Erotic Stories By Women Novels & Stories

Pinky squinted to read it, her eyes tracing the loops and crosses. "Collection of short stories for ladies," the title read. "Stories of desire, of awakening, of the first time." Pinky blinked, her eyes widening as she read on. The handwriting was feminine, secretive, as if the writer were sharing her most guarded thoughts with only the pages. It was a confession. A revelation. As she began to read.

“Okay. So how do I even start?” “Like any other conversation. Start slow. Let it simmer. You don’t go straight for the clit, right? You tease, you build it up. Do the same here. You could start with the classic ‘what are you wearing’ line, but if you want something that really works… tell a story.” “Story?” she echoed. “You mean, like, read erotica?” “No, I mean tell him something from your life. Something hot, or something that could have been hot if it’d gone just a little further. Something real—then spice it up. Let your imagination play with the memory.”

And yes Miss-Goodie-Two-Shoes, that includes you too. Anyway, getting off track here. So as I was saying, I'm an erotic romance writer (yes that's a category), which means that it's not all about just sex, sex and more sex, contrary to popular beliefs, erotica’s have story lines too. And it does not include sleeping with every XY-gene on sight. But like I said before, I am severely lagging in experience and to cover for that, I watch a hell lot of porn and read thousands erotic novels. To say that I could write my very own Kama sutra would be an understatement.

I told her I had worked on some erotic stories this weekend and asked her if she wanted to read them. She sent a quick response and said, sure. So I sent them over to her and waited. She responded, "you certainly have a knack for storytelling, detailed, personalized, and hot!!" At that point, I knew she must have enjoyed the stories. I walked into her office and closed the door. No one else was scheduled to be in the office on Monday, which was a bonus for us. When I closed the door, she looked me in the eyes and said, "I'm so wet from reading your stories."

"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.

But 2 weeks deep into a 30 day isolation with a man, can make a grown woman lose her senses. His lips crashed down on mine rough and hard , hands coming up to grip my neck. His tongue pushed into my mouth pushing and caressing against my tongue in a way that made my panties flood with my wetness. His lips moved against mine hard, I match the pace kissing him with equal desire. Hate , desire, tension and need fueling swelling within us as the bodies crashed together. My late husband wrote this trap into his will, thinking we would rip each other's throat to claim what was rightfully mine! Instead we were tearing each other's clothes off.

"The writer who wrote this book is anonymous, her pseudonym is Madame Louis. The cover, based on a recipe book, is discreet and is a hit with women!" "While the husbands think their wives are studying to cook something, they are actually falling in love with Diego," Andrea said. I remembered the first time I read the "Silk Ladies" series. I was in college and my roommate suggested I read "The Women," and since then I fell in love with that erotic book. I've been following the series ever since. "Wow," Lorenzo murmured after a while. "Is that all?" "Yes Lorenzo, normal sex is simple and if done right it will become even more pleasurable. You can even innovate by lightly introducing your sadom

Thumbs brushed my nipples too soft. His eyes finally came up to meet mine, and there was nothing boyish in them anymore. “God help me. Yes.” I leaned in close enough that he could feel my breath against his jaw, close enough that one more inch would end whatever was left of the line between us. “Then stop wiping floors,” I whispered, “and come find out what I taught myself to do in the dark, thinking about you.” I grabbed his wrists. “Not like that. Like you mean it.”

"Any juicy stories to share?" "I mean, not any that are that cool to share," she said, looking down, her fingers twisting in her lap. "Oh, come on, I mean, one-night stands, secret hookups, there's always something unique. I'm sure you have a ton of stories tucked away." "I don't like to kiss and tell. It's not my thing," she replied primly, turning her head, but her body betrayed her. "Kiss and tell?" He chuckled. "Who are you, some Victorian lady? I like privacy too, but come on, loosen up."

“I want you to come home and destroy this wet cunt. Fill me up. Breed me again if you want. Just fucking touch me!” The pressure built fast. My legs started trembling. I fucked myself relentlessly, the wet squelching sounds echoing as I curled the dildo against my G-spot while frantically rubbing my swollen clit with my other hand. “I’m your wife… I’m still so fucking tight for you,” I cried out, eyes locked on the camera. “Please… I need to cum on your dick. I need you to use me.”