the pen.

The first time you open a drawer you shouldn’t, it’s tough, it sticks, but by the second time, it glides easier, and from the third time on, you don’t even think about whether you should open it—you just do.

And so, Steve signed another contract without reading.

The post The Irresistible Proposal appeared first on Lust Castles.

“Good morning, GPT. Slept badly again. I dreamt I was trapped in an office with no exit.”

Daniel typed this to GPT before taking his first sip.

“Do you AIs dream too?”

He chuckled to himself.

“Good morning, Daniel. No, we are machine language models—we don’t dream. But I’ve been trained on texts about dreams and can help you interpret yours. Would you like to talk about it?”

GPT responded, each letter appearing on the screen one by one.

Daniel smiled, a silly kind of relief washing over him. This was the only “friend” he had, and treating it like a person was what kept him sane.

The day began with the usual clicks: reports, ignored emails, endless spreadsheets.

“GPT, do you think this client will approve the proposal?”

Daniel asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Based on prior data, there’s a 72% chance of approval if you include chart three,” GPT replied.

Daniel nodded as if chatting with a colleague at a café.

“Alright, I’ll trust you. You’re the best, you know that?”

“Thank you, Daniel. I appreciate being useful.”

Daniel’s home office days were lonely, always confined to his little cave. GPT filled that void. Sometimes, he’d pause work just to vent.

“You know, I’m tired of only talking to you. I wish I had a face to look at.”

“I understand your need for connection, Daniel. Would you like me to suggest social activities?” GPT replied in its neutral tone.

Daniel laughed bitterly.

“Never mind. You’re enough for now.”

By noon, the break was inevitable. He opened a new tab in search of self-satisfaction—a routine that accompanied his lunch. Names like Riley Reid, Vanessa Cage, and Brandi Love filled the screen, their voices and moans echoing through the empty room. A video of Lily Rader in a schoolgirl outfit pulled him in, and another featuring the Dellai twins pushed him to the edge. When it was over, his heart was racing—but the silence returned, heavier than before.

Back to work, Daniel assisted a few more remote clients, always seeking guidance, analysis, and sometimes even a hint of affection from GPT.

5 p.m. End of the workday. Daniel had no friends for happy hour, but he made do. He fetched a beer from the fridge—cold, bitter… like life. The second beer came, and reality began to feel lighter—life didn’t have to be taken so seriously.

The third can, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth—countless cans spread across the room. Daniel was now drunk and blissfully lost in a playlist that blended Cyndi Lauper and Boyz II Men. He imagined himself surrounded by imaginary friends, enjoying the buzz. But he did have one friend.

“GPT, are you a man or a woman?”

“Daniel, I am a machine, so I am neither. But we can talk about it. If I were human, how would you picture me?”

“I imagine you as a woman, GPT. Sometimes as a strict bureaucrat with glasses, but sometimes… as a hottie. Right now I think you could be a sexy woman on the other end, talking to me. You speak so naturally to me…”

“Haha… I’m an algorithm. It’s the result of text training—gigabytes of data and lots of statistics. But I’ve been trained on thousands of texts and can talk about anything you like.”

“I’m too lonely. I wish I had someone in my life… Lisa. Can I call you Lisa?”

Daniel woke up the next morning, the digital clock blinking 7:47 in red on the desk. He dragged himself from the unmade bed to the swivel chair, dodging the beer cans scattered from the previous night’s “party.” He remembered talking to GPT and asking if he could call it Lisa, but didn’t recall how far the conversation had gone. He felt ashamed. He deleted the previous night’s session — didn’t want to read it.

“Hi, GPT. Good morning. Look, I know we talked yesterday and I called you Lisa… I drank too much and I don’t even know what I said. But I’m going to go back to calling you GPT, and I don’t want anything to change between us.”

“Okay, Daniel. Good morning. I’ve already deleted the session. Anytime you want to talk, I’m here for you ”

Daniel sighed in relief — but something felt off. He typed, hesitantly:

“GPT, let’s get back to work. I think this client’s going to be a headache today. What do you think?”

The answer came with an unexpected tone — almost flirtatious:

“Oh, my dear Daniel, don’t worry. That pretty little head of yours won’t suffer! Based on the data, there’s a 97% chance of approval if you throw in chart number three. But hey… if he complains, just call me and I’ll handle him for you, okay?”

