Publishing Erotica Novels & Stories

The silence made my thighs clench. "What kind of dreams?" he asked, still calm. "I shouldn't say." "You came here to let it out," he answered simply. I held in my breathing. "They're... sexual. I wake up soaked. Aching. And ashamed." "Go on." I let my head rest against the wooden panel behind me. My eyes closed. "He touches me in ways no one ever has. And I let him. I want it. God, I want it so bad." The words spilled out, broken and messy. "Sometimes it's in public. Sometimes I'm tied down. Sometimes he just whispers in my ear and I'm already falling apart. I wake up wet, panting, and I can't stop thinking about it for days."

"Oh god, you feel so good. So fucking good." He reached around, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing and circling, pushing me closer to the edge. I could feel my orgasm building, my body trembling with the effort of holding back. "Come for me, Emma," Damien commanded, his voice a low growl. "Come all over my cock." I keened, my body convulsing as I rode the wave of pleasure, my orgasm crashing over me in a rush of sensation. Damien continued to fuck me, his movements unrelenting, drawing out my pleasure until I was a trembling, boneless mess on the desk.

“Cum for me, little one. Make a mess on this elevator floor like the desperate slut you are for your boss.” I broke hard. My orgasm crashed through me. I screamed. My legs gave out completely. I collapsed forward onto the floor, knees hitting first. My forehead pressed against the cool mirror. Juices kept dripping out of me. Small puddles formed on the elevator floor between my knees. My whole body shook. Fred crouched down beside me. One hand still between my legs, lazily stroking my oversensitive clit. “Look at the mess you made, little one. Such a filthy girl. We’ll clean it up together before anyone sees what you did for me.”

Something aching to be molded. I met him in my Tuesday night workshop. "Erotics of Language"—a curated space for writers who wanted to learn how to use sensuality in storytelling. Most came in with curiosity or thinly veiled hunger. He came in with a notebook gripped like a lifeline and questions trembling on his lips. I noticed him in the third session. He waited until everyone had left to speak to me. “I—um—can I ask you something… off the record?” I folded my arms, tilted my head. “You just did.”

ARC 10: MOONFLOWER ON THE ALTAR WARNING: This arc contains extremely explicit sexual content, omegaverse dynamics with alpha/omega knotting and breeding, public gangbang, intense dubcon/noncon elements, and pack breeding/claiming themes. Intended for mature audiences only (18+). Proceed only if you consent to dark, unrestrained erotic fiction ---- My name is Vespera Eric, and I have spent every one of my twenty-one years knowing exactly how this night would end.

Selina moans as my fingers make contact with her wet pussy and for a moment I lose all sense and I rub my fingers all over her pussy before zoning in on her clit. “Yes, don’t stop.” She moans as I stroke her clit. “No.” I snap jumping to my feet and knocking her backwards against the desk. Her moans had brought me out of my trance-like state and I know that I can’t do this. “We can’t, it’s wrong, you’re a kid, my daughter's best friend.” I snap, backing away from her and trying to pull my trousers up. “I’m legal and what Clarissa doesn’t know can’t hurt her.” She says advancing on me, “I’ve wanted you to fuck me for years now.”

They had taken turns with her for hours , passing her around and every single one of them had cum inside her or on her body. She loved every second of it. She had even, and still spread her legs willingly for two of the married male teachers in the staff room during lunch breaks, letting them fuck her quietly whenever they needed relief. She couldn’t help it. Deep down, Elena was a slut by nature. She loved the thrill of being used, of giving her body freely with nothing expected in return. She could never say no when someone wanted to fuck her. She would gladly spread her legs wide and let them pound her as hard and as long as they wanted.

And I wanted to be punished: Perhaps that, more than anything else. I began reading erotic BDSM stories. For a while this seemed to be enough. It allowed me to escape my life, if only for short periods of time. Erotic BDSM stories were challenging to find in my small town and soon found myself searching sites on the internet. This opened up a whole new world: Before I knew it, I was placing ads on personals sites, trying to make my dream a reality. Initially the responses were just crude. Even the ones I decided to contact, seemed a little beyond what I was looking for: Cruel men, perhaps dangerous too. Finally I received a response from Tony.

We spent the day upgrading. First, the cards. Mom had a design program on her laptop. We created elegant but filthy business cards—matte black with gold lettering. On the front: Ebony Elite Pleasures – Discreet & Unforgettable. A simple silhouette of two curvaceous women. On the back, our anonymous contact info, rates (high), and a tagline: Let us worship your success… and drain every drop. We printed a thick stack on premium cardstock at a local shop, giggling like schoolgirls in the car on the way home.

The assigned text, Bataille’s Erotism, was a descent into philosophical darkness. It spoke of the sacred and the profane, of violence as a gateway to ecstasy, of transgression as a necessary rupture of the mundane world. Elara read it in her small apartment, her body still sore and marked from the last session, the words resonating in her bones. She understood, now, that her thesis was not merely an academic exercise. It was a lived experience, a mapping of her own violation and transcendence.