Hot Short Stories Novels & Stories

Pinky squinted to read it, her eyes tracing the loops and crosses. "Collection of short stories for ladies," the title read. "Stories of desire, of awakening, of the first time." Pinky blinked, her eyes widening as she read on. The handwriting was feminine, secretive, as if the writer were sharing her most guarded thoughts with only the pages. It was a confession. A revelation. As she began to read.

But I saw the hunger there—the same hunger that had been building between all three of us since I came home for the summer. “God, it’s so fucking hot tonight,” Sarah sighed, fanning herself as she carried the third bottle of wine into the living room. Her robe slipped open another inch, revealing the soft underside of one heavy tit and the hard peak of her nipple. She poured more into my glass first, then Jake’s, then hers. “You two look like you’re overheating too. Especially you, Jake. Those shorts seem… tight.” I giggled, the wine making me brave. “Mom, your robe is basically falling off. Not that I’m complaining.” My voice came out huskier than I meant, but the way her eyes darkened when

Camera shutters exploded like fireworks as the hotel suite door burst open, a sea of reporters charging into the room, microphones raised, phones recording, and expressions stretched in a mix of horror and delight. Cameron Knight lay sprawled across a velvet armchair, completely naked, his once-perfect hair a bird's nest of sweat and confusion. Around him, two of the girls from Velvet Heat were lazily picking their dresses off the floor, adjusting their heels, and smirking like cats who had swallowed the entire canary. "Sir, care to comment on what appears to be an orgy with escorts?" one reporter shouted, voice gleeful. "Did you drug them, Mr. Knight? Were they underage?"

There were certainly enough horse farms to see. She cranked up the air conditioner a little and pushed her hair back from her face. Today, the temperature had soared past ninety and her clothing, which she'd thought so comfortable and cool when she dressed that morning, now stuck to her like wet tissue paper. Two of the farms she'd photographed today had large enclosed pools. She'd have given her pay for a year to be able to jump into one of them. Failing that, she'd take a cold shower and a cold drink at The Love Pub.

The heat of her skin slipped through her shit and right through mine and into my skin. "Admit it," I said, my voice coming off as a low rumble. "I'm not—" Trailing my fingertips from her face, I circled her collar bone and trailed down to her lips. She shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin as my finger brushed the waistband of her jeans. "Your body doesn't lie, Sasha." She swallowed hard. "You're not my type." "Oh yeah? What is your type?" "Anyone who's not a cold-blooded killer."

I’ve read a lot of things in my ten years of teaching. Late-night essays, drunken rants passed off as “creative expression,” confessions disguised as poetry. But none of them ever made my cock hard. Until hers. Until Mira Callahan handed in her extra credit assignment. It was a short story, printed neatly in 12-point Times New Roman, double-spaced like I asked. But the first sentence hit like a punch to the gut: “He wasn’t supposed to touch her, but he wanted to. And when she leaned back on his desk and spread her legs, he forgot what ‘supposed to’ meant.”

∞∞∞ The End THE END OF WILD PLEASURE❤️ Thank you for reading and supporting this novel! If you enjoyed this erotic journey, don’t miss my next book, LOST IN LUST. It's a novella filled with more blissful, steamy tales. Sit back, relax, and dive in. THANK YOU AGAIN! ️

Ch-1 --------------------- [Warning: this story is in the 'incest' category. As a result, the mother and son in this tale might have a relationship which you might find unsettling. At the end, when they kiss each other goodnight, neither of them has to go to another bedroom. The father already sleeps there.]

Hearts slowed. No promises whispered in the dark. No talk of what came next. No labels, no futures, no regrets. Just the steady throb of afterglow. The faint ache between her legs that said they’d do it again soon. The quiet certainty that the heat wasn’t going anywhere. They stayed like that until the floor got too hard and the night air turned chilly. Eventually she slid off him—slow—feeling the warm trickle of his cum down her thigh. Neither bothered to clean up.

Ever since I broke up with my ex boyfriend, I had decided to spend alone time with myself especially during the summer.The summer had always been my favorite season of the year, but this time, Fuck!!! It was too damn hot!! It had not rained for weeks!! Last night had felt like I was baking in a sauna and not in a good way. My cooling system had worked so hard, so fucking hard, that it packed up the day before. My house slowly but surely became outrageously hot, so hot, that when I looked down, I could see my nipples peeking through the thin fabric of my sleeping T-shirt, already damp with sweat, and it wasn't even 9am yet.