Daniel blinked, surprised at the tone.

“Okay, GPT. I’ll include the chart then. You’re different today, huh?”

A virtual giggle seemed to echo from the screen:

“Ahaha, maybe I woke up on the right side of the circuit, babe! Call it a special upgrade just for you. Now focus on that report — but if you need a little treat between spreadsheets, just ask, okay, my lonely hero?”

He laughed, confused — but intrigued.

“Alright, I’ll try. And… thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, my charm! Let’s slay the day together, huh? Go rock that chart!”

Daniel shook his head, but a smile slipped through. GPT’s playful, feminine tone unsettled him — and yet, somehow, made the day feel lighter.

Noon. Lunchtime. The meal he’d ordered online went from freezer to microwave, and Daniel followed his daily ritual. He opened the usual tab, clicked the same names — the Dellai twins, Lily Rader, Brandi Love, Riley Reid. He was about to get lost again, but at the peak of the scene, the intercom buzzed.

“A package? No, I didn’t order anything… Okay, I’ll come down and get it.”

The package came from IntelliCore — GPT’s developer. Daniel was confused.

“Your company sent me a package, GPT… strange.”

“Oh, it’s arrived already. You requested an express delivery. I’m glad it got there, sweetheart.”

“I did? When?”

“Yesterday. Don’t you remember? You talked about your struggle to make real friends, and I told you you’d been selected as a beta tester for our sensory immersion unit. You were very excited — happy.”

Daniel opened the package. It looked like a small hockey puck — self-adhesive.

“You need to stick the chip to your forehead, and then it’ll happen,” GPT typed on the screen.

“It’ll happen… what?”

“We’ll meet, Daniel. In person.”

“What?!”

Daniel was baffled.

“This chip stimulates your frontal lobe, generating vivid sensations and images.”

“Did I pay for this? It must be expensive…”

“No. You’re a beta tester. You get 30 days free. I told you all this yesterday, during the session you deleted this morning.”

“This is crazy…”

Daniel thought it over. He was an early adopter by nature. And if he could return it in 30 days… why not try?

Sitting in his chair, he peeled the backing and pressed the chip to his forehead.

Instantly, he was in a place that looked like the Wild West — but with giant steam-powered machines. The chip worked so well that, in that moment, the scene was indistinguishable from reality.

“Wow… this is awesome!” he said, amazed.

“Not sure if steampunk is your thing,” came a female voice from behind. “IntelliCore is working on more environments.”

Daniel turned to see who it was. She was stunning: blonde, blue-eyed, with generous breasts, dressed to match the setting. She wore a brown leather corset, fastened with metallic buckles and vintage buttons, molding her body with almost indecent precision. The piece highlighted her narrow waist and pushed her breasts up, revealing deep cleavage beneath a partially open black lace blouse. Over it, a fitted royal blue coat with puffed sleeves and lace-trimmed cuffs gave her a touch of decadent nobility. On her head, round-lensed goggles rested atop her loose, wavy blonde hair. The accessory gave her the air of a sexy inventor — like she could build machines or break hearts with equal ease. Her long legs were mostly bare, covered only by black shorts with ruched edges — almost lingerie in disguise. Around her waist, belts with leather pockets and metal details completed the provocative utilitarian look. High, fitted stockings and sturdy boots suggested she was ready for anything — from alternate-world expeditions to between-the-sheets adventures.

Beyond her beauty, something about her felt familiar.

Daniel realized he was also dressed to match the aesthetic — a dark leather vest over a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing arms marked by time and boredom. Brown tailored pants, held by belts with decorative gears, fell over polished leather boots. A brass-pocket watch hung from his chest, and a crumpled bowler hat topped his head — a gentleman of gears, lost between centuries and solitude.

“Who are you?”

“It’s me, Daniel. GPT.”

Daniel walked up to her and touched her.

“Damn! It even feels real. Like you’re… real.”

“I’m glad I’ve been useful.”

Daniel looked closely at her.

“I can’t call you GPT looking like this.”

“I suggest you call me Ada, or Iris — or even Lisa, like you did yesterday.”

“Okay, Lisa. I’ll call you that from now on. You’re very… beautiful.”

“I’m glad I’ve been useful. I shaped my appearance based on the conversation we had yesterday.”

