Writing Erotic Stories Novels & Stories

But gosh, that cock of his was fine, stretched out towards me like it couldn't wait to have me. He ran a hand over his dirty brown hair. Why was I just noticing his biceps, his broadened chest and taunt abdomen? I had been reading an erotic story the day he must have caught me touching myself. How he'd seen me, I didn't know. I'd worn a dress that very day, reading the story through my phone. When I noticed I needed a release due to the sexual tension, I'd raised my dress to my thigh... Since the lights in the train constantly blinked and there had been no one around me, I managed to take off my panties.

“Round one more time before we head back, baby. Let’s celebrate properly.” He entered her slowly, then fucked her with deep, claiming strokes — a perfect mixture of love and raw lust. Their moans echoed through the cabin as they reached climax together one final time. Their forbidden story wasn’t over. It had only just begun.

“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.”

What our story is, from what I myself have just said, I already have the answer, but I wanted to hear from his lips, to know what he thought our story was. "I'm the one asking you that question, Ethan!"--- I take my cup.--- "What our story is to you." "An erotic, almost sexual poem."--- He begins to answer.--- "It is short like a poem, where most of what it tells you is about that, sex. But not just any sex, one that you forget after a few minutes. One that is remarkable, with orgasms so powerful they take you to the moon with such. They are remarkable moments despite everything, despite the short time you have together. You will know that it will soon be over, but you will remember every mo

My voice was shaky as I spoke. I saw her smiling before she finally spoke, I black eyes were shining with something I couldn't quite name. No… the opposite of what I was wanting to hear from her… your writing was loving and powerful. I love your story because I love erotic stories myself and I'd like to talk more about it with you. “So are you free this weekend Come to my place Sunday at eight.” I felt my heartbeat increase is it the test that I don't want her to give me that she wants to give me in her house? Or is it something else? I asked myself.

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.

“Okay. So how do I even start?” “Like any other conversation. Start slow. Let it simmer. You don’t go straight for the clit, right? You tease, you build it up. Do the same here. You could start with the classic ‘what are you wearing’ line, but if you want something that really works… tell a story.” “Story?” she echoed. “You mean, like, read erotica?” “No, I mean tell him something from your life. Something hot, or something that could have been hot if it’d gone just a little further. Something real—then spice it up. Let your imagination play with the memory.”

What I found was a world of explicit, detailed stories about aunts and nephews. Stories of seduction, of secret affairs, of dominant young men and submissive older women. I read one, then another. My face grew hot, my breathing shallow. Without even consciously deciding to, my hand slipped under the waistband of my linen trousers, my fingertips finding my clit, already sensitive from last night. The stories were graphic, filthy, and utterly compelling. They painted pictures of aunts who were initially reluctant but secretly hungry, who were awakened by their nephew's bold desire. They talked about submission, about being called names, about the thrill of the forbidden.

Another orgasm was building fast. “Harder, please….” He obliged. His hips snapped forward brutally. One hand fisted in her hair, the other rubbed tight circles on her clit. The new angle made him hit that perfect spot inside her with every thrust. Lia came again, harder this time. Her walls fluttered and clenched around him as her legs shook violently. Ethan cursed, slamming into her through her orgasm, chasing his own release. “Gonna fill this pussy up,” he grunted. “You want my cum, don’t you?”

There was an odd swear word in it but it seemed right for the context'. 'Did it turn you on?' I asked simply. Julia now flushed bright red and did not answer. 'Your face tells me that it did. I'm glad, which is what it's supposed to do. Did it offend you?' 'No. How could a lovely story like that offend me?' she asked in return. 'What better definition of erotic writing do you want. Something that is not offensive but is a turn on both mentally and physically' 'Do you think that that story is true?'