Erotica Tags Novels & Stories

Four “So, what’s the genre we’re looking at?” Nico picked up one of the books on the desk and flipped it to the back, reading the short description. “This one seems to be about magical powers and shit. Fantasy?” Theo nodded, taking a sip of his wine. He set down his glass and picked up a book from the pile. “I have romance, crime thrillers and fantasy, here.” He handed him a book. “What do you think about this?”

She’s slipping away—everything feels like it’s underwater, like a dream she can’t wake from. She cries out again, desperate, high-pitched. Endless waves of orgasm ripple through her trembling form, one crashing over the next, relentless, overwhelming. Her limbs flail, her body convulses beneath him, but still he doesn’t stop. Still he pounds. Still he slams. He whispers dirty words against her flushed skin, each syllable igniting her nerve endings like sparks. “Oh, you wanna act like a little slut?” he snarls against her neck, voice dripping with dark amusement. “Then I’ll make it real easy for you, baby.”

That was when he was in the middle of repeatedly grazing her cut when she thought of massaging the tip of her womanhood with a circular motion. "Mmmmmmnnnnn---," her whole body trembled as she could hear her voice. That's what happened to Lara. And it continued because her husband did not stop. Feeling like a killer act of extreme happiness is not something to be taken lightly. That was despite the fact that this always happened to her whenever they were in this kind of erotic scene. "This is so fucking romantic, Joaquin!" she shouted when she couldn't hold back any longer. Joaquin didn't answer but he surprised her with the reckless way he touched her cut with his tongue. It was only for a

Ero **** on the first date she confided in me i have a chromosomal disorder, disorder, disorder i need love and pain strangely mixed together my elixirs i suffer reality distoooorrtions a ghastly Vatican of ****** compulsions my soul is black matter my **** a seething cauldron of despicable desire my *** cries for homicidal cruelty mold me into a ******* fold me like a two dollar beach chair the wrong way tear me to bits unwind my intestine eat me like a blood ******* ghoul make me squirm like an anime victim i thought oh finally a soul mate with soul strange as a Dionysian mad hatter on hallucinogenics hot girl creeping grimacing at me meandering conjurations by ****** contortions stunning

"Say it. What do you want?" His hand grabbed one of my breasts and fumbled with the nipple. "I want... it," I breathed out, biting my lip. "You want what?" he asked, his finger still deep inside me. My whole body was shaking from the sensation. I could feel my orgasm building up. "I want your finger inside me," I said. "Good girl. I will finger your little pussy so deep, Sara." And he did. ⸻ "Good morning, Sara." A yawning Layla walked into the kitchen. I gave her a look. "Good morning, sleepyhead. You sleep like a corpse."

There I was thinking about Tory again I shut my eyes as I thrust in and out,she was in my head, and I couldn't get her out, her tightness, her sweet cunt smell, stuck in my mind. I turned Charis over aggressively, channelling all the anger in me into fucking her, pounding her ass roughly. She was responsive, screaming and moaning and cussing out I finally thrust all my sperm into her pussy and she cried out in pleasure “Fuckkkk, I love you you Shawn Tates” she let out, laying down on the bed. I got up , making my way to the bathroom without saying a word

I ran two fingers through her folds, coating them in her slickness, then pushed them inside without warning. “Fuck… so tight,” I groaned. “You’ve been saving this pussy for me, haven’t you?” “Yes… Dr Hale…” she whimpered, pushing back against my hand. I curled my fingers, stroking the spot that made her cry out. “Call me Marcus when my fingers are inside you.” “Marcus… please…” I added a third finger, stretching her while my thumb circled her swollen clit. She was dripping down my hands and the wet filthy sounds filled the library.

“Always.” Erotica 2.

Marcus ordered. I did. Hand trembling, but I signed. The pen felt heavier than the collar around my neck. “Good girl.” Vesper took the papers and smiled. “Now the tattoos.” They laid me on the table. The artist they brought in was one of their own — silent, efficient, needles buzzing. First came the big one right over the brand: bold black letters spelling “COLLECTIVE CUM QUEEN” arched above my pussy. Then smaller marks on my inner thighs — “Free Use” on the left, “Breed Hole” on the right. A crown dripping cum right between my tits.

My mouth watered. “Look at that pretty pink pussy,” he murmured. “Still dripping from earlier. You love being used, don’t you, Hazel?” “Yes, Derick,” I whispered, cheeks burning with shame and arousal. He rolled his chair closer. “Crawl to me.” I did, on all fours, stopping between his spread thighs. His cock stood thick and heavy, veins pulsing, the head already leaking precum. It looked even bigger up close. “Clean it first,” he said, voice dark. “With your tongue.”