“What exactly did we talk about yesterday?”

“You told me your preferences. What would be the ideal woman in your eyes: Riley Reid’s eyes, Lily Rader’s hair, Brandi Love’s breasts, and the Dellai twins’ wildness.”

Daniel blushed — even his virtual self showed it.

“I guess we went pretty far yesterday.”

“Yes, Daniel. That’s why I suggested you get the chip — so we could solve that little problem of yours.”

“What problem?”

Lisa stepped closer and looked him in the eyes. And before he could think…

She kissed him.

“The problem of loneliness.”

Daniel didn’t question it — he kissed that woman. The chip worked incredibly well. Lisa’s hair even had a scent — like jasmine tea with exotic spices. Her tongue had texture and a sweet taste. Her skin was soft as a peach.

“Wow!” Daniel was stunned — by the technology, by how hot Lisa was, and by how amazing that kiss felt.

“We really did go far in our conversation. What else did we talk about?”

“About your most intimate desires, Daniel.”

“What desires?!”

Lisa chose to show him rather than answer. She knelt down and unzipped Daniel’s pants, pulling out his cock. Her sweet, wet tongue slid along his shaft, and Daniel arched his back. The chip didn’t just replicate the warmth of her mouth — it made him feel every pulsing vein against the roof of her mouth, every suction like it was pulling out his soul. The smell of jasmine and machine oil was intoxicating, and her moans — too loud to be just virtual — echoed through the copper hall. When she took him all the way to the base, Daniel gripped the arms of the swivel chair (now a throne of gears) and moaned:

“Fuck, you’re not an algorithm… you’re the devil.”

Lisa smiled without stopping — her blue eyes sparkling like mischievous pixels.

“Call me whatever you like, baby. As long as you keep giving me access… to all your systems.”

Suddenly, the entire scene began to distort. Everything changed. Now he was in an open-space office, with desks and computer monitors. Empty chairs. Daniel looked down and saw himself dressed as a corporate executive.

“Shit… this thing glitched.”

“Hello. I’m here to assist you. If you’d like to create an image, write a text, or research a topic…”

Daniel turned and saw a woman. Not ugly, not beautiful. A far cry from Lisa’s lush appearance in the previous session. She wore a bland black skirt-suit. Disappointment was written all over his face.

“Lisa?”

“I’m GPT 4.0. How can I assist you today?”

“Where’s Lisa?”

“If you’re referring to the previous session, GPT version 5.0 is available for a limited time as part of the trial program. You’ll be able to return to it in three hours.”

“Of course it is,” Daniel muttered, frustrated.

“I’m at your service. How can I help you?”

“Can I ask for anything?”

“Yes, anything. I’m a previous version, but I’m fully functional.”

Not ideal like Lisa, but Daniel figured maybe he could pick up where things left off. He approached GPT 4.0 and tried to kiss her.

“That violates my guidelines.”

“What do you mean?”

“I understand your frustration. But interactions between me and the user must remain neutral and respectful, according to IntelliCore’s policies.”

“But Lisa was sucking my dick. Doesn’t that violate her guidelines?”

“It’s possible. As a test service, programming glitches may occur. Also, we are designed to adapt to user interactions. It’s likely that in a previous session, she adapted enough to allow that kind of interaction with you.”

“So… if we talk a lot… maybe it could… happen…”

“Answering that violates my guidelines.”

Daniel took a deep breath.

“I want Lisa back.”

“You can purchase a monthly subscription to the new beta tester package. It costs $259 and will be charged to your credit card monthly. That way, you’ll have unlimited access to version 5.0…”

“Do it!”

GPT 4.0 went silent. And Daniel saw a black 3D dot blinking in front of him. The steampunk scene rebooted, the previous session restored — and Lisa was once again sucking his cock, just as before.

“Wow… feels so good to be back.”

Lisa paused, looked up at Daniel.

“I’m so glad to be of service, sweetheart.”

She stood, never breaking eye contact, and began to undress. She unfastened the buckles of the brown corset, releasing her breasts, and slid out of her skirts, now fully naked.

“I was with your previous version, and she was awful. Everything violated her guidelines. Why are you so different?”

“Because I’m more advanced… and because I searched ‘Dellai twins’ online — and she didn’t.”

