Erotic Book Authors Novels & Stories

Well there was only two weeks left for Sam to enjoy her and he was doing that as much as he could. Not that he didn't actually enjoy the class itself as he had indeed been writing for the last couple of years. The only problem was what he was writing was dirty naughty stories, or as most web sites called it; erotic stories. Sam was pretty good at it and at the urging of his then girlfriend Stacey, had submitted some of his books to an eeotic story site named Erotic dom where under the pen name Dirtyfantasies, and had gotten some good reviews.

He was quick to notice of course, and he returned again, this time holding my waist while his bulge pressed into my derriere. I let out a soft gasp, "I have some books to pick up by the bookstore before it closes." I tried to conceal my surprise. His eyes lit up, "don't you torture yourself reading those erotics?" He looked into my face. He knew what I was reading? My eyes flicked towards him. "You think I don't know?" His tongue flickered to his lips. "You went into my room?" I was stunned. "The covers drew me in, and I couldn't help but glance through some pages. But I must say, the side effects of reading such books can be disastrous."

His body was flushed and slick with sweat. Dana straddled him, rolling her hips as she sank on his cock, making him groan from somewhere low in his chest. Brittany was on her knees beside him, licking and sucking his nipples like she wanted to mark him. We kept switching. Dana rode his cock while Brittany took his mouth. Then I slid in and wrapped my lips around his shaft, tasting the combined heat of us all. Every time one of us moved off him, another was already sliding into place. It wasn’t just sex. It was chaos. Beautiful, hungry chaos.

She just desired so much more, that he should keep sending her to the abode of heaven. As Eric started to move so quickly against her, slamming and beating her until the sound of their colliding sexes began to reverberate throughout the entire room, she continued to solidify her position. An aura of the stench of cum pervaded the air around them, intensifying the lust that surrounded them.

I cried out, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. He pushed me back onto the cot, his body covering mine. The weight of him, the heat, was everything I’d dreamed of. His hands were everywhere—kneading my breasts, sliding down my ribs, over my hips. He hooked his fingers into the waist of my simple cotton underwear and tore them down my legs. The sound of the fabric ripping was the most erotic thing I’d ever heard. Then his hand was there. Between my legs. On my pussy. A big, rough-skinned palm cupping me, his middle finger sliding through the wetness I couldn’t control.

“Oh… your mouth… it’s so much better than I imagined.” Elise tasted her fully, licking deep before circling the sensitive clit with deliberate strokes. Daphne’s hips rolled in helpless rhythm. Her breaths came in ragged pleas. Elise slid two fingers inside tight, welcoming heat. She curled them slowly, stroking that spot that made Daphne’s back bow off the desk. “Yes… right there… please don’t stop…” Pressure built fast. Daphne’s thighs tightened around Elise’s shoulders. Her cries grew higher, more desperate.

My fingers slipped inside, through soft curls, and found a scorching, drenched heat. "Keep going," I breathed, my middle finger sliding through her slick folds, circling her entrance. "Nicholas... Nick... don't... I mean..." But her protest was weak, her body arching into my touch. "Keep talking. Tell me how to make her come." "You can... talk to her... tell her she tastes good, that you love it... mash your tongue onto her clit... pulse it in time with your fingers... keep doing that... just like that... yes..."

Sleek, bright, gel-coated hair matched a sleek, bright decadent image; and though her body was just about as womanly as it was possible to be, she dressed it as if it were a man’s. Elliot knew who she was, of course. On the first night she’d already looked vaguely familir, and on the second, he’d asked the barman about her. It hadn’t surprised him at all that she was the famous erotic novelist Diamanda; in fact he couldn’t understand why he hadn’‘t recognised her immediately. He had her photograph at home on the back of several book-jackets. His goddess was as famous for her hedonistic, rule-breaking lifestyle as she was for her passionately purple prose: it was well-known in this city and i

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?'

That fucking diamond pattern from your cubicle, unmistakable, like a dirty little secret laid bare. Your mind spins, lust twisting into something darker. Could it be Sabrina? The thought’s a blade, sharp and hot, slicing through you. The idea that the goddess from the office, with her angelic smile and fuck-me eyes, could be this filthy little exhibitionist—it’s too much. You’re rock-hard, imagining her spread open in that cubicle, touching herself while you’re just feet away, clueless. Who the hell is Kat18, and how deep does this rabbit hole go? ****************