XXX Rated: Hands to Myself
With Selena Gomez
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Fingering, Oral
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: This story is inspired by Selena Gomez's Hands to Myself music video, and how it should have been filmed.
(https://thumbs2.imgbox.com/27/ce/i3Vn4ri9_t.jpg) (https://imgbox.com/i3Vn4ri9)
The city lights glittered like scattered diamonds beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Hollywood Hills mansion. Selena had waited months for this night, studying his schedule, memorizing the security code from a careless Instagram story, slipping past the gate like a shadow in heels.
Selena’s heart hammered as the door closed shut behind her. The air smelled of expensive cologne and clean linen. His cologne. She let the black silk robe slide from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, leaving her in nothing but spiked stilettos, a sheer black bra that barely contained her full breasts, and high-waisted lace panties that clung to the curve of her hips and the swell of her ass.
She moved through the rooms like she belonged there. Fingers trailed over the marble counters, the leather couch, the framed posters of his films. In the bedroom, the king-sized bed dominated, dark satin sheets, plush headboard, pillows still indented from where he'd slept last night, carrying the faint warmth of his body. Her breath caught.
Selena climbed onto the mattress, sinking into the softness. The sheets were cool against her heated skin. She lay back, arching slowly, letting her hands roam, over the swell of her breasts, pinching her nipples through the lace until they hardened into tight peaks, down the dip of her waist, tracing the edge of her panties before slipping beneath the fabric. Her fingers found her clit, already swollen and slick, circling at first, then faster as her hips rolled in slow, needy motions. "Can't keep my hands to myself," she whispered, the lyrics slipping out like a prayer, her voice breathy and low.
In her mind, he was there.
He stepped through the door, shirt already half-unbuttoned, golden hair tousled from the set, muscles shifting under tanned skin. His eyes darkened the instant he saw her sprawled across his bed, legs parted just enough to tease, fingers still moving between her thighs. No words, just that hungry look. He crossed the room in three strides, shedding clothes as he went, shirt tossed aside, belt unbuckled with a metallic clink, jeans shoved down to reveal the thick outline of his cock straining against black boxer briefs.
He climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of her hips. His hands replaced hers, rough palms sliding up her thighs, thumbs hooking into the lace and dragging her panties down inch by torturous inch, exposing her completely. The cool air hit her wet pussy lips and she whimpered. He leaned down, breath hot against her inner thigh, kissing, nipping, leaving faint red marks as he worked his way higher.
When his mouth finally reached her center, he didn't rush. He started with slow, flat licks along Selena’s slit, tasting her arousal, savoring the way she trembled. His tongue circled her clit in figure-eights, then flicked the sensitive underside in quick, teasing strokes. Selena gasped, hips bucking, but he pinned her thighs down with his strong forearms, holding her open for him. He sucked her clit gently between his lips, rolling it with his tongue while two fingers slid inside her, slow at first, letting her feel every ridge, every knuckle as he curled them upward, hitting that perfect spot that made her vision blur.
Her hands flew to his hair, tugging hard. "Please... more," Selena moaned, voice breaking. He obliged, fingers pumping deeper, faster, the wet sounds of her arousal filling the room as his mouth worked her relentlessly. She felt the coil tightening low in her belly, thighs shaking, breaths coming in sharp pants. When he added a third finger, stretching her, and sucked harder on her clit, she shattered, back arching off the bed, a moan tearing from her throat as waves of pleasure crashed through her, pulsating around his fingers, coating his hand in her pussy juice.
He didn't stop. He kept licking through the aftershocks, drawing out every last tremor until she was oversensitive and squirming. Only then did he rise over her, kissing up her body, tasting the salt of sweat between her breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth while rolling the other between his fingers. Selena could feel his cock, hot and heavy, sliding against her thigh, leaking precum that smeared across her skin.
Selena reached down, wrapping her hand around him, thick and hard, throbbing in her grip. She stroked slowly from base to tip, thumb circling the slick head, earning a low groan from deep in his chest. He captured her mouth with a kiss, tongues tangling, tasting herself on him as he positioned himself at her love mound.
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, letting her feel the stretch, the delicious burn as he filled her completely. Selena wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper. For a long moment they stayed like that, locked together, breathing each other in, his forehead pressed to hers, eyes dark with a need.
Then he started to move.
Slow, deep rolls of his hips at first, grinding against Selena, with every pump of his cock. She clawed at his shoulders, nails leaving red trails down his back. He picked up speed, harder, faster, skin slapping against skin, the headboard thumping rhythmically against the wall. He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, changing the angle so he hit even deeper, brushing that spot inside her with every thrust. Selena felt another orgasm building, impossibly fast after the first.
He pinned Selena’s wrists above her head with one large hand, the other sliding between them to rub tight circles over her clit. "Come for me again," he growled against her ear, voice rough. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock.”