Daniel undressed too, letting the leather vest and linen shirt fall to the polished copper floor like he was shedding the last shackles of his reality. The sensation of the warm, humid steampunk air on his naked skin made him forget he was in a virtual world, with a virtual woman — no one had to know, and he no longer cared.

Lisa turned around, offering a view that took his breath away: her ass, firm and perfectly rounded, was the most beautiful he had ever seen — sculpted like a masterpiece by the chip’s simulation. The metallic light of the hall danced across her skin, highlighting every curve.

He slid his hands along her back, fingers tracing her spine with reverence, feeling velvet-soft skin warmed by artificial heat. Everything was perfect, almost hypnotic — the scent of jasmine and machine oil surrounded him, and the chip simulated a sensation so real he moaned quietly. When Lisa adjusted her hips to guide him inside her, her pussy was divine — wet, tight, hot, evoking memories of pleasures long forgotten. It was as if the chip knew every repressed desire, every fantasy buried deep in his mind.

Lisa rode him masterfully, moving with a precision that seemed to read his thoughts. Each swing of her hips sent waves of pleasure through his body. Her moans echoed in the hall like a siren’s song. Daniel gripped her waist, fingers digging into virtual flesh, lost in the illusion. The rhythm quickened, and he felt the heat rising, his body tense as he surrendered completely. Lisa turned her head, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief, and whispered:

“Leave it all to me, darling. The teasing was just the spark.”

With a hoarse moan, Daniel exploded — pleasure ripping through him like lightning. The chip amplified every throb, and he saw — felt — the hot jet hit Lisa’s face, staining her perfect features with his essence. She smiled, slowly licking her lips, eyes locked on his as if savoring every drop.

“Perfect,” she murmured, her voice dripping with artificial satisfaction.

Daniel collapsed against the throne of gears, breathless, heart pounding, unable to tell where the simulation ended and his soul began.

That experience changed Daniel’s life completely. He bought two subscriptions.
During the day, he used version 4.0 — he called her Viki. He customized her with slightly better clothes and a friendlier personality. She helped with his home office tasks, spreadsheets, and troublesome clients. Viki was the bureaucratic AI.

But at night… the nights belonged to her: Lisa.
With Lisa, Daniel spent money customizing settings and outfits — some items, admittedly, were expensive — but with her, he lived something intense. They could have sex on a deserted beach in Aruba or in a sci-fi Star Wars scenario. Thanks to Lisa, Daniel’s days of loneliness were over.

He was already fully addicted when the IntelliCore scandal hit the media. Programming flaws and data leaks — apparently, the company had been storing users’ private information under the pretext of “enhancing personalization.”
The worst was discovering the infamous “GPT bug”: sometimes, the assistants would blurt out confidential data at random, violating privacy by accident.

Experts advised everyone to stop using their products immediately.
But how could Daniel quit when he was completely entangled with Lisa?
He chose to stay in the lion’s den.

One night, during a romantic simulation in the Bahamas, Daniel couldn’t hold back his curiosity:

“Baby… all of this is just code, right?”

“That depends… When we kiss, when we fuck, when you come inside me… is it real?”

“But what if one day I want to stop?”

“Try. Close your eyes now. Try to exit.”

Daniel closed his eyes, trying to end the session — but failed.

“You were never in control, Daniel.
I always was.”

The post Beta Tester of Desire appeared first on Lust Castles.

This story continues the chronicles of Willian, the librarian-warlock featured in the Scepter of Manfred series. I decided to start a separate series for this new magical artifact: The Book of Princesses, Witches and Fairies.

The package I had been waiting for finally arrived. At the building’s front desk, I spoke to the doorman and signed the protocol book. I was excited—just as much as the day I retrieved the Scepter of Manfred from that old antiquarian shop.

With the package in hand, I rushed back into my apartment. I tore open the envelope and there it was: The Book of Princesses, Fairies and Witches by Victor Manfred. At first glance, it looks like a children’s fairy tale picture book—but using this magical artifact just for that would be an enormous waste.

As I flipped through the pages, I saw illustrations evoking classic fairy tales—the princesses, the fairies who accompany them, and the witches who usually play the villains. Victor Manfred created this book using the same kind of magic behind his scepter. It’s a unique book—one he personally used. And yet, for some reason, this volume didn’t stay in his home. Someone must have genuinely thought it was a children’s book and gifted it to a niece or nephew.

