Erotic Prose Novels & Stories

I watched Frederick take his cock in his hand, working his way up and down his shaft. He threw his head back, groaning softly while I watched his cock harden in his hand. Every stroke, every groan and every whimper made heat rise in-between my thighs, and caused my nipples to stiffen. I didn't know that I was drooling until he stopped stroking himself and grabbed my hair so harshly that I winced. "Come on, I want to see if you can take the whole thing in that tiny mouth of yours."

Then, as if reclaiming control, she walks to the door and leaves it slightly ajar, a wordless cue for me to leave. But I don't. "Oh, I am obsessed?" I reply, voice dangerously low, silk wrapped around steel. I smirk, stepping closer. "Obsessed? No, Ere. Obsessed is staying up six nights straight thinking about how deep you shoved those fingers inside yourself. "Obsessed is jerking my cock to the memory of your thighs trembling. What I am—" I lean over her desk, my voice dropping to a growl, "—is starving to taste you while you're still dripping like that".

Something aching to be molded. I met him in my Tuesday night workshop. "Erotics of Language"—a curated space for writers who wanted to learn how to use sensuality in storytelling. Most came in with curiosity or thinly veiled hunger. He came in with a notebook gripped like a lifeline and questions trembling on his lips. I noticed him in the third session. He waited until everyone had left to speak to me. “I—um—can I ask you something… off the record?” I folded my arms, tilted my head. “You just did.”

- He said. - And that's impossible. - He growled amidst direct blows to his prostate. "Your touch." he growled. – That will never happen. - Said. His hot breath forming on the window in contrast, her face being pulled up twisted and kissing him, her lips touching hungrily and lava, and sucking on her earlobe, as he bit her neck, hot breath steaming, in which she felt on her neck, kissing her lips, between the thrusts, he felt like a high-class prostitute, he didn't spend more than a night of being fucked, he choked in the midst of the thrusts of his prostate.

But she had to. She slowly walked over to the bed and sat down. Her hands trembled as she opened the cover. She flipped through the pages, past the short poems, the little love scenes, and the silly dialogues she had written just for fun. Then she stopped at page forty. Her stomach dropped. That was where the first real erotic story started. She stared at the words. Her face burned. It was something she wrote late one night, out of boredom… or curiosity. She never meant for anyone to see it.

" She laughs, low, and leads me inside, her hips swaying just enough to catch my eye. I clench my fists, forcing myself to look at the city skyline twinkling outside the windows. We sit, the table a fragile barrier between us, plates of asparagus and roasted lamb steaming in the candlelight. The wine is robust, a deep red that stains her lips when she drinks. "So, AURORA PRESS," she says, leaning forward, her blouse dipping to show a hint of cleavage. "Erotica and literary fiction. Brave choice, Victor." Her tone is inquiring, but her eyes have a spark, a challenge. I nod, my throat tight. "I think I'm done with just Philosophy and lecture halls. I should start aiming to print erotic stories

In such close proximity, the scent of sweat running down the hollow of Ben's neck tempted Maureen to linger there. Of course she didn't. Maureen could still refrain from acting like a bitch in front of a man who didn't know her very well. "It's not the scenes you need to highlight, but the story patterns they use," explains Ben, "Almost all local eroticism stories have bed scenes in common." Maybe it's the similar reading material. Sometimes there are advertisements for fictional stories that can be read online if you use a free mobile app, and most of them have the same story, revolving around crotch matters.

I'm not going into the diner until all my troubles are ironed out, which means the only thing I have in abundance is time. Eros's smell, his taste, the blissful feeling of him between my legs, it lingers in the air. I breathe deep, in and out, nice and slow, my hands sliding between my thighs. I don't know what's coming over me, but I'm fucking horny. I wiggle my hips as I think about what he did to me—tongue, hands, cock, spit and cum—and gently tease myself. "Eros," I whisper, loving the sound of his name on my lips. "Eros, Eros."

I grasped his other hand, the one he currently had stuffed inside my panties. His fingers moved up and down my pussy like a wild animal, hunting for its prey. He used his thumb to rub my clit, making my tremors more violent. With his free hand, he cupped my cheeks to twist my face to him and kissed me, his lips motioning with urgency and controlled needs. His tongue tasted a bit of the whiskey we had drunk at the Vitale mansion. “Eros.” I could hardly breathe against the force building at the pit of my stomach and the torture his lips were having on mine. He nibbled on my lower lip and continued the harsh kiss.

‘ you gonna be death of me ʼ eros closed his eyes as he can feel his pants getting tighter with his boner. ‘ how will I be your death if you are gonna eat me, wouldn't it be my death if you ate me ʼ she questioned with frustration as her little brain can't process his complicated words. Eros knew he was losing control over his senses so he pushed her off his laps and stood up. He can’t control himself around her. He need a release yet he don’t want to fuck her. Even through he is no good man but still fucking her will be just like raping her and taking advantage of her innocence. He doesn’t know what has possessed him . Anyways It’s been long time since he had a good fucking session with his