Erotical Stories Novels & Stories

Rita licked me through every wave until I was oversensitive and twitching. She crawled up my body and kissed me deeply, sharing the taste. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a thicker pink strap-on. She fastened the harness around her hips, rubbed the head through my wetness, and thrust in deep. The stretch made me cry out. Rita fucked me in missionary with long, powerful strokes, one of my legs hooked over her shoulder, the other wrapped around her waist. She leaned down and sucked my nipples while she thrust, hair falling around us.

Robin was in my mouth, going deeper and holding my hair. "Take it deeper," Robin ordered. "I want to feel the back of that throat. Good girl, just like that." I came a second time with Hillian’s fingers inside me and Robin’s cock stretching my lips. "Fuck yes, cum again," Hillian told me. "Squeeze my fingers. Let us feel how hard you’re going." Robin pulled out of my mouth and reached for something on the nightstand. A small black vibrator. He turned it on and waved it at me.

She held still, breaths shallow, every nerve alight. Emboldened by her lack of protest, his touch intensified. Bella, in a feigned sleepy wiggle, shifted back closer, her bum pressing against his crotch. She felt it immediately—his dick, fully erect, hard and throbbing through his pants, nestled against her. He gasped, a sharp intake of breath that echoed in the quiet room. Gotcha, she thought triumphantly, a thrill running through her. Now what? Your move, stranger. The tension hung thick, her body humming with anticipation, mind a whirlwind of forbidden excitement.

Let him see. Marcus’s jaw tightened. His hands gripped the arms of his chair like he was fighting gravity. They kept talking. About her copywriting years — writing other people’s words until she forgot her own. About how he’d drifted into papers and lectures instead of stories. The words got heavier. More honest. Every truth pulled something tighter in her chest. Her calf was still pressed against his leg. Neither of them had moved it. The heat from his body seeped through his pants and made her ache.

I could feel myself shaking uncontrollably, tears running down my face. Lena licked my tits, sucked my nipples while the men destroyed me. The sounds were obscene; wet squelching, skin slapping, my broken moans and their low growls. Her dad’s voice cut through the haze. “Tomorrow morning we’re breeding both of you. Gonna fill these young cunts with so much cum you’ll be leaking for days.” The words pushed me over again. I came harder than ever, squirting all over Ethan’s cock, ass pulsing. My vision went white. I felt like I was floating and falling at the same time.

I was dangerously close. My back arched off the bed, two fingers buried deep inside my soaked pussy as I read the filthiest part of the story — the part where the two older men had the girl pinned between them, stretching both her holes while calling her their perfect little whore. “That’s it, baby. Take both our cocks like a good girl.” My thighs started shaking. I was right there… when my mother’s voice suddenly cut through the door. “Serena! Dinner!”

he said, his voice a low vibration that hit me square in the chest. The chatter died instantly. He turned around, leaning against the podium, his sleeves already rolled up to reveal the lion etched into his tanned skin. My pulse spiked. I couldn't stop my eyes from tracing the golden outlines of the beast on his arm, remembering the way it seemed to ripple in the moonlight of my subconscious. "The Art of Storytelling is not a solo venture," he began, his almond eyes finally sweeping over the rows. "To understand narrative, you must understand collaboration and the friction of differing perspectives. For the remainder of the semester, you will be working in groups of five."

The thought made her pulse quicken, like she was holding a secret that wasn’t meant to be found. She hesitated only a moment before sitting cross-legged on the floor and flipping the cover open. Inside, in messy handwriting, was a title scrawled across the first page: “Collected Stories — From Women, For Women.” Chloe blinked. The handwriting was feminine, rushed, and almost secretive. She turned the page and read the introduction, scrawled in looping letters:

"Swallow it, niece. Take Uncle's pierced cock down your slutty throat." I choked, tears running, but relaxed. He fucked my mouth slow, training me inch by inch. Pulled a book from the shelf—old erotica, yellow pages. Read aloud while thrusting. "'The duke bent his maid over, cock slamming her wet cunt while she begged for more.' Sound familiar, you taboo bitch?" His words mixed with the story, hips rolling. The piercing scraped my throat, cold bump adding to the stretch. I sucked hungry, tasting pre-cum. "Deeper. Read with me in your mind—'He filled her ass with his seed, marking her as his.' Gonna do that to you soon."

There was one solitary, big book on a low table between them. "The title of the tale is The Binding of Autumn," he began, his voice an entrancing whisper just in harmony with the shriek of the fire. “It's the tale of a harvest god who offers a mortal woman a choice: one night of absolute freedom for one year of unimaginable riches for her people." He didn't move as his eyes met hers. "The consent is the matter at hand. It must be freely bestowed, not coerced, and whispered three times into the skin of his throat." “Do you have any idea what sort of story you're going to be reading me tonight?”