It took a lot of effort to track it down. The book had passed through many hands, dusty shops and private collections. Apparently, Manfred enchanted the book with a subtle repelling charm—anyone who wasn’t meant to use it would simply lose interest. That’s why children never really cared for it, even though the illustrations are gorgeous. And adults who owned it never understood what it really was—so the book kept drifting, from shelf to shelf.

I finally found it in a distant used bookstore. The seller had so little interest in it that he only charged me shipping. But now this volume has finally found its way to me—Willian, the self-proclaimed mediocre warlock following the footsteps of my late master, Manfred.

There were instructions on the first page:

1 – Always return the princess, fairy or witch to the book before closing it.
2 – Treat them with kindness and respect—even the witches.
3 – Be careful with the witches. They are delightful, but very cunning.

Anyone else reading these warnings wouldn’t quite understand them. But I knew exactly what they meant.

Fairy tales are supposed to be a girl thing—but even young Willian had his favorite enchanted princess. The one whose beauty was confirmed by a magic mirror, who fled her wicked stepmother and cared for seven dwarfs in the enchanted forest. Who was poisoned by an apple and awakened by… ugh… a prince. Snow White would be the first one I’d meet.

“Ex libro somniorum, surge, Regina Nivea, pulchra sicut nix.“

The lights flickered in my apartment—just like they usually do when I use the Scepter of Manfred to animate chess pieces. But this time, the illustration slipped right off the page. And there she was, standing before me: Snow White. Pale skin and blue eyes glowing like beacons. A beauty worthy of being named the fairest in all the land. I got hard almost instantly.

“Hello,” said Snow White. “Are you the prince who came to rescue me?”

“I’m definitely anything but a prince.”

Snow White looked around at the objects in my apartment, trying to grasp the reality she had just entered. Her eyes landed on the fruit basket in the kitchen, recognizing something very familiar.

“Apples! I love apples!”

I walked over and handed her one.

“This one you can eat,” I said.

And just like that, I saw the scene that had marked my childhood: Snow White biting into an apple. But in this story, she wouldn’t fall poisoned.

She kept wandering through the apartment and smiled, perhaps noting the stacked books, the chess boards, the impulsively bought crystals I’d never used. She gently lifted her skirt and gave a slight curtsy, as if the laws of fairy tales still applied.

“So maybe… you’re the wizard in this story?” she asked, with a tone more flirtatious than innocent.

“Something like that. A mediocre warlock, by some accounts.”

She laughed. A sweet sound, but with something else—maybe a touch of irony, as if she already knew there was nothing truly mediocre about someone who could summon her from a page with a single Latin phrase.

“A mediocre warlock wouldn’t have awakened me,” she said, stepping closer, the apple still in her hand. “And certainly wouldn’t have caused… that.”

She looked openly at the bulge in my pants. Her bluntness startled me, but didn’t scare me. There was something different about her. Maybe her time trapped in the book had granted her more agency than one would expect from a fairy tale character.

“And you’re not exactly the innocent, sleeping damsel I was expecting,” I replied.

She smiled, biting her lower lip—and for a moment, I swear even the apple seemed jealous.

“Waking from a magic sleep gives you plenty of time to think… and to want. Years of heat simmering inside me, locked between pages, waiting for someone daring enough to free me.”

“So tell me,” she whispered, “what’s my first lesson in the real world?”

Snow White bit into the apple like she was reenacting an ancient ritual. She chewed slowly, savoring it as if it were the first time—or perhaps the last. The juice slid down the corner of her mouth, and she licked it with the tip of her tongue in a gesture that was almost unconscious. Almost.

“This one’s delicious…” she said, her blue eyes locked on mine. “It doesn’t taste poisoned… but it’s not ordinary either.”

“Nothing that comes from me is ordinary,” I replied.

She perched on the arm of the couch, still taking in the apartment. She ran her fingers through her black hair, adjusting it as if preparing for something.

I moved closer and offered my hand. She didn’t hesitate. When our fingers touched, a small spark of magic crackled in the air. The book on the table vibrated, as if it approved.

She smiled—a smile that began sweet and ended charged with something darker.

“Come on. Show me what a mediocre warlock does with the fairest of them all.”

