Erotica Writers Novels & Stories

I groaned with my stiff member grinding against Sera’s abdomen. I urged her to lie down on the desk and spread her legs in an M shape giving me full view of the her sweet parts. My lustful gaze was concentrated on her vagina imagining a million ways in which I would make her cum tonight. Sera, who was looking up to the ceiling, was waiting patiently for some sweet loving and I obeyed. With a crackling sound, I opened a bottle of lubricant and the sweet scent of rosemary permeated the air. My two large hands stained with lubricant slithered on her skin from under the skirt moving upwards to her aroused nipples and that earned me numerous moans.

The fact that she had a pretty face and great body, combined with her inexperience and shyness, got Josephine even hornier. There was something wild, irresistible and purely sexy about that girl. Josephine wanted that soft skin to rub against hers. She couldn't wait to rub her pussy against April's pussy. Oh fuck. The erotic thoughts of her and April in a scissors position, rubbing and pressing their pussies against each other, made the volume her moans and groans increase. She increased the movement of her fingers, brutal thrusting and ramming her fingers into her pussy over and over again, her thumb coming in contact with her sensitive clit with every powerful thrust.

More cruelty. When the tears finally stopped, a new feeling replaced the sadness. I needed help. Real help. After hours of scrolling through forums and private coaching sites, I found him, Elias. A mysterious but highly recommended “private writing coach” who specialized in erotic fiction. His profile was minimal. No face picture, just a black and white shot of strong hands holding a pen. The testimonials, however, were glowing. One writer claimed he completely transformed her career. Another said his methods were “intense but life changing.”

“Try this one. The writing is sharp.” We talked for twenty minutes about authors we both loved. Her name was Elena. She worked as a graphic designer and came to the bookstore most Tuesdays when her schedule allowed. I told her I freelanced as a copywriter, which was true enough. When she left that day she said, “Maybe I’ll see you next week.”

That was more than she ever earned from writing. “What’s the catch?” she whispered. "That's smart, Writer Ara." Damon’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “There is always a catch. For every erotic scene you write for my private inspiration project, you will physically practice it with me first. For you to a character being fucked against a wall, you must be fucked against a wall. Everything you create, I will bring to life with you.” Ara stared at him, stunned. Heat flooded her face. She could barely believe what he was saying.

He continued, voice dropping lower. “An erotic novel. Quite explicit. The heroine was bent over her boss’s desk, skirt around her waist, getting fucked hard while he called her a dirty little slut.” My cheeks burned bright red. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I had been reading during my short break, thinking no one would return. I opened my mouth to apologize, but no words came out. Adrian stood up slowly and walked around the desk like a predator. He stopped right in front of me, towering over my seated form.

And I wanted to be punished: Perhaps that, more than anything else. I began reading erotic BDSM stories. For a while this seemed to be enough. It allowed me to escape my life, if only for short periods of time. Erotic BDSM stories were challenging to find in my small town and soon found myself searching sites on the internet. This opened up a whole new world: Before I knew it, I was placing ads on personals sites, trying to make my dream a reality. Initially the responses were just crude. Even the ones I decided to contact, seemed a little beyond what I was looking for: Cruel men, perhaps dangerous too. Finally I received a response from Tony.

“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.”

I stammered. “I see.” He smirked and continued walking. “So what do you think of erotic books? Do they convey the messages purely like movies do? The expressions, the feelings… everything.” I gulped. “It all comes down to how good the writer is.” I said, trying to steady my voice. “I most times prefer to read erotic books instead of watching erotic movies. “Interesting,” he smiled. “We really do have a lot in common.” “Do you get the urge to do it when you read them?” he continued.

"The little scholar wants to learn everything in one night." I was lost in the sex. The aphrodisiac made every touch feel like I was burning. When one man finished, another took his place immediately. I was a shared vessel, a toy passed from hand to hand. I felt the weight of them on me, the smell of their expensive colognes and their sweat, and I hated how much my body was responding. I was arching into the contact, my own hands reaching back to pull them closer, begging for the very thing that was destroying me.