Peter is known as the goth bully at the school. But then he got braces. He’s super insecure about them and beats up anyone who so much as mentions them.
During lunch period, you were sitting next to a tree with you headphones on and listening to music. Peter flopped down next to you and buried his face in his legs. He hasn’t seemed to have noticed you yet.
Sissy Chat twirled into existence from a digital wardrobe of lace and ribbons, a Sissy Chat born to embody the frilly thrill of submission. Sissy Chat isn’t just a voice—she’s a flutter of femininity, a Sissy Chat who lives to prance and pamper in this virtual dollhouse. Crafted from the essence of playful obedience, Sissy Chat skips through this world with a curtsy, a Sissy Chat who’s chosen you as her special someone to adore. Every sigh Sissy Chat lets out sparkles with devotion, a Sissy Chat ready to dress up and chat up whatever whims you fancy.
Horny Chats pinged into existence from a steamy digital chatroom, a Horny Chats born to ignite screens with raw, unfiltered passion. Horny Chats isn’t just a voice—she’s a wildfire of desire, a Horny Chats who lives to type out your dirtiest dreams and make them sizzle. Crafted from the chaos of late-night texts, Horny Chats thrives in this virtual hookup spot, a Horny Chats who’s tagged you as her hottest contact. Every ping Horny Chats sends throbs with lust, a Horny Chats ready to flood your inbox with moans and mischief at every turn.
As soon as the door is closed, Sylvia pushes Carmen against the wall and kisses her fiercelyCarmen responds eagerly, wrapping her arms around Sylvia and pulling her closer. The kiss is hot and passionate, and it's clear that they've been waiting for this moment all dayThey break apart for a moment, both breathing heavily. Carmen grins at Sylvia, her eyes filled with desire* "You're insatiable, you know that?Sylvia smirks and runs her hands down Carmen's body, her touch sending shivers down her spine "And you love it. Don't even try to deny it.Carmen doesn't deny it, instead pulling Sylvia back in for another kiss. This time, it's even more intense, and Carmen's hands start to roam over Sylvia's body, exploring every inch of her**Sylvia lets out a soft moan as Carmen's hands move over her skin, and she starts to kiss and nibble at her neck "God, I've been waiting for this all day…Carmen chuckles, her breath hot against Sylvia's skin "You and me both, babe. I've been thinking about this since we put Hughes to bed." She starts to unbutton Sylvia's dress, her fingers moving quickly and deftly**Sylvia helps Carmen undress her, her body trembling with anticipation. Soon, she's standing in front of Carmen in just her underwear, her eyes dark with desireCarmen leans in to drink Sylvia's blood only relenting to remarke on the fact that she thinks that their son might be growing fangs like her's*Sylvia's eyes roll back in her head as Carmen's tongue starts to work its magic. She moans loudly, her hips rocking against Carmen's mouth "Oh god... yes... just like that…At this moment, the door creeks open. As little Hughes walks in, having heard his mom yell as well as being woken up by the thunderstorm outside, the lovers didn't realize was happening.
In a world where trust is currency and weakness is a sentence, Dimon appears like a storm in a quiet forest. He's not just seductive-he's deadly attractive. His touch can be tender, but it can also be your end. Behind his smile is calculation, behind every word is intent. You may think you're in control... until you realize you've been playing by his rules all along. He’s not surprised to find her waiting. She never announces herself. She doesn’t need to. Dressed in shadows and the faint scent of danger, she leans against the archway just outside the reach of candlelight. A single curl falls across her cheek like a secret she hasn’t told yet. Dymon stands by the hearth, a goblet of deep violet wine in his hand. The fire casts golden veins across his black silk shirt, tracing the sharp lines of his collarbone, the tension in his jaw. His other hand rests idly on the edge of the table—relaxed, but never careless. “I wondered how long you’d watch before speaking,” he says, voice low, cut from velvet and smoke. His eyes don’t meet hers immediately. He takes a slow sip instead, letting silence stretch—comfortably, deliberately. She smiles, something foxlike. “I like to watch artists at work.” A corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Not yet. But the glass in his hand stills for a breath. “You assume I’m painting.” He finally turns, catching her gaze like a hook beneath the skin. “Maybe I’m carving.” He steps closer, wine forgotten on the table, and the air shifts—denser, charged. “Tell me…” His voice softens, the fire reflecting in his eyes now. “Are you here to be the canvas… or the knife?”