The command pushed her over. Selena clenched around him hard, throbbing, crying out his name as the second climax ripped through her, stronger, longer, leaving her shaking. He followed seconds later, his thrusts turning erratic, hips slamming forward one last time as he buried himself balls deep, spilling inside her with a guttural groan, hot ropes of cum filling her up until it leaked out around him.
They collapsed together, tangled and sweat-slicked, breaths ragged. His weight pressed her into the mattress, comforting, possessive. In the fantasy, he stayed, kissing her temple, murmuring soft filthy praises against her skin as the city lights painted their bodies in gold.
Reality intruded slowly.
The handcuffs were real, cold metal clicking around her wrists as officers pulled her from the bed. Selena hadn't heard the sirens. Hadn't noticed the lights flashing outside. Her fantasy lover was long gone, probably still on location, oblivious.
But even as they led her away, a secret smile curved her lips. The ache between her legs, the faint soreness, the imagined taste of him on her tongue, it all lingered like a promise.
She'd be back.
Selena always came back.
Can't keep my hands to myself.
The End
XXX Rated: Generous
With Olivia Holt
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Rimjob, Spanking
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: This story is inspired by Olivia Holt's Generous music video, and how it should have been filmed.
(https://thumbs2.imgbox.com/f8/5c/9ANHfe4m_t.jpg) (https://imgbox.com/9ANHfe4m)
The Le Pavillon Hotel glowed under mid-afternoon sun, the kind of golden light that filtered through lace curtains and turned every surface warm and inviting. It was a little past five p.m., the hotel was quiet except for the hum of the elevator.
Olivia Holt walked the fourth-floor corridor with easy confidence. She wore a studded camo jacket left open over a cropped pale-blue tee that showed a sliver of toned midriff, cinched at the waist with a simple beige belt. Below that, a glossy blue vinyl miniskirt hugged her hips and ended high on her thighs, the material catching the hallway lights with every step. Black over-the-knee boots, soft suede with subtle green patterning, climbed her legs, adding several inches of height and a quiet click to her stride. A small quilted chain-strap bag dangled from one shoulder, and her blonde hair fell loose in soft waves past her shoulders, framing her face and shifting with each movement.
She’d checked in the night before under an alias, craving a break from the relentless pace of her schedule. Today she wanted to take something purely for herself, something indulgent, something generous in the way only she could define it.
The staff closet door was unlocked, almost as if it had been left that way on purpose. Inside, black-and-white maid uniforms hung in neat rows. She selected one in her size, short skirt, snug bodice, crisp white apron. In the dim space she undressed methodically. The studded leather jacket slid off her shoulders and was draped over a hook. The cropped tee lifted over her head, tousling her hair further. The glossy vinyl skirt unzipped at the side and shimmied down her legs, pooling at her boots before she stepped out of it. Boots came off next, slowly, one at a time, followed by the belt, bra, and panties. Naked for a moment, skin prickling in the cool air, nipples tightening from both temperature and anticipation, she felt the familiar thrill of transition.
Then the maid uniform settled over her, the skirt skimming high on her thighs, the bodice hugging the gentle swell of her breasts, the apron tied in a neat bow at the small of her back. She ran her fingers through her loose blonde waves, letting them fall naturally around her shoulders and down her back. In the small mirror she looked composed yet unmistakably provocative, exactly the way she wanted.
Room 412 had its door cracked open, a thin stripe of sunlight spilling across the carpet. No housekeeping cart, no voices. She pushed the door wider and stepped inside without hesitation.
He stood near the window in rolled shirtsleeves and dark slacks, scrolling idly on his phone. Mid-forties, dark hair, the relaxed posture of someone accustomed to luxury without needing to flaunt it, but he looked to be about twice her age, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes and the silver threading through his temples giving him a seasoned, unhurried authority. He glanced up, surprise flashing briefly before his expression settled into interest. His eyes traveled over the stolen uniform, the way the skirt clung to her hips, the apron accentuating her waist, the loose blonde waves framing her flushed cheeks, then returned to her eyes.
“Housekeeping this late in the afternoon?” he asked, voice low and lightly amused.
Olivia let the door close shut behind her. “I’m not here to turn down the sheets.”
He placed his phone on the dresser. No rush. He crossed the room in calm strides until he stood close enough to her. His hand rose, fingertips grazing the apron tie at her waist, then settling lightly on her hip.
“You’re not supposed to have that uniform,” he said.
“I stole it.” She tilted her head, hair shifting across one shoulder. “I’m feeling generous today.”
He turned her, guiding her to the bed. She went easily, crawling onto the white duvet on hands and knees. Her loose hair fell forward, brushing the sheets and curtaining her face as the skirt rode up, exposing the smooth backs of her thighs. He knelt behind her, hands on her hips, pushing the fabric higher until it bunched at her waist. Afternoon light poured across her bare skin, highlighting every curve, every subtle shift as she settled into position.
He leaned in without preamble.
