Good Erotic Stories

Five years and a divorce paper in my hand before I realized that I invested my time, effort and devotion to the wrong man. Trapped in a corner with nothing left to my name, I was willing to bargain with my ex-husband for my daughter’s sake. But then, a savior, my husband’s new boss came to rescue me from the financial quagmire I was in. He helped me recover what I lost: my dignity, pride and most importantly, he gave me hope. I thought he was the perfect man. But the illusion shattered when his motives came to bite me in the face. He was in this for revenge, and his target was me.

Having an Awakenist as my wife meant enduring her monkish attitude toward sex. We could only be intimate on the sixteenth of every month. Every detail—my position, rhythm, even my expression—had to follow her rigid rules. If I showed too much pleasure, she would immediately rise and leave. We had been married for five years. Was I ever tired of this? Yes. Still, I always gave in. I accepted these limitations because I loved her. "The Saintess loves me too," I told myself. That faith shattered the day I was sent to extinguish a hotel fire. Amid the flames, I found my wife pressed close to a man in disheveled clothes. Between their arms was a young boy.

My husband, an anesthesiologist, deliberately increases the sedative dosage on an accident victim so he can get a new heart for his first love, Selena Quigley. After her operation, he cares for her and celebrates her rebirth. He only remembers to contact me after she's recovered. "It's been three months since we saw each other, honey. You shouldn't be mad anymore, right? Why don't you book a flight for tomorrow so you can come home? I'll pick you up at the airport." I won't be going home anymore, though. Not now, not forever. I've already died on his operating table.

After my mother shot down my pleas to cover my medical bills the 100th time, I clutched my bone cancer diagnosis papers and trudged to the crematorium. "Hi, I'd like to reserve a cremation slot ahead of time," I muttered to the clerk. Half an hour ticked by before my parents and adopted brother arrived in their car. My dad, a forensic pathologist, cracked me across the face. "You're pulling a fake-death stunt now, just to steal the spotlight from your brother?" My mom, a hospital director, snatched the papers from my hands and shredded them into confetti. "Faking records using my credentials and tying up hospital resources? You've crossed the line!" My brother cried, tugging at their sleeves. "It's all my fault. I'll skip the amusement park forever. I don't need a thing. Just quit riling up Mom and Dad." I spun around, my hand pressed against my throbbing chest, and begged the crematorium staff. "Please, when it's time, cremate me and scatter the ashes in the river. I've got no family left in this world."

By the third year of my marriage to Daniel Hawthorne, the war had already taken more than it ever returned, and this time it took his younger brother, Thomas Hawthorne. My sister-in-law, Eleanor, collapsed, and in the weeks that followed she tried to follow her husband into death— once with sleeping pills, once by the river beyond the officers’ quarters— only to be dragged back both times, each time clinging to me afterward as though I were the last thing keeping her grounded. I stayed with her, wiped her tears, and whispered that Thomas would want her to live, until the day she received the test results confirming she was three months pregnant, and the grief of losing her husband was slowly softened by the arrival of new life. I smiled too, believing grief had finally loosened its grip. That night, holding my own pregnancy test in my hand and thinking it was finally time to tell Daniel, I passed the study and heard his friend say quietly, “She’s carrying your child. You convinced the doctors to adjust the timeline so everyone would believe the baby belonged to your brother. Aren’t you afraid Margaret will find out?” Daniel didn’t hesitate. “She won’t,” he said calmly. “She loves me. She wouldn’t leave. I won’t let her know.” I didn’t step inside. I didn’t confront him. Instead, I opened the letter I had received weeks earlier— an official deployment order from the international medical corps, assigning me to a frontline war zone— and tapped Accept.

On our wedding day, Carter Hall's father took his own life in our new home. He left a suicide note, blaming me for his death. From that day forward, Carter despised me to the core. He said, "Lindsey Thomson, you deserve to rot in hell, atoning for your sins for the rest of your life." Eventually, just as he wished, I wandered the streets, mute and half-insane, living a life worse than a stray dog. But then, he regretted it.

“Fuck me. Use me. Wreck me. I want to be filled with your big cock until my cunt can’t take it anymore.” “That’s my good girl. Now, tell me, what are you?” “I’m daddy’s whore.” _______ An erotic one-shot of delicious, sizzling, tantalizing, toe curling and vibrator grabbing shorts revolving around different characters. THIS BOOK CONTAINS DISTURBING SCENES THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR KIDS OR THE WEAK MINDED. READ THIS BOOK AT YOUR OWN RISK!

What do you do when the mate you love gets another she-wolf pregnant after a drunken night? This is my new reality. In the face of this, he firmly said, "Keep the pup, and we can still go back to how things were." I could not believe my ears. Shaking my head, I asked him to choose. "Between me and the pup, who do you choose?" I said to him. All I got was silence. His blank face broke me. I could not believe he couldn’t answer. But his silence was enough of an answer for me. So I left, and he regretted it.

⚠️ WARNING: This book will ruin you for vanilla sex. Side effects include spontaneous wetness, missed deadlines, "one more chapter" syndrome at 3 AM, and explaining to your partner why you suddenly have ideas. Reader discretion advised. Vibrator recommended. For readers 18+ who like their fantasies FILTHY and their boundaries FLEXIBLE. She didn't know she needed five frat brothers until her boyfriend offered her up as initiation. She didn't know she craved her stepdad's best friends until they caught her skinny dipping. She didn't know she was a fertility goddess until the clinic offered natural insemination. Now she knows. DIRTY DREAMS is a scorching collection of no-holds-barred erotica for women who want MORE. More men. More holes filled. More loads taken. More of the fantasies you've only whispered about in the dark. Inside you'll find: → Gangbangs that leave her dripping and delirious → Taboo encounters with men who should be off-limits → CNC scenarios that blur every line you thought you had → Breeding rituals designed to fill her up and knock her up → Good girls corrupted, wives shared, and innocence absolutely wrecked From fraternity basements to fertility clinics, from camping grounds to cult ceremonies, these stories don't tease – they deliver. Every hole. Every load. Every filthy fantasy you've been too ashamed to Google. This is not your mother's romance novel. This is the book you hide on your Kindle. This is the book you read with one hand. This is the book that finally scratches that itch. Contains: gangbangs, reverse harem, dubcon, breeding, taboo relationships, CNC (consensual non-consent), age gaps, degradation, cum play, and absolutely zero apologies. All characters are 18+. All scenarios are fiction. All orgasms are guaranteed.

WARNING: Strictly for Mature Readers 18+ Only This collection is brutal, no-holds-barred erotica. Explicit filth, dripping lust, savage dominance, eager submission, age-gap obsession, cheating adrenaline, risky group heat, public exposure, outdoor surrender, and raw, body-shaking pleasure that leaves you ruined for anything vanilla. These stories exist to ignite you and keep you throbbing long after the last page. If you’re not prepared to be completely consumed, turn back now. Once you start reading, the only way out is total surrender to the fire. Dive in… and burn.