Erotica Storied Novels & Stories

"I'm pulling out all the stops today, and when I'm done with you, that bastard won't know what hit him. He won't even be able to breathe when he looks at you." Addy led me inside the Hedonism Spa, and my jaw hit the floor. I felt like I had stepped into a high-budget pornographic fairytale, and the air was thick with the scent of jasmine and musk. It was a sexual heaven. There were girls dressed like naughty fairies in nothing but sheer wings and tiny leaf thongs. Some of them were swinging from vines made of ivy and roses. Their breasts bounced freely as they giggled, and men in leather harnesses lounged on velvet cushions while being hand-fed grapes by gorgeous boys and girls. It was raw,

God, I’m turning him on as well. Thirst Trap returns carrying a bunch of things that look like sticks, but I quickly recognize those as a special type of incense. I’ve seen those in the black market while I was on a mission. I don’t know the specifics, but I do know they’ve been used for centuries as mild aphrodisiacs. Why are they doing this, though? I’m already longing for them, and I’m doing fine without this type of assistance. Why would they need it? Something tells me this is not as simple as it seems.

Definitely not trying to seduce just the steam sticking to the mirror, the accidental press of bodies in the tight space, the forbidden pull of best friend's brother coming into my house. His eyes went down to my lips, which were open in a gasp, and then down to the very quick breathing of my chest, the nipples of my breasts through the fabric being stretched. "Lila..." His voice roughened, free hand twitching at his side, fighting the pull. Mine mirrored, rising to his chest to push? Or steady? The touch lingered, feeling his heart thunder under my palm. The seduction bloomed unintentional: humidity making my skin glow, his drunk haze blurring lines, our the steam.

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.

The plain cover hid the pages and pages of pictures Tara had found in her explorations into the darker side of the internet. Halfway through she found the high-resolution black-and-white photographs she adored, the ones with a pair of red lips barely touching the head of a stiff cock or a woman pushed down onto a plush bed by a man taking her from behind. Often she had fantasies develop around these pictures, ones she typed down for her blog - ones she brought with her to bed late at night. She looked at a picture of a tall strong man holding a limp and naked girl in his burly arms, his face hidden by the shadow as he held his prize before him. Claimed by him.

In the next series, it will be an explosive and infuriatingly hardcore Gay short erotica stories compilation where filthy boys and dangerously hungry men chasing the very thing they shouldn’t crave. They just want to be ruined, reshaped and overly pleased because their bodies bleed and burn with an obsession that runs deeper for any cure, except one. High voltage desires to have their tight cracks shed apart, rimmed with sizes they never imagined exist and their girths straining, covered with slick. You’ll be left glancing through the pages in the most hidden corner of the world where no one would see you squirming. If you will be reading with a partner, fair warning: you’ll either test thei

“I mean, you’ve already been with him once. And… he is very good in that aspect. He knows how to give women pleasure, the kind they can’t forget. That’s why they keep coming back. I’ve… I’ve lived with it for two years now. So, no, it won’t kill you. It won’t hurt you. And he’s very clean—trust me. No diseases, nothing to worry about. And he’s generous. Very generous. If you satisfy him, he’ll gift you things you never even dreamed of.” Her words echo like poison through my head. Oh great. Like I haven’t heard that line before. The same disgusting mantra, dressed in calm, polished tones. Mortification claws through my body, wrapping around my ribs, suffocating me. My lips tremble violently,

The way her breath had caught when I touched her last week, the soft swell of her mound under my gloved fingers, the faint sheen of arousal I’d seen between her thighs when she thought I wasn’t looking. I leaned against the wall in the private room, unzipped my jeans, and pulled myself out. Thick and already leaking. The head flushed dark, a bead of precum sliding down the underside. I wrapped my fist around the base and stroked once—slow, deliberate—picturing her on my table again. Soft curves. Full tits straining against her bra. That delicate flush creeping up her neck when I’d said her skin took the lines beautifully. I remembered the others: Claire, married ten years, wedding band flash