Adult Romance Short Stories Novels & Stories

The touch lingers. I shift, pressing my thighs together. My pussy is already getting wet. This is ridiculous. They’re just being nice. But my body hasn’t been touched properly in weeks, and something about the way they look at me—like they can see straight through my polite smiles—makes me clench. Clara sets her wine down and scoots closer on my other side. “Let’s help you relax. Tell us what you really need out here.” The conversation drifts. They share stories about the other wives in the neighborhood. The secret parties. The way certain husbands travel and certain wives… entertain themselves. Their laughter is low and knowing.

Anything. Aaron’s hands were everywhere, rough and insistent. He gripped her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, the cool granite biting into her bare thighs as her short dress hiked up dangerously high. The pink lace thong was exposed again, damp from her earlier masturbation and the dream’s lingering heat. He stepped between her legs, forcing them apart with his hips, and she felt it—the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her core through his jeans. “Aaron… we can’t,” she gasped, breaking the kiss, her voice a shaky whisper. But even as she said it, her hips twitched involuntarily, seeking more friction.

Pinky squinted to read it, her eyes tracing the loops and crosses. "Collection of short stories for ladies," the title read. "Stories of desire, of awakening, of the first time." Pinky blinked, her eyes widening as she read on. The handwriting was feminine, secretive, as if the writer were sharing her most guarded thoughts with only the pages. It was a confession. A revelation. As she began to read.

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“Yes, sir.” Alexander smiled — a rare, satisfied smile. He pulled her closer, not caring who saw, and kissed the top of her head. “You’re becoming addictive, Meera. And I have no intention of stopping.” They continued shopping, his hand never leaving her body for long. The powerful fifty-five-year-old man and his young, innocent maid — now completely entangled in a dangerous, passionate affair. And the day had only just begun.

The cool night air brushed against her damp skin when he laid her gently upon the soft grass beneath the willow trees. Everything afterward felt like fire and tenderness tangled together. Edwin touched her slowly, carefully, learning every trembling reaction from her body while kissing her with growing hunger. Arabella could feel the bulge of his manhood against her feminine core Edwin removed her undergarment slowly and then thrust his throbbing manhood into her relentlessly till she got to her peak moaning his name. Arabella had never imagined intimacy could feel like this. Not painful. Not empty. But overwhelming. Beautiful.

he asked. She thought for a second. “Ones that have happy endings.” “A romantic?” he asked. She never considered herself one. “I like noir—but the stories where the boy gets the girl in the end. Or vice versa.” “Top shelf,” he told her, indicating the back room. She went there and waited. What if he followed? What would that mean? She’d been out of the dating loop since she’d landed her current job, the one that had sucked up all her time, her mind, her soul, her life. Her fingers trailed over the broken spines of misused paperbacks, and she hoped he would follow her. But what would she say? What would she do?

“Oh! God I'm sitting completely nude on my brother's lap as he kneads my boob and his friend is touching my core. God ! Please forgive me for my sins.” Nicolas finally slid two fingers inside my core and started moving it back and forth earning a moan from me. “Ahhhgh…” I moaned. Clover was licking all over my back. Nicolas started nibbling and sucking my nipples while he fingered me and soon Clover stripped off his pants. Nicolas removed his fingers and Clover slipped his manhood inside me in one go. “Ahhhh….” “No…No. Clover isn't wearing any condoms.” “Don't worry sis, we already got the contraceptive pills for you.”