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Indulge in an Unforgettable Journey of Passion and Temptation with Emily White's Erotic Masterpiece! Step into a captivating world where seduction knows no bounds in Emily White's latest collection of scintillating erotic stories, enriched with enchanting hentai illustrations. Immerse yourself in a universe where each word is a whispered promise, and every brushstroke is a visual enchantment that brings fantasies to life in pure hentai style. This collection is a daring invitation to explore the uncharted depths of desire, where pleasure unfolds with audacious strokes and details that will quicken your heartbeat. The carefully crafted hentai illustrations serve as sensuous portals, transporting you into dimensions where every hidden fantasy finds unabashed expression. What to Expect: - A Fusion of Literary Mastery and Sensual Artistry - Explicit and Alluring Hentai Illustrations - Stories That Explore the Boundaries of Lust and Fantasy - A Whirlwind of Seduction and Temptation This isn't just a collection; it's your exclusive ticket to a dimension of hentai eros, meticulously narrated and ardently illustrated by Emily White. Lift the cover and prepare for an intense experience fueled by the flame of passion. Caution: This Collection is Not for the Faint of Heart. Are You Ready to Cross the Threshold?
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Seitenzahl: 108
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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I was betrayed by my Son's Friend
Sexy Erotic Stories for Adults Illustrated with Hentai Pictures
___________________
Emily White
Copyright
Copyright © 2024 by Emily White
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.
Printing and distribution: Heinz-Beusen-Stieg 5 22926 Ahrensburg, Germany
Table of Contents
Copyright
Table of Contents
Introduction
TOM
I WAS BETRAYED BY MY SON'S FRIEND
Thank You!
Introduction
Welcome to a captivating journey where my enthralling stories seamlessly intertwine with enchanting illustrations that redefine the very essence of desire in the world of hentai erotica.
Within the secret pages of these forbidden tales, I invite you to immerse yourself in a fiery universe of unrestrained passion. Every word is a whispered moan, and each illustration is a visual embrace that transforms the realms of fantasy into tangible reality.
This collection is not for the faint of heart. It's a bold manifesto, an invitation urging you to delve into the dark depths of lust, where pleasure is painted with audacious strokes and details that promise to quicken the rhythm of your heart. The illustrations are provocative gateways, guiding you into sensual dimensions where every hidden desire finds its expression without remorse.
Are you ready to plunge into a whirlwind of seduction and temptation, where the pages themselves transform into a stage for your most secret fantasies? Allow yourself to be carried away into a realm where sin transforms into art, and art seamlessly merges harmoniously with the ecstasy of desire.
Lift the cover and prepare for an experience ignited by the flame of passion. This is not just another collection; it's your exclusive ticket to the boldest manifestations of anime eros, written masterfully by me, Emily White.
TOM
Hands dug into her lather-covered hair. Warm water splashed from the shower head onto her body. With gentle pressure, he massaged the shampoo into his scalp and listened to the sound of the water lapping at his feet on the floor of the tub. Tom recorded only his immediate surroundings, the bathroom.
An oppressively muggy, summery August day was looming. It was already a quarter past ten. Tom had already eaten breakfast and skipped his morning push-ups. Instead, he did some dumbbell exercises in his office and looked at the appointment calendar on his PC monitor.
Tuesday/ Julia/ 1 pm, Street. .../ Tel. ...
Now, in the shower, he couldn't get that phone call from the night before out of his mind, even though he was indulging in the feeling of pleasant personal hygiene. Subliminally, the phone call drilled itself into his brain.
This firm tone of voice and pleasant inappropriate tone of voice. He had already received a few brusque, direct or somewhat bizarre offers over the phone. But what he heard on the call recorder last night took his breath away at first.
Tom called them appointments that he had to work and these included the most impossible offers. In many cases, the money was easily earned because it was more about conversations or evening companionship with unknown results. Naked bodies or sex only became the focus of the union three or four dates later and at some point led to such peculiar and very specifically designated acts when making dates.
These appointments were mostly the result of recommendations and not so much of new contacts from women that were due to his monthly announcement. Regular contacts made it much easier for him to fulfill those desires. They had known each other for a long time.
He wondered even more who had recommended this Julia, as she was called on the tape, to him.
He called her back the same evening and wanted to know what it meant and how it came to her. He repeated the same phrase from the recording of the call and the price of one hundred and fifty euros, but she did not answer his questions. He hesitated and she asked with the emphasis that admitted no contradiction, "Do you want it or not?
Her speech almost stuck in her larynx and before giving herself the nerve of hesitation or cowardice, she agreed and asked only, "Do you stay with the address?" She again gave him all her details and the name on the doorbell of the house and repeated with strong emphasis this phrase without the price, as an unconditional action when he appeared.
Tom rinsed the soap from his hair and body, turned off the water, pushed aside the shower curtain, and stepped out of the tub.
After drying himself off, he stood in front of the mirrored cabinet above the sink, looked at his face for beards and impurities, ran his right hand over the tip of his chin, and realized happily that he had shaved very well before the shower. Automatically, his left hand ran to his pubes.
Damn, he thought. I forgot to shave down there.
He shaved his pubic hair only in the genital area and underarms at irregular intervals with a wet razor.
For his pleasure zone around his penis and sac, he used depilatory cream once a month, which made it easier for him to do a quick post-shave the rest of the time.
Underarm hair was no longer an option after trying once when she was 19. With extreme redness under her arms and running around like a bodybuilder for weeks, putting wet, oily cotton swabs under her armpits, she abandoned any further attempts.
