Heavy Smut Books Novels & Stories

“Now you get to watch what real cocks can do.” The bedroom door opened by itself. Two men stepped in. At least… they used to be men. Both were tall, heavily muscled, skin slightly very red under the lights and when a shadowy edge. Their eyes glowed faint orange, and their cocks hung thick and heavy, with unreal lengths, bouncing as they walked in, and already leaking thick precum that smelled like smoke and sex. Lila dropped to her knees like a starving whore and began stroking them, one hand on each.

The first smut scene he came across was tastefully done. He reluctantly stopped reading when he saw an hour had passed. It was a shame to stop reading, but he did have a job to do. “It’s good isn’t it?” Becca said with a grin. “I’m really hoping he submits something else soon. We do have a six book deal with him so he’s got one book left.” Zach wondered what type of person Damien Black was based on his writing. His mental imagining of female centric erotica authors was middle aged women unsatisfied with their husbands. Damien Black seemed like someone refined and well read.

There was no author, no publisher's mark, only a title embossed in ostentatious, looping cursive: A LIGHT THAT CHANGES FATE. "Seriously?" he muttered. It was a cringe-worthy title, the kind found on the bottom shelf of a bargain bookstore. Yet, it had snagged his curiosity. He cracked the cover, and a flush of heat crept up his neck. The first page was… vulgar. Profanity-laced and graphically crude. He nearly slammed it shut. What was a book like this doing in his mother's collection?

“I’m your slut tonight!use me!” The dirty words fueled him. He gripped my hair, pulling my head back as he railed me. His cock kissed my cervix with each thrust, pleasure bordering on pain. I came a third time, squirting onto the sheets, voice hoarse from screaming. He slowed for a moment, grinding deep, letting me feel every vein. Then he pulled out and lay on the bed, stroking his glistening cock. “Ride me. Show me how bad you want it.”

Keeping the previous book on the shelf I glanced for another book. "What is it amore, didn't like your book?" Alesso asked with a smug look making me narrow my eyes at him. "No, it was fine but I am in no mood to read that type of book right now." I looked back at the shelf and he hummed in response. While glancing I looked that all books were filled with only smut. I was confused, who only has smut books on their shelf. Looking back at Alesso I see him trying to keep a straight face.

Nyla’s POV I'm drawing a pentagram on my apartment floor with sidewalk chalk at midnight on a Tuesday because apparently this is what my life has come to. There’s a leather-bound book open beside me, old, as if it survived the Victorian era. I found it at an estate sale last weekend, buried under a box of porcelain cats, which feels like the universe burying a loaded gun inside a Build-A-Bear. It was quite an… interetsing book. The chapter I keep returning to shows a naked woman arched on her back on the floor, with a demon-man like being, with extra limbs, and an abnormally huge-sized cock burried inside her pussy.

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For now, she didn't even want to wonder what would happen if aunt Margareth finds out about her feelings. Selene stretched first, then slowly dragged herself off the bed, her eyes immediately fixed on the Book of Magic that was lying down on the desk, the one she had gotten from aunt Meredith yesterday. Selene took it gently in her hands and sat on the edge of the bed, setting the bulky volume on her lap, and flipped through the book several times. Afer the fourth time she stopped at a page that showed a portrait of a man with ebony, half-length hair, in a long black coat... The face itself seemed familiar at once, but when Selene saw his eyes - dark and captivating like two black holes, she

Some canvases were broken, as if in frustration. Next, I visited the library. Many of the books were old and hopelessly confusing. Most incomprehensible of all were the ritual books, which made up the bulk of his library. There were only a few novels, and judging by the dust, they hadn’t been touched in years. Evidently, Salem was not the sort of man who read for pleasure.

I did not dare to open it. Before we could even settle into silence, the servant arrived with a platter of drinks. I thanked him as a glass of scotch was offered to me—though I would not drink it. “How are things fairing for you, Rueben?” I asked, looking around me at the walls of books. The words “Kama Sutra” passed by eye, along with some photo albums, which surely held revolting images inside. If not his stupidity, Reuben was also notorious for his promiscuity.