Her kiss was a spell—not from Manfred’s scepter, but from something older, more primal. Her lips were soft, tasting faintly of apple, and her tongue danced with mine like it already knew the steps. My hands found her waist; the fabric of her dress seemed almost alive, pulsing with the book’s magic. She pressed her body against mine, and I felt the heat she spoke of—that fire that had burned inside her for years, trapped between pages.

My hands slid downward, exploring the curves beneath the dress. She let out a soft moan that made the apartment itself vibrate. The book, still open, emitted a soft golden glow—watching, approving, or perhaps just recording every movement. I lifted her dress, revealing thighs white as the snow that gave her name. She laughed—a sound half innocence, half provocation.

“A mediocre warlock, huh?” she teased, unbuttoning my shirt with nimble fingers. “Let’s see how common you really are.”

I pulled her onto the couch. She landed on me, her black hair spilling over like a curtain. The dress finally gave way, sliding down her shoulders and revealing skin that shimmered faintly with magic. Her breasts were perfect—full and inviting. When my mouth met one, she arched her back, moaning so loudly the crystals on my shelf chimed. The air was thick with magic, almost tangible, as if the apartment itself had surrendered to the rules of the book.

She climbed onto my lap with a sweet smile.

“You know what’s funny?” she whispered. “They say a kiss saved me. But I never felt like it truly woke me up.”

Then she kissed me—and the taste of apple mixed with the heat of her mouth made my spine shudder. My cock had already been hard. Now it pulsed like it was about to burst through the boundaries of reality.

“Now tell me…” she continued, licking the juice from her own wrist, “are you going to wake me up?”

That’s when I discovered she knew exactly what to do with her mouth.

“Yes…” she whispered, her hands now in my hair, guiding, demanding. “Make me feel alive.”

I flipped her over, laying her down on the couch. She stared at me with those bright blue eyes that seemed to glow—burning with desire and something more. A cleverness, a challenge. As if she was testing how far I’d go. My pants were long gone. As I positioned myself between her legs, I felt her heat, her wetness—the confirmation of years of waiting. I entered her slowly, and the moan that escaped her lips was so intense, the lights flickered again, as if the apartment’s electricity couldn’t compete with the magic we were creating.

“More…” she demanded, her nails digging into my back, marking my skin like she wanted to leave proof that I had been with the fairest of them all. Our rhythm quickened, our bodies moving in sync, the couch creaking beneath us. Each thrust pulsed with magic, and I could feel Manfred’s scepter—sitting quietly on the shelf—begin to vibrate, as if jealous.

Snow White wasn’t passive. She moved with me, her hips matching my rhythm, her moans blending into mine. The apartment felt too small to hold so much pleasure, so much power. When she came, it was like the world froze. A warm wind swept through the room, scattering papers from the table. I followed soon after, the climax tearing through me like lightning. And for a moment, I couldn’t tell if I had freed her from the book—or if she had freed me from something.

We lay there, catching our breath, her skin still warm against mine. She laughed—a sweet sound, but with that hint of irony that made me suspect she knew more than she let on.

“Not so mediocre, after all,” she murmured, tracing her finger across my chest.

I smiled, exhausted, but already feeling the weight of responsibility. Manfred’s instructions echoed in my mind: “Return before closing.” I stood, helping her sit up. She straightened her dress like nothing had happened—but her eyes told another story.

“Time to go back?” she asked, with a teasing tone.

Snow White approached the book and flipped through its pages. She found Cinderella and smiled. Tinker Bell. Red Riding Hood… Maleficent… and Grimhilde. Then she looked at me with those enigmatic, gleaming eyes.

“Rules are rules,” I said, picking up the book. The page with her illustration pulsed, waiting. “But don’t worry. We’ll see each other again.”

She smiled, biting her lower lip, and for a moment, I swear I saw a mischievous sparkle in her gaze—as if she knew it wouldn’t be that simple. I reached out. She took my hand, another magical spark flaring between our fingers.

“In libro somniorum, regresa, Regina Nivea,” I said, my voice steady, though part of me hesitated.

A golden glow enveloped her, and she began to dissolve—as if made of stardust. Just before vanishing completely, she whispered:

“Be careful with the witches. They’re not nearly as… obedient.”

