Erodic Stories Novels & Stories

All the wounds were healing now, or had become so essential she could not imagine herself without them. She looked at Derick, who was sitting cross-legged in the corner, telling stories to the smallest children. They watched him with total attention, caught by the same gravity that drew hounds and hunters and, eventually, every kind of enemy. In Derick’s stories, the monsters never lost. Sometimes they didn’t win, either. Sometimes they just made a place and called it home, and the world learned to walk wide circles around the house at its heart. Elena listened, and for once, it was enough.

“Says the Alpha who gave his Luna oral sex in dream land.” “That would actually a very interesting story plot.” “Exactly why we should be doing more adventurous things while fucking…to spice up our lives and make good story plots.” “Hmm.” “Yeah, you mentioned one time that Everlery likes writing…she can write erotica stories with what we do and who knows? We might be the inspiration to a bestseller book.”

I could feel myself shaking uncontrollably, tears running down my face. Lena licked my tits, sucked my nipples while the men destroyed me. The sounds were obscene; wet squelching, skin slapping, my broken moans and their low growls. Her dad’s voice cut through the haze. “Tomorrow morning we’re breeding both of you. Gonna fill these young cunts with so much cum you’ll be leaking for days.” The words pushed me over again. I came harder than ever, squirting all over Ethan’s cock, ass pulsing. My vision went white. I felt like I was floating and falling at the same time.

Eriwan sighed in his long breath for a little while again. “Any stories you’d like to share with us?” asked Rendy Pluto sipping his watermelon juice. Eriwan sat down. He then hummed and chanted the complete story to Pierre Zhaopardy and Rendy Pluto Milos. Both of them were definitely startled and astonished. They were also angry and upset at the same time. “Do you agree to sleep with him one night? Oh no… What will happen to Erito then, if he finds out about this?” Pierre Zhaopardy opened his eyes and mouth immensely widely.

Cliques had been established already and I couldn't break in . At first, the other kids weren't always mean . They didn't call me names . They didn't bully me . It all started to get worse in the month of November when Ms. Adams , my teacher asked us to write about our favorite thing in the world . I wrote my favorite thing to be the ability to see the midnight black sky with the shinny stars . It was a whole three page essay mixed with lots of emotions but the other kids considered it nonsense . While the teacher read my essay to the class they laughed out loud pointing fingers at me .

More, and more. End of Book 1

Clarissa lost count. She lost herself. She was a vessel, a toy, a thing being passed around a circle of hungry, anonymous men. Her world was reduced to the push and pull of flesh, the taste of salt and sweat, the burn of stretch, the shocking warmth of internal releases, and the thick, cooling splatter of cum on her skin.

There was an odd swear word in it but it seemed right for the context'. 'Did it turn you on?' I asked simply. Julia now flushed bright red and did not answer. 'Your face tells me that it did. I'm glad, which is what it's supposed to do. Did it offend you?' 'No. How could a lovely story like that offend me?' she asked in return. 'What better definition of erotic writing do you want. Something that is not offensive but is a turn on both mentally and physically' 'Do you think that that story is true?'

Some stories started with hate. This one ended with everything.

he said, his voice a low vibration that hit me square in the chest. The chatter died instantly. He turned around, leaning against the podium, his sleeves already rolled up to reveal the lion etched into his tanned skin. My pulse spiked. I couldn't stop my eyes from tracing the golden outlines of the beast on his arm, remembering the way it seemed to ripple in the moonlight of my subconscious. "The Art of Storytelling is not a solo venture," he began, his almond eyes finally sweeping over the rows. "To understand narrative, you must understand collaboration and the friction of differing perspectives. For the remainder of the semester, you will be working in groups of five."