He turned on the faucet at the sink, took the shaving cream from the glass shelf on the wall to the left of the mirror cabinet, shook the jar up and down to solidify the foam inside, removed the cap, and squirted a small amount into his left palm. Quietly and evenly, Tom smeared the white cream over his pubes, his testicles, in the transition from testicle to anus, down to his tailbone. He repeated the process until every pore of skin was covered in shaving cream. Then he squatted down with his legs apart, had to climb back up because he had forgotten his razor, squatted down again and began shaving in short but almost identical strokes. As soon as he started, he realized that he had not turned on the vibration of his razor, he remedied this by pressing the switch with his thumb and continued his shave.
He took great care around the anus and felt with his fingers to make sure he hadn't forgotten any bristles in his hair and that he hadn't hurt himself. Arriving at the end, he pulled the wet razor up the inside of his buttocks to his tailbone, felt the quality again and was satisfied. It was a little tricky to get to the groove around himself above the buttocks, but it was working better and better from the beginning of self-shaving and was already automatic in movement and action. The squatting position was very helpful.
He stood up, got in the tub again, rinsed off the suds, washed all the shaved areas with his intimate soap and ran the water all over his body one last time to get rid of the rest of the soap that was still spread over him somewhere with splatters.
Out of the tub again, he took some milking fat from the left side of his three-mirror closet and, with several small amounts on his fingertips and in the palms of his hands, smeared the fat on his lower abdomen. A small portion on his index and middle finger, no bigger than a grape, he squeezed it through his anus into his bowels, which had been rinsed and cleaned several times before the shower. It had become a completely normal ritual for him and nothing special. The little all-around massage with the tip of his finger into the inner edge of the pulling muscle was also part of it. The fat, in that spot and with that procedure, gave him a sense of purity and randomness for possible special pleasures. Sometimes he would take more and spread it with two or three fingers deep into his rectum like a lubricating cream when he knew there was more.
Finally, he provided his greasy hands with a very pleasant scent. For this, she used Vegas 69, a perfume with the approximate smell of Davidoff Coolwater, only not as intense and with a slightly more feminine note. The beauty of it was that he had to rub very little of it into his greasy hands, apply it to his skin, and wait for it to turn into a pleasant, subtle, masculine scent. Too much was too obtrusive, less highlighted more of her body odor. Her anus was left out of it.
It was also important to take care of the scrotum with its countless wrinkles.
Tom squirted a small spray of perfume on his palms, grabbed his baby oil from the bridge of the mirror cabinet, poured a little oil into the crook of his left hand, rubbed his hands together again to distribute it well, and touched his sack.
Millimeter by millimeter, he worked his way from crease to crease.
With the thumbs and forefingers of his hands, he alternately peeled the skin away from his testicles, squeezed it, and gently rubbed the oily, fragrant substance into every crease and pore until he was done. The membrane connecting the glans and shaft, a remnant of his former foreskin, was subjected to the same soft care.
Once again, I wipe my greasy hands on the root of the tail and that's it.
She took the bath towel, dried her hands in it, ran a corner of the towel over her anus again, because some of the grease between her buttocks had already liquefied and spread too much, and then brushed her teeth.
Afterwards, he tidied up the bathroom, dried himself briefly, and left the room in the direction of the office.
Tom pondered. "...Get dressed? ...Now? No, you don't!"
He walked into his office, looked at his watch, and was relieved to find that he still had an hour and a half before his appointment. The clothing issue had long since been resolved for him.
With a loose rocking motion he jumped into the office chair, took the remote in his hand, pressed a couple of buttons and the chair began a pleasant massage on his back and under his buttocks with vibrations. The back slowly lowered back and the leg rest rose until he sank into the chair half lying and half sitting. With his eyes closed, he let the warm summer air coming in through the open window blow over his naked body.
His left hand rested on his pubis and gently stroked the smooth skin with his thumb. With his right hand he grasped his testicles between his newly opened legs, lifted them slightly, brought his thumb and forefinger to the connecting membrane between the lower edge of the glans and the shaft, pulled them down slightly and tenderly massaged the outer surfaces of this small, sensitive piece of skin with his thumb and forefinger rubbing in opposite directions. Without the foreskin, this could be done very well without an erection.
Relaxation entered her body and she nodded a little.
This calm was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of the phone.
He stood up as if he had been stung by a tarantula. His abdominal muscles, no longer so visible, had contracted and pulled a little painfully from the hasty reaction.
I need to do something about my little bit of fat around my belly, Tom thought and spontaneously wondered who that might be.
Okay, let's do the paperwork, he said aloud to himself. He turned off the office chair and returned it to its original function, sat down in front of the PC, lifted the phone handset, pressed a button and answered it.
"Tom here, who is it?" .... Of course the date is set! ...Why?... I'll take a look?
Tom pressed a button on the phone, set it aside, scratched the tip of his glans with relish, let the trickle of a small shower run over his skin, and picked up the phone again, releasing the lock button to mute.
So. No, no ... Yes, of course, as you wish... Well, then at 15:00 at your place, as discussed!
Julia...? Julia...?
He had hung up.
Tom didn't want to go there anymore. He didn't need the money.
But it was this particular announcement with this cold undertone from her that kept him interested in a supposedly frigid woman who just wanted to test once again if maybe she wasn't emotionally cold after all.
The postponement wasn't particularly convenient because he wanted to have a cozy guys' night out with two of his fellow tradesmen. During the week it was always easy to arrange. But what the hell. What she wanted and demanded so badly shouldn't take long.
