More from Sara

• College Slut Sara Begs to Be Ruined

  March 21, 2026

  Hey there, you filthy-minded reader… it’s me, Sara. Your favorite blonde college slut with hair so long it brushes the small of my back when I’m bent over getting railed. Right now I’m standing in front of this massive city-view window, the sunset turning everything golden and warm against my skin. Black push-up bra barely containing my heavy tits, nipples already poking through the lace like they’re begging for teeth. That shiny black micro-skirt? It’s so short it rides up every time I shift my weight, flashing the curve of my ass and the fact that I’m not wearing panties tonight. Platform wedge heels make my legs look endless, calves flexed, thighs glistening because yeah—I’ve been touching myself thinking about you since class let out.

  God, I’m such a needy little whore these days. College has ruined me in the best way. All those boring lectures, all I can think about is cock. Thick, veiny, older-man cock that knows exactly how to stretch a tight young pussy until I’m crying and squirting. Picture me right now: I turn slowly, letting the city lights catch the sheen on my skin, then I drop to my knees in front of that window. Anyone in the building across the street could watch if they wanted. I don’t care. I want them to see.

  I spread my thighs wide, skirt hiked to my waist, fingers sliding through my slick folds. “Fuck,” I moan out loud, circling my swollen clit while I imagine it’s your tongue instead. Two fingers plunge inside—then three—stretching myself the way you would, curling hard against that spot that makes my hips buck. My other hand yanks the bra cups down so my tits spill out, nipples hard and aching. I pinch one roughly, whimpering your name like a prayer.

  But fingers aren’t enough. Never are. I need to be filled, used, ruined. I want you to storm in, grab a fistful of my long blonde hair, yank my head back so my throat’s exposed, and shove your cock so deep I gag instantly. Make me choke on it while tears run down my cheeks and mascara smears. Call me your dirty college cum-dump while you fuck my face like it’s a toy. Then flip me around, bend me over the windowsill, ass up, tits pressed to cold glass. Slam into me from behind—no warning, no mercy. Pound my dripping cunt until the whole room smells like sex and my screams echo off the walls.

  Spank me red. Pull my hair so hard my scalp burns. Tell me I’m just a set of holes for you to use. I’ll beg for it louder— “Harder, daddy, wreck me, breed me, fill this slutty pussy with your cum!” I’ll come so hard I squirt all over your balls, shaking, thighs trembling, but you won’t stop. You’ll keep drilling until you explode inside me, hot thick ropes painting my walls, leaking out around your cock while I milk every last drop.

  When you finally pull out I’ll spin around, drop back to my knees, and lick you clean—tasting us both, swirling my tongue over every inch like the greedy cum-slut I am. Then I’ll look up at you with those big blue eyes, lips swollen and shiny, and whisper, “Again?”

  Mmm… just typing this has me soaked and throbbing. If you’re reading this and your cock is hard, drop a comment. Tell me exactly how you’d use a girl like me. I read every single one while I finger myself.

  Come ruin your little blonde college whore soon.

  Kisses (and more), Sara 💋

• When Your Naughty Server Begs for More

  March 6, 2026

  The Restaurant had emptied out, lights dimmed to a soft amber glow. I’d locked the door, flipped the sign to Closed. My shift was done—except you were still in the corner, table 7, watching me with that steady, dangerous calm. Salt-and-pepper hair, rolled sleeves, expensive watch. Older. The kind of man who doesn’t rush.

  I walked over, heels clicking, long blonde hair loose now, skirt riding high on my thighs. Blouse unbuttoned low enough to tease the lace edge of my bra. I stopped right in front of you, close enough for my knee to brush yours.

  “You’re still here,” I said.

  “You’re still serving,” you replied.

  Your hand slid up my thigh—slow, deliberate—pushing my skirt higher, thumb hooking my thong aside.

  “Spread.”

  I lifted one knee to the booth seat, straddling your lap without sitting, pussy already wet and aching. Your fingers plunged inside me—two, then three—curling hard against that spot until my thighs shook. I bit my lip to stay quiet as you ordered.

  You pulled out, slick fingers to my mouth. “Clean.”

  I sucked them eagerly, tasting myself, eyes locked on yours.

  Then you stood, spun me, bent me over the table. My palms slapped wood, ass up, skirt flipped onto my back. Belt unbuckled, cock thick and hot against me.

  “Beg.”

  “Please… fuck me, sir. I need it—need you deep—”

  One brutal thrust buried you inside, stretching me wide. I cried out. You didn’t pause—pounding hard, deep, table rocking with every stroke. Hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. You bit my neck, growled, “Tight little slut. Been dripping for this all night.”

  Your palm cracked across my ass—sharp, stinging—again and again. I pushed back, moaning, clenching around you.

  You flipped me onto my back, legs over your shoulders, slammed in deeper. Thumb on my clit, rubbing fast while you fucked me mercilessly.

  “Cum. Now.”

  I shattered—screaming, squirting around your cock, body convulsing. You kept going, grunting, until you buried deep and flooded me with hot cum, pulse after pulse marking me inside.

  You stayed there a moment, softening, stroking my damp hair almost gently. Then you pulled out, adjusted your tie, and walked to the door.

  I stayed sprawled on the table—blouse open, skirt ruined, your cum leaking down my thighs—already aching for your next visit to table 7.