Written Erotica Novels & Stories

My mate’s best friend and I were fucking like high school sweethearts in the back of the big car. Her passion climbed, grew greater as I screwed her. Jenny was calling out her rapture, clinging to my body as we mated. What we were doing was new, exciting, and erotic as hell so my stamina was critically short. I breathed a warning to her, she pushed me up, looked me in the eyes, and offered herself completely, “Cum. Cum in me, I want it.” I arched my back which forced my erection as deep into her as it would go then stopped holding back. I flooded her with my discharge while she smiled up at me.

Elias’s eyes narrowed. Mia slapped my face hard. “Answer him, slut.” “I… I fucked Ryan,” I whispered shamefully. “In the motel. I rode him while he slept at first… then he woke up and hate-fucked me.” Elias chuckled darkly. “Pathetic. Mia, show her how a properly trained toy behaves.” Mia immediately crawled between Elias’s legs and took his cock back into her mouth, sucking him with wet, sloppy, devoted strokes… deepthroating him until her nose pressed against his pelvis, gagging but never pulling away. Elias groaned in pleasure.

“My after-class project. My desperate little slut who traded her dignity for a letter on a page.” His words were filth, and they poured over her like hot oil, searing her shame and transforming it into fuel. Her climax built with terrifying speed, coiling from the very brutality of his fucking. She was sobbing, pleading, begging for it, for him, for the oblivion he offered. “Please…” “Come for me, Elara,” he commanded, his own control fraying, his thrusts becoming wild, uncoordinated. “Come on your professor’s desk. Show me you accept your terms.”

Suspended feet above the ground, cold night, wild breeze, but the warmth pooled at Aria’s core beats it. She had only imagined this, every morning she saw Victor on the mountains, imagined his thick lips kissing her everywhere, his strong arms pushing her to the wall, his tongue flicking his clit, and his thick cock in her mouth; everything was spot on, just like she had imagined it, but she was not the only one thinking of this day.

His touch was all I needed. My hungry hole ached for more. My fingers were not filling me enough. I let out a low growl before withdrawing my hands. Fuck Daniel, I sighed. Before my hands were enough. The images of my men from erotica were enough. Now nothing felt good enough. I sat up and opened the drawer beside my bed. My eyes fell on a vibrator—black, thick, and long. My fingers curled around it before taking it out. I leaned back into the mattress, bending my knees and parting my legs.

he replied, though they both knew there might not be one. Clara straightened, her heels clicking softly as she walked away, leaving the room heavy with the scent of sex and sweat. Behind her, Daniel remained pressed against Michael, their breaths mingling in the quiet. The night had been exactly what it was meant to be—wild, untamed, and utterly consuming. A gift taken, used, and savoured until there was nothing left but the slow burn in their bodies and the echo of what they had shared.

My entire on-screen sexual history. Now I'm staring at a script titled After Hours that reads like someone ripped the pages straight out of someone's private fantasies. Full-frontal scenes. Extended sex sequences. No cutaways. No clever angles. The director, Elena Voss, is famous for wanting "authenticity"—which in her world means the actors actually feel desire, not just pretend to. She told my agent flat-out: "If Maya can't sell real heat, Sofia Marquez is waiting in the wings."

Well there was only two weeks left to enjoy her and I was doing that as much as I could. Not that I didn't actually enjoy the class itself as I had indeed been writing for the last couple of years. The only problem was what I was writing was dirty stories, or as the web sites called it; erotica. I was pretty good at it and at the urging of my then girlfriend Julie, had submitted a few to a story site named Erotic escapes where under the pen name hotforteacher I'd gotten some pretty good reviews.

She turned toward the board and wrote two words in clean, deliberate strokes. Erotic Writing. Oh. It was that ‘shift-in-your-seat’ kind of class the entire time. Less of discomfort, more of… you know what? Maybe it was discomfort all through. Didn't exactly feel “hot” hearing your fifty six year old lecturer talk about libido and how to make it bend to the rules of literature. By the time the class ended, half of my mates were either zoned out or creeped out. “Your assignments for the day are already up on the class platform. Submission’s three days from now. Please don't force my hand” she closed her textbook, the usual sign that we could leave now.

“Your body is a traitor. I can smell your arousal. It’s as potent as your hatred.” She wanted to deny it, to spit a venomous reply, but the words died in her throat. He was right. The constant tension, the threat, the raw, dominant energy he exuded had become a twisted aphrodisiac. The burn of the chains, the cold of the cell, the heat of his gaze; it was all mingling into a dangerous cocktail of sensation that left her wet and aching. “You’re imagining things, dog,” she whispered, her voice lacking its usual conviction.