Literorica Stories Novels & Stories

I wanted the floor to swallow me. Lucas slipped one finger inside me slow, deep while continuing the conversation about centerpieces. My thighs trembled. I bit the inside of my cheek to stay silent, pretending to study my notebook. The same notebook that now held vows filthier than anything Victoria could imagine. “Read the next one quietly,” Lucas murmured when Victoria excused herself to take a quick call from her assistant. His breath was warm against my ear, finger still moving lazily inside me. “Under the table. Now.”

The idea of me helping Sarah conceive, of sharing my seed with another woman under my wife's blessing, was a taboo that had turned my blood into liquid fire. Lillian pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, her gaze predatory and hungry. She didn't say a word at first; instead, she slid her hand down the front of my boxers, her fingers curling around the thick length of my cock. I groaned, my hips instinctively arching into her touch. She began to stroke me, a slow, rhythmic glide that made my toes curl.

The rain never let up, a cold, endless curtain that turned the world gray and blurred the edges of everything except him. Lucian's arms locked around my waist like steel, keeping me upright when my knees had long since buckled. My body still quivered from his mouth—aftershocks rippling through my core, clit throbbing with every heartbeat—but the venom had only changed shape. It no longer burned bright and frantic; it sank slow and heavy, pooling low in my belly, turning every shallow breath into a silent, desperate beg: fill me, break me, own me completely.

A new post from the same anonymous account. "That was just the beginning. Over the next few days, I'll be posting more of Lila's stories. Stories about other guys at school. You might even find yourself in one of them. Stay tuned to see just how perverted Lila Richmond really is." My hands were shaking. This person did not just have one story. They had multiple stories. Stories about different people. I had written so many over the past year. Stories to process my confusing feelings. Stories about Ryan. Stories about Derek before I knew him. Stories about random guys I found attractive. Stories that were never meant to be read by anyone.

“Every night after closing, this library belongs to us.” I smiled, still trembling, his cum leaking down my thighs. “Then you’d better keep coming back for ‘research’… because I have a lot more books I want you to help me with.”

I'd spent the entire class half hard behind the podium, forcing myself to focus on the projector while she crossed and uncrossed her smooth legs every few minutes. And here she was, Layla Turner, an A+ student turned self-sabotaging brat, dripping on my table because she couldn't wait any longer. Such an impatient little slut. I'd been eager to play this game with her all session. Who knew she would snap so soon? Christ, she was perfect. Her pussy was slick with arousal, already swollen from nothing other than anticipation of being fucked. I leaned back in my chair, watching as she slid her fingers down, tracing her slit for a few seconds before dipping two fingers in.

I keep grinding through it, drawing out every last pulse until we’re both boneless and gasping. I finally slide off her face, collapsing beside her in the soaked ruin of our bed, our bodies are covered in sweat, cum, and squirt, and even the sheets are beyond saving. Lira turns to me, amber eyes hazy with exhaustion and adoration, her violet skin glistening. She licks her shiny lips slowly and whispers, voice hoarse, “Skyler…. Fuck, I can’t wait for what you’ll do to me tomorrow.”

After all, I saw it in her eyes. The last thing I noticed was the name of her book 'Power of the pussy'. I had heard people say that artists are always beautifully insane, and the most tattered and torn hearts created the best holistic works of art. That included writers. I wondered if Lydia was a writer and what could she have possibly gone through to be tattered and torn. I wanted to know what inspired her, what she loved, what ignited her passion. Since meeting her I could not stop thinking about her. Images of her tied to my four-poster bed invaded my mind on my way home. I thought of her full lips wrapped around a ball gag and her beautiful eyes looking up at me, dilated and desperate.

Petrov smiled as he replied, "That's good to hear, Tim. An erotic story can be much more descriptive than a p**n scene. Most young boys can't get enough p**n and it's nice when a young man takes the time to read a good erotic story. Which websites do you prefer for your stories?" Tim gasped again as Petrov used two fingers to stimulate his asshole. Petrov wasn't aiming for penetration at the moment, he just wanted the boy aroused enough to keep talking. Finally, the boy admitted to preferring Nifty and Literotica as his go-to erotic stories websites. Petrov knew that Literotica catered to a variety of genres but smiled knowing that Nifty had no heterosexual stories at all, though Nifty did h

That caused my eyebrows to raise and my cheeks to blush. "Well... If you like that mix, maybe 'Story of O' by Pauline Réage, 'The Lover' by Marguerite Duras, 'Tropic of Cancer' by Henry Miller, or 'Delta of Venus' by Anaïs Nin could be recommended," I suggested, my face burning. These were considered significant works of erotic literature, but at the same time, they were quite scandalous. "Did you enjoy them?" he asked with a slightly huskier voice. "I like forming my own opinions."