KW Naughty Corner

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  Chapter 15 Heart and Soul Miloš   The first time Miloš had cum, his father's hand had been on his cock. He had been eighteen. Belgrade. The office had smelled of brandy, gun oil, and the specific cold of a Serbian winter pressing through the windows. Lazar had called it a lesson. Had poured warming lube into his palm with the clinical efficiency of a man demonstrating a firearms technique and had wrapped his scarred hand around his son's cock and said, “ Like this.” “ Feel it build.” “Don't choke it, let it breathe, let it beg.” Miloš had lasted approximately four strokes before he had reached for his father's cock in return. He had told himself it was only mimicry. He was learning the grip. That was all. That was what he had told himself. His father's cum had landed on his palm. His own cum had landed on his father's wrist. Miloš had not wiped his hand the rest of the night. “Lesson over,” Lazar had said eventually. “ We don...

  Chapter 14 Hades’s Third Act   Lazar lifted her with both hands at her waist. Zara positioned his cock and she slowly brought her pussy down onto his cock. The serpent heads twisted at her entrance first. She gasped. Then, they slipped in deeper as he continued to bring her down. “Oh fuck.” Her eyes rolled back as the apadravya piercing drove through her in devastating strokes. The gold serpents caressed her walls. “Ah!” She made a sound she had never made before that landed between a scream and a prayer. Lazar fell back against the bed. God. How long had it been since he’d felt wet pussy hugging his cock? All those dark nights. He had denied himself physical touch, even keeping Dayo with the boundary of the computer screen between them. Lazar groaned. “Oh fuck!” Every nerve ending in his body vibrated with pleasure. She was worth the wait. He closed his eyes as she rode his cock perfectly, and Zara was a blade plunging into his chest, findi...

  Chapter 13 Pomegranate Lazar   The bathroom was small by the standards of the Global 8000. Which meant Italian marble, brushed gold fixtures, and a mirror that ran the full length of the wall. Lazar ran the hot water and used the soap. Once he cleaned up, he dried off, grabbed a folded cloth, and held it under the stream until it was soapy, saturated, and steaming. He looked up and stared at the man in the mirror with the silly smile on a deadly face. His mouth was still buzzing and he could still feel the pressure of his son's lips against his own, the way neither of them had pulled back, the way both of them had chosen to stay exactly where they were. He had kissed his son, over his queen's pussy, and no one judged. The Veritrex was still moving through his blood—he could feel it, the chemical warmth of enforced honesty—but he knew with the absolute certainty of a man who had survived so many years by trusting his own gut that the chemicals were not responsible for what ha...