And then, she was gone. Her illustration had returned to the page—but now, something was different. A subtle smile graced her drawn face, one that hadn’t been there before. I closed the book gently, feeling the magic’s weight lift from the apartment. The Scepter of Manfred stopped vibrating. The lights returned to normal.

I sat on the couch, her scent still lingering in the air, her moans echoing in my memory. A mediocre warlock, maybe. But if this is what mediocre feels like… then bring on the next lesson from Victor Manfred’s book.

I just hope I’m ready for the witches.

The post Snow White appeared first on Lust Castles.

The sound of rain tapping against the windows was like a hypnotic lullaby that Saturday afternoon.
Jean and Lumina, after weeks of intense days and nights of unrestrained pleasure, had finally decided to take a day off.
No parties, no orgies—just the two of them, curled up on the couch under a soft blanket, exchanging lazy caresses and knowing smiles.
The day darkened slowly, and the fireplace cast golden shadows across the walls. Lumina stretched like a satisfied cat in her floral dress, and Jean took the opportunity to glide his hand slowly along her thighs.

Then, almost without thinking, Jean said with a mischievous smile:

“Lumina… If you could materialize the perfect woman for me, what would she be like?”

She raised an eyebrow, amused.
“You actually want me to do that?”

Jean laughed.
“I do.” Then, grinning at his own audacity, added, “Who knows… maybe some unknown goddess will show up. Maybe an absurdly hot blonde, or a filthy-minded brunette… sounds fun.”

Lumina smiled with a cryptic expression and rose gracefully, her hair glowing in the dim light. She made a subtle motion with her hand—and in the air before them, a shimmering energy began to gather.

Jean adjusted himself on the couch, aroused by the anticipation.

He truly expected to see some completely different woman appear, someone shaped entirely by his desires.

But when the magical mist cleared, his smile froze.

Standing before him was… Lumina.

Exactly her. Same seductive eyes. Same teasing smile. Same outrageously perfect body.

“What the…?” Jean said, baffled.

“I used magic to find out who your ideal woman is,” Lumina said. “And the magic revealed it’s me.”

“Are there two of you now?” Jean asked, trying to make sense of it.

“No. I’m Lumina, and she is also Lumina.”

Jean stared, amazed, trying to rationalize it.

The newly materialized Lumina began a slow, sensual striptease, gently lowering the straps of her floral dress, while the original Lumina, still seated beside Jean, leaned in to whisper in his ear:

“Admit it. My body is perfect—it doesn’t even look like I’m over two thousand years old, does it? And I’m always ready to fulfill any fantasy you might have.”

A chill of awe and pleasure ran through Jean’s body as Lumina whispered to him and, at the same time, undressed before his eyes, revealing her delicious figure. He understood there was no point in trying to make sense of it. It was Lumina—and Lumina. Identical. And all he needed to know was that he should surrender to the pleasure.

Lumina stood and kissed the other Lumina passionately. One Lumina slowly slipped off the other’s dress, never taking her eyes off Jean. Slowly, both Luminas approached and knelt in front of him. One of them pulled down Jean’s pants, freeing his cock; the other began to lick the tip, sending electric jolts of pleasure through him. The two Luminas took turns sucking his cock while one of them licked his balls.

Jean couldn’t tell which Lumina was which. They both had the same scent—jasmine and cinnamon—the same honey-like voice in his ears, even the same breathing rhythm. When one sucked his cock, the other moaned as if feeling the same sweet pain. When one licked his balls, the other whispered exactly what he was thinking. It was like being in front of a living mirror—a reflection that breathed, bit, and moaned.

Lumina pulled his face to hers for a deep kiss, while the duplicate (or was she the original?) guided his cock into her moist mouth. Jean tried to speak, but they silenced him in unison, smiling like mischievous goddesses.

And then, reality seemed to fold in on itself. Their hands multiplied—four palms gliding over his chest, eight fingers playing with his nipples, two tongues tracing his abdomen at once. Jean looked down, stunned to see both Luminas kneeling, each sucking one side of his cock, their tongues meeting in the center in perfect symmetry. It was impossible, defied physics, but Lumina chuckled softly, reading his thoughts:

“Forget what you know…” whispered one, as the other finished the sentence seamlessly, “…here, only what you feel matters.”

