Medieval Erotica Novels & Stories

She gasped as stolen fragments of the incubus’s past flooded her: A medieval noblewoman bent over an altar, screaming in ecstasy as the demon fucked her raw while her husband watched, helpless and hard. A modern club bathroom where he wore the face of a stranger and made a cocky frat boy beg to be bred on his knees. Centuries of victims left ruined, addicted, coming even as they cried for mercy.

Watching her perfect small mouth make the perfect O shape as I fuck her with my finger. As if possessed by something feral and animalistic, Amelia started to claw at the belt of my shorts as I fingered her impossibly tight pussy, yanking at the buckle and then pulling at my zipper. I groaned as she reached inside, and smirk as she gasped, her small fingers brushed against my thick, throbbing hot cock. Gently, she started to push my shorts down over my hips, and she gasped again as she pulled my entire cock right out.

How her clit swelled under her rubbing. Mira’s moans became more desperate. She rubbed her clit faster, her heavy breasts bounced. Her pale thighs trembled and she was getting close. Then her eyes opened and she saw him. Mira froze, fingers still buried deep inside her pussy. Her mouth stayed open in shock. For several long seconds, neither of them moved. Her face turned bright red with embarrassment. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Malik didn’t look away. His dark eyes burned with hunger as he stared at her exposed body, her spread legs, her dripping pussy, her hard nipples, the wetness shining on her inner thighs.

The whole day had been hectic. I took out a bottle of wine and poured myself some. I dropped onto the cushions, remote in hand, and flicked on the TV. Mindless noise to fill the silence. I scrolled through channels, news, reruns, some late night talk shows until I landed on a movie. One of those erotic thrillers, the kind with dim lighting and heavy breathing. I almost changed it, but the scene caught me. A woman alone in a lavish room, silk robe slipping off her shoulder, her hand trailing down her body as soft music swelled.

*A/N* Thank you so much for reading my story and making it this far. Just like i stated in my synopsis, this book contains other thigh tingling, steamy and erotic stories that will keep you at the edge of you seat. Enjoy reading... *********************** NEW STORY TITLE: The Pink-cheeked Bride(erotica) It is a warm spring night in a medieval village. The town celebrates a new wedding. * The crowd, full of relatives, friends, and family applauded as the newly wed couple ascended the stairs, as a symbolism of the end of the ceremonies, and the beginning of a healthy, childbearing marriage.

It was a debauchery of heat, friction, and the smell of sex and forbidden desires. This time, we both hit the peak together. I felt my internal walls clench around him in a violent surge, and Bradley followed me over the edge, his body shuddering as he came, both of us sinking into the mattress, completely undone and bound by a secret that was going to probably burn us both to the ground.

"He's not the type of man who would find himself in the wrong bedroom, or under the wrong covers, seeking a heat that doesn't belong to him. He is a pillar of virtue. He knows that secret sins are the heaviest burdens to carry." The double entendre was so thick it was a wonder the guests didn't choke on it. Ryder was vibrating with a primal, sexual energy. The way she was weaponizing his own faith against him, the way she was standing there looking like a virginal saint while speaking the language of a seasoned sinner, turned him on more than any physical touch could. He wanted to lunge across the table, rip that pink dress off her, and fuck her right there in front of the centerpieces and t

vulnerable. The altar sat bare in front of me. With one quick movement he lifted me up onto it. “Lay back.” This was so wrong. I took a deep breath and leaned back until I was on my back, draped over the altar, my breasts heaving, my nipples pointing to the painted ceiling, which I’d never noticed before. Father Michaels opened the box, pulling out clothespins. Clearly he’d put them in there when I wasn’t paying attention. First, he put a clothespin on each of my swollen nipples. Exquisite pain shot through my breasts. Then it felt incredibly good. Finally, he put three clothespins on each of my labia. It pinched at first, but the sensation of being bound sent pleasure through me. I moaned,

“Gwŷr y Mynyddoedd! Ancient ones of the stones and the mist! Tonight we offer you the sacred triad. Husband, wife, and lover — joined in flesh and sin before your eyes. Let their moans be your praise. Let their dripping cunts and filled wombs feed your power through me.” He poured a mixture of mead, rooster blood, and the women’s own slick arousal over their bound bodies. The warm, sticky liquid ran in rivulets over Eira’s swollen breasts and dripping pussy, and down Gwyneth’s exposed cunt and asshole, mixing with their juices and pooling on the sacred stone.

"When I was browsing a bookshop recently, I came across this. It was being sold openly. The illustrations inside are deeply improper, and the woman depicted in them is my cousin." It was an erotic picture book. The woman's face was never shown, yet her poses were overtly seductive, and a rose-shaped birthmark was on her waist. Eleanor frowned. "What is this? How do you know the woman in these pictures is Charlotte?" Yvonne's voice rang out clearly across the hall. "Because my cousin has the exact same rose birthmark on her waist." The room erupted. Every pair of eyes turned toward me, and the looks on their faces said everything. One moment away from becoming Crown Princess, and now this. Ho