Steamy Stories Novels & Stories

Jared, a 17-year-old boy, struggles with his forbidden desires for his stepmother, Elena. After a dinner where her presence overwhelms him, he retreats to his room, consumed by fantasies of her. Using lube, he masturbates while imagining Elena in explicit scenarios. ********************************* Jared’s heart pounded as he shut the door to his room, the weight of the evening’s dinner still lingering in his mind. His stepmother, Elena, had been there, her presence a constant, intoxicating distraction.

Definitely not trying to seduce just the steam sticking to the mirror, the accidental press of bodies in the tight space, the forbidden pull of best friend's brother coming into my house. His eyes went down to my lips, which were open in a gasp, and then down to the very quick breathing of my chest, the nipples of my breasts through the fabric being stretched. "Lila..." His voice roughened, free hand twitching at his side, fighting the pull. Mine mirrored, rising to his chest to push? Or steady? The touch lingered, feeling his heart thunder under my palm. The seduction bloomed unintentional: humidity making my skin glow, his drunk haze blurring lines, our the steam.

Well, I can't fuck myself, someone has to do the fucking" I replied. He chuckled. I returned to his cock, sucking like a slut in heat. I made sexual sounds to excite him; years of watching p**n and reading erotic stories had taught me that men love hearing erotic moans from women, even if they are just for effect, not because my pussy is actually getting stimulated. The New York best selling romantic novels were my best companions during my college days.

His length stays upright, standing tall as a blatant dare. I crawl over his waist, leaning down to press a quick, mocking kiss to the tip before positioning myself over his thigh. Now I just want to see how far I can push him. How much of that calm, stubborn control I can strip away. “Tell me a Bible story, Brock,” I whisper, slowly guiding his tip to my aching cunt. “I heard you used to be quite the storyteller in your youth.” I lower myself onto him, but I stop halfway. I refuse to take the full length. When dealing with a man who can split you in half, holding back is the only way to survive.

Her world was reduced to the push and pull of flesh, the taste of salt and sweat, the burn of stretch, the shocking warmth of internal releases, and the thick, cooling splatter of cum on her skin. Through it all, Sam was her anchor in the storm. His smooth hands would occasionally stroke her hair, her cheek. His voice would whisper in her ear, dark and proud. “You’re taking them all, baby. Every single one. You’re my perfect, filthy fantasy.” And each time, a new wave of desperate, shameful arousal would crest within her. The final man—the gruff one from the very beginning—finished with a roar, pulling out of her well-used pussy to paint stripes of cum across her stomach and breasts. Then, s

“Fills me so deep I can feel him in my stomach. Look how stretched I am. Look how wet. This is what you get when you call a woman cold in bed. This is what real want looks like.” Roman groaned like he was dying and came again, flooding me a second time, cock pulsing hard and deep. I felt every thick spurt, the heat of it filling me until it leaked out around his shaft in heavy white streams that ran down my ass and onto the sheets, perfectly framed for the camera and every viewer. He pulled out slowly. I stayed open, legs spread wide, and reached down with two fingers to scoop his cum, holding it up to the lens so the light caught it.

"Girls! I want your steamiest, slutiest fantasies. Every single one of them. Karen, you go first." Karen was eager, voice husky. "I would give anything to be tied up in a room filled with strange men. Naked by the way. Each of them taking turns on all my holes until I can't take anymore." She bit her lips, pressing her legs together to ease the ache in her snatch.

as Gwen lowered down and began sucking on the juicy meat, kissing and caressing her stepmother's skin. These were the kinds of thoughts that kept him up at night. Furiously stroking away, that is. Imagining and dreaming... hoping and praying! Though knowing that never in a million years could his mother-daughter threesome experience ever come to fruition. It was the kind of thing left to outlandish p**n videos and subpar smut. The kind of unbelievable, entirely outrageous story lines where several sexy women just miraculously throw themselves at a young, horny man – as if his penis possessed some ungodly power that women found irresistible. No, not Harry... he knew better than to equate real

Hunter’s hand tightened in my hair, while Kyle braced both hands on the wall, his head tipped back, and his mouth open in a constant low groan. The water kept pouring, running down their chests, over my breasts, and dripping from my hard nipples. Steam made everything feel closer, hotter, and more intense, and my pussy throbbed between my legs, aching to be filled again, but I wasn’t done with their cocks yet. I wanted them shaking, leaking, and begging before I let them have more.

His rolled up sleeves reveal the thick veins in his forearms, and the scent of him, that woodsmoke and sharp musk, seems to drift across the rows of desks, clogging my lungs. "Most writers fail because they are afraid to feel," Professor Tyler begins, his eyes snapping back to mine for a split second before moving on. "They describe a scene like a blueprint. But a story is not a blueprint. It is an experience. If you want your reader to bleed, you have to describe the coldness of the blade. If you want them to burn, you have to make them feel the heat of the skin."