His breath warm against the cleft of her ass, then his lips, a soft kiss at the top of the crease, followed by another one lower this time. She shivered, hair falling forward to brush her forearms. His hands spread her cheeks, his thumbs holding her open. When his tongue made contact, it was broad and slow, dragging flat from the sensitive skin just above her hole all the way up through the divide. She gasped softly, fingers curling into the duvet.
He worked with unhurried thoroughness in the bright room. Long, wet licks coated her rim completely, each pass making the tight muscle flutter under his attention. He circled the ring with the tip of his tongue, small, precise spirals, then flattened it again, lapping broadly, thoroughly, letting saliva gather and drip in slow trails down her perineum, mingling immediately with the slick arousal already coating her backdoor. She rocked back instinctively, seeking more depth, and he gave it, tongue pointing, pressing gently against her hole, then slipping just inside in shallow, slippery thrusts.
The rhythm built in layers, broad strokes that covered every inch, focused licks that drew whimpers from her, lingering presses that had her thighs trembling. Saliva ran freely now, mixing with the growing wetness between her legs, dripping down her inner thighs in thin, warm rivulets. Her loose hair swayed with each subtle movement of her body, strands sticking lightly to her damp neck and shoulders. He groaned low against her, the vibration traveling straight through her core, intensifying every sensation.
One hand slid beneath her, fingers finding her pussy lips swollen and sensitive, and rubbing slow, steady circles in time with the work of his mouth. The combination unraveled her quickly, the slick glide over her rim, the gentle probing inside, the consistent pressure on her nub. When she came it was deep, her hole clenching around the tip of his tongue as waves pulsed outward, her pussy contracting around nothing, fresh wetness coating his fingers. Olivia's thighs shook, she dropped her forehead to the mattress, hair pooling around her face like a veil, muffling her low, broken moan. He held steady, tongue still buried, fingers still circling, drawing the orgasm out until she was limp and breathing hard.
Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, chin wet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, unbuckled his belt with efficiency, and shoved trousers and boxers down just enough. His cock stood thick and flushed.
He positioned himself behind her again. The head nudged her entrance, slick, open, ready, sliding through her abundant wetness before pressing in, slow, steady, filling her in one smooth glide. They both exhaled at the feeling. He set a measured pace, long strokes that dragged against every sensitive wall inside her, hips meeting her ass with soft, wet slaps.
His right hand lifted and came down in a firm slap against the curve of her left cheek, sharp enough to sting pleasantly, not hard enough to bruise, the sound cracking softly in the sunlit room. She gasped, body tightening around him. He continued the steady thrusts, each one deep and controlled, and punctuated every few thrusts with another open-palmed slap, alternating cheeks, the impacts landing in time with his movement, warming her skin to a soft pink glow. The sting blended into heat, spreading through her hips and making every slide of him inside her feel sharper, more electric. She pushed back harder to meet him, arching her back, silently asking for more of the contrast between the slow, filling penetration and the crisp, rhythmic smacks.
Her loose hair swayed forward and back with the motion, brushing her arms, occasionally catching on her damp skin. The angle was perfect, the head of his cock glided over her g-spot with every forward motion, nudging deep on every retreat. Afternoon sunlight warmed her back, casting soft shadows across the bunched skirt and dangling apron, turning the stolen uniform into something even more illicit.
He reached forward with his left hand, fingers threading loosely through her hair, just holding the strands away from her face, as he maintained the even pace. His right hand kept up the measured slaps, firm, consistent, never rushed, each one drawing a soft, involuntary moan from her mouth. Wet sounds filled the quiet room, the slick slide of him inside her, the slap of skin on skin, her breathy exhales every time he bottomed out and landed another smack. His free hand returned to her clit, fingertips circling in the same slow, deliberate motion.
Olivia's second orgasm built quietly, heavy and inevitable, amplified by the layered sensations, the deep stretch, the heat blooming across her ass, the steady pressure on her clit. When it arrived it was internal and intense, her vaginal walls fluttering, squeezing around him, fresh wetness coating him with every contraction. Olivia whimpered softly, oversensitive but still rocking back to take him deeper, to meet each thrust and each slap. He kept the pace through her spasms, drawing it out until she trembled beneath him.
A dozen more deep thrusts, his hips stuttering once, his hand delivering one final, lingering smack, then he buried himself fully and came with a low groan, emptying inside of her with copious amounts of cum. He held there a long moment, cock twitching, before easing out slowly.
Olivia was still on her knees, skirt rucked up, hair tousled and falling around her shoulders, the faint pink handprints visible on the curves of her ass, his hands light on her hips. No embrace followed. No murmured endearments. Just the quiet aftermath, sunlight slanting across tangled sheets and the faint scent of sex in the warm air.
She straightened slowly, smoothing the skirt down with unsteady fingers, brushing loose strands of hair back from her face. He tucked himself away, rebuckled his belt, and stepped back to give her space.
She adjusted the apron one final time, took a slow breath, and walked to the door.
At the threshold she paused, glancing back over her shoulder, blonde waves shifting with the motion.
“Generous afternoon,” she said softly.
Then she slipped into the hallway.
The End