Relatos Sexuales Escritos Novels & Stories

They were both impressed that I have already published a half dozen books that have been fairly successful. “I love the Erotic Wizard book you wrote,” Fiona purred. It amazed me that she had already read one of my books. “I get aroused every time I think about those steamy sex scenes you described,” she announced openly. There was a short silence that followed and Franny was grinning broadly when I glanced over at her.

“Tonight. Here in the loft after we eat.” “Okay.” He pulled me close and kissed me soft. “You sure you are ready? We can stop anytime.” “I am sure. I want you to make me come hard from both holes.” He kissed my forehead. “Then tonight. I will go slow at first, lube everywhere. Make sure you are relaxed.” “Thank you.” “Tell me more about what you wrote. What else?” “I wrote about squirting, overstimulation. You pounding me until I lose count of orgasms.”

and then when Montoya moorman and Adulf Cain made love, the world is different in between the sheets. Sex lives of humans is like whirlpool with endless querries and stories. Every experience is different and every encounter is memorable in its own way. But there are some stories that sound weird or bizarre but also makes you think about one’s own issues and shortcomings. Montoya wrote in her diary thus:

Milan was half a world away, and the club tonight annoyed him. He flipped open his leather journal, a prized possession he preferred to keep a secret. The pages were half art, half confession: ink sketches of thighs, breasts, cocks, penetrating organs and arched backs, paragraphs of his raw memory. He wasn’t just an artist who painted—he wrote too. Raw, explicit entries about his most intense sexual encounters. And tonight he would write to steady himself. He opened to a fresh page, pen hovering before the words began to flow. His mind drifted immediately to that last night Jax had shown up mad in the rain. The memory hit him with heat, sending pleasure pulses to his cock.

But sometimes, I feel tired and needed a break from this relationship and everything, but his loves kept me going. ‘ I love my boyfriend, but he doesn't satisfy me sexually. He doesn't last and can't get me off.’ I stopped typing on my laptop and smiled in satisfaction staring at the chapter I just wrote. This book would be a secret and no one would know that it is about my relationship, not even Bernie or my chief editor. Writing a story about my love and sex life was the only way to pour in my frustration, happiness, sadness, secret and other things which I can't say publicly because of what people or even Bernie might think of me.

She felt the dampness soak through her underwear, a shocking betrayal of her own control. Leo's palm cupped her ass, squeezing hard through the wool of her skirt. "I knew it," he growled. "The moment I saw you, I knew you had this in you. A woman who writes about the lusts of monks... You must dream about being fucked like a sin." Evelyn's head fell back against the concrete. "Fuck you." "Yes," Leo agreed, his fingers finding the hem of her skirt and pushing it up. "That's the idea."

As the words flowed onto the page, I realized that my first sexual encounter with Victor was more than just a physical act. It was a rite of passage, a stepping stone on my path to self-discovery and a catalyst for the woman I was destined to become. With a contented smile on my face, I continued to write, celebrating the memories that would forever shape me and cherishing the transformative power of that unforgettable night. The room fell silent, save for the gentle tapping of keys, as I immersed myself in the depths of my memories, relishing the period of intimacy I had shared with Victor on that life-altering night.

Some nights were slow — candlelight, soft music, whispered promises. Others were wild — clothes torn, moans muffled, the kind of sex that left us aching and satisfied and unable to look at each other without blushing the next morning. Damon was insatiable. And so was I. We were like horny teenagers with no filter, no restraint, no shame. Our chats were no better — explicit, filthy, addictive. If anyone ever read them, they’d think we were writing erotica for a living. Then came the day of his departure.

He hadn’t spoken to Douglas in years, but that hadn’t seemed to bother his old friend. They’d talked for quite some time about Rowena and her situation. Douglas had convinced him to trust that she knew what she needed and had recommended ‘Healing Sex: The Right Approach to Healing Sexual Trauma’ a book that encourages women recovering from sexual abuse to live a normal sexual life again and teaches them how to say ‘yes’ to their own sexual desires and on their own terms. He’d bought it immediately and had been racing through it, trying to nail down a game plan before contacting Rowena. There was no doubt… He’d be consulting it frequently and he wasn’t even halfway through.

I inhale deeply and feel my pulse kick between my legs. My fingers fly across the laptop keys. The clack is steady, almost musical. I pour every filthy, perfect moment of last night into a new post for “Whispers in the Dark.” The words come out raw and dripping with heat. I write about the way he stretched me open, the way he growled my name, the way he made me come so hard I saw stars. Every line is a tribute to his touch, his love, his cock. The city hums far below like a distant heartbeat. Up here, the room feels alive and electric. I lose myself completely in the writing.