Erotic Story Writer Novels & Stories

Stories and such to let me know what I might want to try. She surprised me with what she did next. She held her hand up in front of my face. Then she lowered it between her legs and caressed herself. When she brought it back to my face, it was dripping with the honey that had lain in wait behind her lips. The smell of that sweet nectar shattered my resolve. I took her wrist in mine and began to lick the juices from her hand. My arousal went from mostly hard to rock solid with one taste. I was lost to reason -- she would be mine.

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.”

He set the glass down and crossed to me, stopping just close enough that I could smell his cologne dark, expensive, dangerously familiar. “Notebook?” he asked. I lifted the leather-bound book like a shield. My handwriting inside had grown filthier with every page he made me add. He took it from my hands, flipped it open to the newest entry, and read my words aloud in that low, commanding voice. “‘I vow to spread you open and taste how desperate you are for a man you shouldn’t want.’” My breath caught. I’d written it at 3 a.m. last night, fingers trembling, shame and arousal warring until I gave in and put it on paper.

Ethan gripped her ass, guiding her down harder onto him. She came again, biting his shoulder to muffle her cry, her pussy pulsing and milking him in strong waves. Ethan was right there with her. He stood, lifting her effortlessly, and bent her over the desk. Papers scattered across the floor. He slammed back inside her from behind, one hand covering her mouth, the other squeezing one full breast. The new angle let him go even deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin barely hidden by the low hum of the air conditioner. “Fill me,” she gasped against his palm. “Come inside your teacher. Right now.”

No foreplay was required in this ecstatic world of perfection, and penetration was effected in a single snag-free glide. Tumbling back to reality, and almost falling off his stool in the process, Elliot sighed with regret. He really loved the ‘hotel room’ fantasy, although he had to admit it wasn’t entirely all his own work. The protagonists - Diamanda and himself — were his choice of course, but the scenario, the setting and the nitty-gritty of the bedroom action came straight from one of the lady’s own stories, The Spider's Web, which was all about a beautiful, sexually voracious woman who picked up young men in bars and lured them to hotel rooms to fuck them.

The dirty words, the forbidden reality of who he was, and the way he owned my body pushed me closer and closer to the edge. “I’m going to fill you up,” he growled, thrusting harder, deeper. His voice took on a darker, primal edge. “I’m going to breed this tight little cunt. Pump you full of my cum until it’s dripping out of you. You want that? You want me to knock you up while your best friend has no idea?” His absolutely filthy words were my undoing. My walls clenched around him violently as my orgasm crashed over me. I came hard, screaming his name, my body shaking in the cuffs as waves of pleasure crashed through me.

“My after-class project. My desperate little slut who traded her dignity for a letter on a page.” His words were filth, and they poured over her like hot oil, searing her shame and transforming it into fuel. Her climax built with terrifying speed, coiling from the very brutality of his fucking. She was sobbing, pleading, begging for it, for him, for the oblivion he offered. “Please…” “Come for me, Elara,” he commanded, his own control fraying, his thrusts becoming wild, uncoordinated. “Come on your professor’s desk. Show me you accept your terms.”

5 seconds later, I'm smiling because of the night full of passion. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ P.s : Do you know E.L. James? Yeah she is the author of the erotic novel 'Fifty Shades of Grey' I will explain who she really is, because she is a shy woman but has a crazy imagination. I feel proud of her.... EL James is the name of the author of the novel 'Fifty Shades of Grey' which so far has sold more than 40 million copies worldwide. Who would have thought, James who wrote the erotic novel was actually a shy woman. How's James' story?

​She walked toward Nora, her heels clicking on the un-rendered floor with a sound that felt like a Deletion Command. ​"I am the Co-Writer," she stated, circling Nora like a hawk. "I am the one who corrected his grammar, the one who suggested the 'Son-in-Law' trope to make it more marketable. And I am the one who is going to Divorce the Narrative." ​The Erasure of the Romance ​The Co-Writer didn't use a sword or a virus. She used Redaction. ​She tapped her red pen against the wooden table, and the "Permanent Residency" suite of the Pierre Hotel—the memory of Nora’s comfort—simply turned into a Tacky Studio Apartment. The silk curtains became moth-eaten polyester.

I tried to pull her hands off her face, but she just wouldn't let it go, making me giggle. “You're adorable, mate.” “I think that book was written by Eros.” Cherry further explained of her own accord. “Continue.” I encouraged her. “You'd rather hear stories about Nuu-Chah's haven than we make love?” “No. I want both.” I grabbed her ankles and spread her legs wide for access. “What did you do up there?” I asked, pushing her lacy underwear to the side and swallowing at her sweet-scented pussy. After brushing the tip of my nose on her slit and clit for a while, I took a pause and fired a warning look at her.