Adult Love Novels & Stories

“Because…we just can't. This isn't real, let's not forget that. I'm not your real partner, I'm just your contract mate.” They exchanged another glance and I instinctively took a step back when Adam took a step close to me. “You don't have to be our real mate before we can fuck, Ava. We are adults and our bodies want each other. Look at me, my boy down here is rock-hard thinking of how tight and sweet and warm your pussy might be. And I can smell your heat, look at your eyes. They have “fuck-me” written all over them." I reared back as if I were slapped but tried to maintain my cool expression.

Kathy, a 51 year old housewife becomes a sugar baby. Enjoy.. ******** My name is Kathy. This series of stories focuses on my most recent experience in pushing the erotic envelope. They are inspired by real life experiences, but are still largely a product of my imagination. In other words I took literary license to deviate a bit from actual events. What is authentic is the fact that at middle age I entered into a sugar baby lifestyle. The feelings and emotions I experienced are very real, even if I have altered the characters a tad.

“Don’t tell me this is your first time?” “It is,” I admitted. My parents were church elders, deeply rooted in purity culture, where alcohol was forbidden and virtue was prized above all else. Twenty-one years old, and I had never tasted a drop of liquor, and never felt a man’s touch beyond a hug. “There’s always a first time,” he said gently, pouring red wine into the glasses. The first sip made me wince—it was sweet at first, then sharp, the taste blooming strangely across my tongue. It burned just enough to feel new, but underneath, it warmed me, like a temporary relief.

The basement was quiet except for our breathing. "Still think we're immature?" Mitch murmured. I laughed, weak and satisfied. "You're still idiots." "Your idiots," Hans corrected, and I didn't argue. My body still hummed with aftershocks, and the knowledge of what we had just done. I had just allowed my three younger sinfully loaded Stepbrothers fuck me in the best way ever. And I didn't regret any single moment of it. If anything, I wanted a second round with all three of them making love with me like I was the only person that mattered. This was definitely going to be the best thanksgiving ever.

Chapter – 0002 Stormy It was so satisfying seeing him melt like an m&m in my hands. I’d always had a thing for older men, two storage units worth of daddy issues, and an absolute fetish for making a strong man weak to his own lust. To put it bluntly, I wanted Tom to be the first older man to fuck me. I’d sucked off a few teachers and one of my friend’s dad, but had never gone all the way with someone who I had a big age gap with. It was my ultimate fantasy, and I knew right away that Tom was the perfect man to fulfill it.

I could not stop thinking about it. I am thirty-two years old and have been married to Mark for eight years. I still love him. He is kind, stable, and a great provider. But our sex life had become painfully predictable. A quick missionary position every Friday night, maybe a half-hearted blowjob from me if I was in a generous mood. That was it. I craved so much more. I wanted to feel truly desired, wanted to be used like a cheap slut, stretched open, and completely ruined while my husband sat right downstairs, totally oblivious.

If you’re looking for soft romance, this isn’t the book for you but if you crave dark passion, wicked pleasure, and a man who takes what he wants without apology… then dive in deep, baby. Daddy’s waiting. ~~~~~ 1~♠ BODY, PUSSY, MOUTH. ELENA “Turn around and let us see that fat ass!” My heart hammered in my chest as I danced on the private stage. Lust Underground club was one frequented by dangerous men ranging from politicians to hungry motherfuckers and mafia gangsters. Lewd and naked in two words. This was the only means of survival I had and I made sure to do my best at my work. I wore almost nothing but just a tiny black lace bra that barely held my tits and a matching thong that rode up

He’s probably half a head taller than me, and his gaze is downright wolfish as he catches my eye in the glass. He reaches a hand between my legs and feels. “So wet,” he murmurs. “When was the last time you were fucked by someone in their twenties?” I exhale, my breath fogging the glass. “It’s been a minute.” He grins wickedly as he positions himself. “Good.” Then he thrusts. “Oh my god,” I moan. I’m so full as his cock pulses inside of me, filling every bit of me and then some. “There’s more, Kayla,” he says, pulling out and thrusting in again, going deeper this time.

I mean, what's fucking wrong with him? "What's so funny?" I asked him. "Everything," he told me, this time tucking both hands into his pants pocket. "Like seriously, just listen to yourself." He added. "Who's talking about falling for anybody? Ain't we adults?" For the fact that we're adults doesn't mean that we can't fall for each other; what's he even saying? If falling in love isn't for adults, is it for children? "Things can still change, and I don't fucking want a change like that." I told him flatly.

“The money, the power… but mostly how fucking addicted we are. I wake up wet every single day.” Mom pulled me on top of her, our full breasts pressing together, our slick pussies grinding lazily. “Since the day I adopted you, baby, I knew you were special. But this? This fire we share? I never imagined it. Your real parents gave you up, but I claimed you. And now we claim everything—cocks, cash, pleasure. I love being addicted with you.” We made love slowly then, no toys, no clients—just tongues, fingers, and scissoring until we came together in shuddering waves. Afterward, we counted the thick envelope they’d left. Another five-figure payout. Life was perfect.