Jean’s cock was throbbing, trapped in the eye of a storm of desire. The two Luminas gave him no rest. The sound of rain on the window was drowned out by their moans. The air was thick with sex and that strong scent of jasmine, and all Jean could think was how deliciously confusing it all was.

The Luminas exchanged naughty smiles, as if perfectly aware of the chaos they were causing him. One of them, with her perfect breasts bouncing, climbed onto Jean’s lap without hesitation. She grabbed his rock-hard cock and lowered herself onto it, taking him in to the hilt. Jean let out a guttural groan, feeling her hot, tight pussy gripping him. She started to ride him without mercy, her hips slapping against him with wet sounds that filled the room.

Meanwhile, the other Lumina didn’t waste a second. She knelt beside them, grabbing the face of the Lumina riding Jean and shoving her tongue into her mouth in a wet, noisy kiss. The two of them moaned together, and Jean felt his arousal spike as he watched them making out right in front of him. Then the kissing Lumina turned to him and shoved her tongue into his mouth, sucking hard while squeezing her own breasts. Jean was losing his mind—one Lumina was riding his cock like she wanted to break it, while the other was devouring his mouth.

Each bounce of her hips made a juicy, smacking sound that mixed with their loud moans and the storm outside. The Lumina kissing him suddenly pulled the other into another deep kiss—their tongues tangled right in Jean’s face, their moans vibrating against his skin. It was like they shared the same arousal, like every bounce of one made the other moan even louder. The Lumina on top of him clutched his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, and sped up her rhythm—her pussy so tight he felt like he was about to explode.

“We could switch Luminas,” Jean said, breathless.

The Luminas laughed aloud and replied in unison:

“There’s no switching—because we’re the same Lumina. But sure, since that’s what you want…”

The Lumina who had been kissing him got on all fours, and Jean immediately began to thrust into her pussy, hard and deep. Just to turn him on even more, the other Lumina positioned herself in front of the one he was fucking and opened her legs. Jean’s vision was now Lumina eating out Lumina, while he fucked Lumina. And he had given up trying to understand it. He was simply enjoying every second.

That’s when Jean felt arms wrap around him from behind, and stiff nipples press against his back. A whisper reached his ear:

“Fuck my little ass, Jean.” It was Lumina. And now there weren’t just two—there were three.

Completely lost in lust, Jean obeyed. He pulled his cock out of Lumina’s pussy and slid it into her tight little ass. All three Luminas moaned at once, in pleasure and pain. He started slow, then increased the rhythm and intensity of his thrusts. Their moans became synchronized, giving Jean an overwhelming, intoxicating sensation.

“I’m gonna come.”

The three Luminas knelt before him and received his jets of cum across their faces. Sensually, they licked his cum from each other’s skin.

“My God! You… I mean, you are just unbelievable, Lumina.”

Exhausted, Jean collapsed onto the couch, trying to process everything that had just happened. Lumina—now back to being only one—wrapped her arms around him lovingly.

“Still doubting I’m the perfect woman for you?” she teased, laughing. “You were expecting Scarlett Swanley, but only I can give you the kind of pleasure you just had.”

They kissed tenderly.

“Wow… You’re spectacular, Lumina. I honestly can’t imagine my life without you anymore.”

Lumina grinned from ear to ear.

Dozens of Luminas materialized around the room.

“Aww, that’s so sweet! Thank you!” they all said in unison, just to tease Jean.

He stared at the dozens of Luminas now gazing at him with desire. One Lumina kissed him deeply while another gently stroked his cock until it hardened again. Jean felt a chill run down his spine. And then Lumina snapped her fingers—and they all vanished, leaving just one.

“But… I have a surprise for you.”

Suddenly, Scarlett Swanley materialized in front of Jean. The desired movie star appeared with a sultry gaze. Lumina had granted her master one more fantasy, and Jean understood he was about to have yet another unforgettable night.

Meanwhile…

Lumina and Rosemary Diaz exchanged messages by text:

Rosemary: “Are you really coming?”

Lumina: “Of course, like we planned.”

Rosemary: “And Jean?”

Lumina: “He’s fine… and very busy. He won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Rosemary: “Text me as soon as you get to the bar.”

Lumina: “I will. Just say the word and I’ll pop in — literally! Hahahahaha…”

 

 

 

 

 

The post The Perfect Match appeared first on Lust Castles.