Erotic Fiction Authors Novels & Stories

My secret words and my filthy thoughts. Heat flooded my face. I suddenly wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. “I…I attached the wrong file,” I whispered, voice cracking. “It was never meant for anyone.” He stepped closer. Close enough that I felt the faint heat of his body. “Yet you described everything with such precision. The way my voice would sound against your ears, how my fingers would feel sliding underneath your skirt while you tried so desperately to maintain your composure.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower, tracing the rapid rise of my chest. “Does writing those scenes excite you, Freya Laurent? Did your body respond while you imagined me fucking you in this very o

My thighs pressed together on instinct, but it was already too late. A slick rush of wetness flooded my panties, hot and sudden, soaking the delicate lace until it clung to my swollen fold. My clit pulsed hard, as if his voice had whispered the command straight against my skin. God. I was dripping. Just from an email. Just from the knowledge that the most explicit thing I’d ever written...forty-three pages of raw, shameless fantasy...was now sitting in his inbox. I had submitted the wrong file. On Monday night I’d been running on cold coffee and three hours of sleep, watching a course submission portal count down the last two minutes before the deadline.

The assigned text, Bataille’s Erotism, was a descent into philosophical darkness. It spoke of the sacred and the profane, of violence as a gateway to ecstasy, of transgression as a necessary rupture of the mundane world. Elara read it in her small apartment, her body still sore and marked from the last session, the words resonating in her bones. She understood, now, that her thesis was not merely an academic exercise. It was a lived experience, a mapping of her own violation and transcendence.

Her body twitched, raw nerves alive, ass still stretched and used, and now tongue-fucked by a sorcerer who worshipped through degradation. Ravion took her mouth in a bruising kiss, his beard scraping her jaw. His cock, already hard again, pressed against her slick cunt. He thrust deep, balls slapping up against the backs of her thighs. She sobbed into his mouth, her body stretched between them — Ezryn licking her ass while Ravion fucked her open again. “Shit,” Ravion groaned, his hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her. “You’re even tighter than before. Stuffed full of cum, and still begging for cock.”

I flipped to the page, voice unsteady. “I vow… to let you use my body whenever you want… even if it means I’m still dripping with your cum when I meet your fiancée.” The words had felt filthy when I wrote them. Hearing them aloud while Lucas’s tongue worked me was devastating. He rewarded me by sliding two thick fingers inside me, curling them against that spot that made my vision spark. His mouth never stopped licking, sucking, devouring me like I was the only thing he wanted in the world.

I panted heavily. He stilled his movements, then looked up to give me a wolfish smile. "No, you don't." Marcello moved my panties aside, plunging two fingers straight inside me, kissing my lips to stop me from crying out. I hadn't had sex in over two years, so I was tight as fuck. He didn't care as he kept moving in and out of me, his thumb stimulating my clit. He was right. How could I hate someone who gave me this kind of pleasure? "Marc… more." I breathed out.

Fuck, having hot sexual intercourse with more than one person is all I can think of. To be frank, it has been approximately three years since I have been intimate with a guy. Lately all my imagination and the dreams revolve around fucking more than one man simultaneously. I imagine myself surrounded by different attractive men, finding pleasure and ecstasy as they all fuck and feast on my body at the same time. All those taboo, hot, sultry and erotic thoughts make me feel like a whore disguised as a corporate Canadian woman most of the time. But I tell myself that I cannot possibly be the only woman on earth with such a wild and erotic imagination.

Every brush against my clit sent jolts through my body, making my toes curl and my breath hitch. I closed my eyes, losing myself in the fantasy. Daniel behind me, gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks, pounding into me with that relentless rhythm I loved. His grunts, the slap of skin on skin, the way he’d reach around to rub my clit while he fucked me senseless. My fingers moved faster, harder, the pressure building unbearably. My thighs trembled, muscles tightening as I edged closer to the peak. Sweat beaded on my skin, my dark hair sticking to my forehead. The ache inside me was almost painful now…a deep, empty need that only his cock could truly satisfy.

"Tell me about your writing. You mentioned once that you’re an author. What do you actually write about?" She blushes slightly, but doesn't look away. "I’m an erotic writer, Hunter. I write about power... about men controlling women sexually. Dominance, submission, the thrill of being owned." She pauses, her gaze turning intense. "To be honest, I never thought my fantasies would actually be fulfilled one day. I lived it on the page... but now I’m living it with you." I feel my blood thicken. Hearing her admit that, knowing I am the man from her darkest, deepest dreams, is the ultimate turn-on.

Then I opened my legs wider for him, resisting the overwhelming urge to close them and hide. The cool air against my wet folds made me shiver. “Touch yourself,” he ordered, voice low and rough. My face burned with humiliation, but I obeyed again. My fingers moved between my folds, smearing my abundant juices around my already swollen clit. The wet sound was embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. I closed my eyes tightly, unable to bear the intensity of his stare. “Open your eyes,” he snapped. “And do not hide your moans.” I forced my eyes open, releasing my bitten lip. Soft, embarrassed whimpers escaped me as I circled my clit faster. My hips began to rock against my hand without permission.