Erotic Literature Short Stories Novels & Stories

What I found was a world of explicit, detailed stories about aunts and nephews. Stories of seduction, of secret affairs, of dominant young men and submissive older women. I read one, then another. My face grew hot, my breathing shallow. Without even consciously deciding to, my hand slipped under the waistband of my linen trousers, my fingertips finding my clit, already sensitive from last night. The stories were graphic, filthy, and utterly compelling. They painted pictures of aunts who were initially reluctant but secretly hungry, who were awakened by their nephew's bold desire. They talked about submission, about being called names, about the thrill of the forbidden.

My library professor whose deep commanding voice made my thighs clench during lectures. The man I’d fantasized about bending me over these very tables and fucking me senseless until I can’t remember my name. I opened the book, and the dedication page read: For those who crave quiet darkness.” My breath hitched. I flipped to the next page and started reading. “She knelt before him in the silence of stacks, skirts pushed high, panties already soaked. “Read it out,” He ordered. “Every filthy word, while I taste how wet you’ve become for me.”

I was already soaked, my pussy lips were swollen and slick. He watched every move I made. Then he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock, it was thick and hard. The head was already wet with precum, he wrapped his hand around it and started stroking slowly. “Tell me what you wrote,” he said. I kept rubbing my clit in small circles. My breath came faster. “I wrote about a man coming in after closing. He bends me over the desk, he pulls my skirt up and fucks me hard.” He stroked faster. “Keep going.”

I nodded as I grabbed my boob and pinched my nipple slightly. I curled my toes, reached back, and clawed at his arm. "Cum, slut" My body obeyed the command at once. I screamed, my cum sprayed everywhere. In a few seconds, Damon slammed his cock into me a few more times. Then she released shots of his hot cum into my ass and pulled out. His cum dripped out of my ass onto the floor, mixing with my cum. We lay down side by side, catching our breaths. "Ella"

Well, I can't fuck myself, someone has to do the fucking" I replied. He chuckled. I returned to his cock, sucking like a slut in heat. I made sexual sounds to excite him; years of watching p**n and reading erotic stories had taught me that men love hearing erotic moans from women, even if they are just for effect, not because my pussy is actually getting stimulated. The New York best selling romantic novels were my best companions during my college days.

Kinks: Blackmail fantasy, public risk, oral worship, glasses kink. In the hushed, dimly lit expanse of the grand library, the scent of aged parchment and dusty tomes filled the air. The soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead cast a cool glow on the polished wooden floors. Among the towering shelves, Laila, the librarian, was engrossed in a book, her eyes hidden behind her thick-rimmed glasses. Her fingers traced the pages, her cheeks flushed with a secret pleasure as she lost herself in the smutty tale.

Then I opened my legs wider for him, resisting the overwhelming urge to close them. “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 swollen clit. 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 obeyed, releasing my bitten lip as I circled my clit faster. Soft, embarrassed whimpers escaped me despite my best efforts. The wet sounds of my fingers filled the room, making everything feel even more degrading.

When we heard the librarian’s voice faintly calling for someone near the front, Jax thrust up sharply, grinning against my breast. “Better cum fast, Clara. Wouldn’t want her finding you with your tits out and riding my cock like a desperate little whore.” The filthy words sent me over the edge again. I buried my face in his neck to muffle my orgasm, body convulsing. Jax followed right after, holding me down as he pulsed inside me. We stayed locked together, breathing hard. He stroked my back gently, pressing soft kisses to my temple a startling contrast to the raw intensity moments before.

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.

The first results were articles with bold headlines: "Damien Cross: The Painter of Desire" "Eroticism in Strokes and Shadows" "The Man Who Turns Skin into Stories" She clicked one. A grainy photograph of a tall man in a black shirt appeared, his face half-turned away from the camera. Dark hair, sharp jawline, eyes that seemed to be staring at something far beyond the frame. He looked… untouchable. Like he belonged to another world. Then she saw his paintings. Her breath caught.