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I bit my lip hard, but a loud moan still escaped. My hips rolled against his hand despite myself, chasing the pleasure I didn’t want to crave. Tears of frustration and overwhelming sensation pricked my eyes. “I hate this,” I gasped, even as my inner walls clenched greedily around his fingers. “I hate you. I hate how you make me feel…” “But you love how it feels, don’t you?” He twisted his fingers, scissoring them, stretching me open. “Tell me how much you’ve thought about this. How many times you’ve touched this soaked pussy thinking about me ruining you.”

Antonio’s kiss on her neck lingered, and the hands he wrapped around her waist seemed to be there even without his presence. “What am I suddenly…feeling this way….”. She opened her eyes and exhaled hotly. She could feel the wetness overflowing and her clits drumming and kicking for a touch. “Not now, this…this…is bad…should I?” She sat up and looked down. “I have to keep myself busy and my mind away from any erotic thoughts”. She walked to her small bookshelf and found a novel by a talented writer, CAROLUCHY. Unfortunately, it was an erotica novel. Doris gave it to her as a birthday gift years ago, and she never opened it, the deceit there is the title didn’t hint on the nature of the novel.

1 RUBY'S POV Soft moans filled the air, the book facedown on the sheets beside me while I pumped my fingers into my aching heat, legs spread on the bed. Fuck. Fuck. My mind replayed the words I had just read from the book and my pussy fluttered around my fingers. I curled my fingers, adding a second one as my thumb pressed down on my clit. I shattered instantly, moans breaking off as my words caught in my throat, sweat dripping down my face as I rode off my orgasm.

Lira speaks. My eyes flutter between opening and closing as I try to stay conscious. “You’re incredible, baby. So responsive… so fucking delicious.” She slides down my body, kissing every inch—my cum-smeared lips, my throat, sucking marks onto my tits until I’m arching and whimpering. My body tingles, wanting more of her touch. This is unarguably the most alive I’ve been. And for a moment, I am glad that the book I’d found wasn’t some motivational book on how I needed to find my inner voice before I could find my outer one.

But my wear suddenly felt too tight across the shoulder, way too warm. My fingers fidgeting, I opened the Rite book. “I exorcise thee, unclean spirit–” She arched, deliberately. The torn dress slid higher, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach, the shadow forming between her thighs revealing no undergarments. Just slick, swollen flesh catching the candle light. She was already wet and dripping, her scent filling the space which hit me. My mouth went dry. “Keep reading,” she purred. “The words make me throb. Makes me want to clench around something thick and holy.”

If I could nail this tomorrow, at least one part of my life would still make sense. But concentration slipped. My mind wandered back to the text, to the wasted evening, to the sudden emptiness in my chest. I scrolled aimlessly, clicked away from the slides, opened a private browser window out of habit more than intention. Before I could stop myself, I typed the name I had bookmarked months ago but never dared visit when Caleb was home. Her videos loaded instantly. My favorite p**n performer. She had long dark hair, full breasts, confident gaze,filled the screen. The thumbnail alone made my breath catch: her legs spread wide on a velvet chair, fingers already buried deep inside her shaved pus

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.”

I wiped the last of the cum off my cock as I clicked on the box to open our private chat room. I couldn’t type fast enough to tell him how much his stories had turned me on. After I told him I had stroked myself to three climaxes in an hour and a half—more than I had ever been able to do before—he asked me if I would like to experiment with some online sex and masturbate together. I asked him if he was sure that no one else could read what we were doing, and he assured me that in the private chat room no one would mind—it happened all the time.

As I stood, I swayed gently, running my hands down my hips and squeezing my breasts while wetting my lips. He was captivated by the spectacle and began to masturbate. I crouched down and replaced his hand with mine, giving the skin of his penis a slow, deliberate massage. I opened his legs and began to graze his feet, then his thighs, with my breasts. I gently brushed his cock and moved up, my nipples tracing his body until I placed my breasts on his face.

That caused my eyebrows to raise and my cheeks to blush. "Well... If you like that mix, maybe 'Story of O' by Pauline Réage, 'The Lover' by Marguerite Duras, 'Tropic of Cancer' by Henry Miller, or 'Delta of Venus' by Anaïs Nin could be recommended," I suggested, my face burning. These were considered significant works of erotic literature, but at the same time, they were quite scandalous. "Did you enjoy them?" he asked with a slightly huskier voice. "I like forming my own opinions."