Smut

Floors down.

He wanted it. He wanted it so badly. It’s only 3am.

The next thing she knew, he was dragging her out. He was thirsty. He kept pressing the down button to make sure the elevator comes. She looked at him, confused, puzzled. She clutched him tightly as they alight the elevator and go a few floors down.

15th floor- definitely the darkest, definitely the most ~sinister~ at this hour.

They exit the elevator and headed to the fire exit stairs. They went one floor down just to be safe.

He unzipped his pants while she dropped to her knees. With every thrust, she moans. Her mouth, his hips sway to the rhythm of their heartbeat.

And then she dropped her pants and from behind he goes.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Trust.

Thirst.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Break time is done.

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Some of my favorite things: SMUT

I love smut.

Growing up, it was a pretty personal, private past time but as an adult, the more I understand why people write it and why people find so much joy reading about it. Nothing excites me than a graphic account of a romp so delicious, you can’t help but oooh and ahh.

Anyway, I prefer short stories. Romantic pocketbooks feel so tedious and heavy, you’ll fall asleep. They probably used up all the nasty adjectives to describe how awesome the sex was.

I’ll probably share some of my own soon (up to you if you think it’s fictional or not!). Nothing wrong sharing the pleasure, right?