34 Erotica Short Stories Story # 1: All Night Rodeo Story # 2: Swept Off Her Feet Story # 3: Dripping Wet Story # 4: Big Spender Story # 5: A Good Girl Gone Bad Story # 6: Dominated Behind Closed Doors Story # 7: Dominated In Every Position Story # 8: Image It Story # 9: Penetrated Story # 10: Friends with Benefits Story # 11: Climax Rush Story # 12: Ring Girls Story # 13: Wanna Come? Story # 14: Theresa’s True Passion Story # 15: Dirty Money Story # 16: Bumper to Bumper Story # 17: Tropical Pleasure Story # 18: Striptease Story # 19: Beauty and the Billionaire Story # 20: Licked Clean Story # 21: All Filled Up Story # 22: Cassandra’s Knock Out Story # 23: Love After War Story # 24: Tempted to Touch Story # 25: A Dance with the Billionaire Story # 26: Her First Time Story # 27: Cabana Boys Story # 28: Catching the Bouquet Story # 29: What’s Yours is Mine Story # 30: Pillow Queen Story # 31: Menage A Trois Story # 32: Bicurious Temptation Story # 33: Sexually Obsessed Story # 34: Spread Open WARNING: STEAMY CONTENT. READING DEVICE MAY MELT. HAPPY EVER AFTER ENDING IN EVERY STORY. NO CLIFFHANGERS. ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18.
“There's that guy again, Regan. Look.” I looked up to see the guy Shaquanna was referring to. He was the same guy who'd been coming into the coffee shop where I worked as a waitress every day. I didn't think anything of it. He was probably new in town or just passing through. He shuffled in and sat down in a booth near the window. He carried a green duffel bag that he dropped on the booth seat next to him. I figured he must be military because his green looked Army issue. I took a moment to study him. His medium brown hair was thick and in need of a haircut. Dark stubble marred his jaw and from this far away, I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were. “He’s sitting in your section, Regan. As usual.” Shaquanna grinned suddenly. “Why, I think you got yourself a secret admirer,” she said in a fake southern drawl. She gave the man a closer look. “Your mystery man could seriously use a shower, shave, and a haircut.”
Jill really hated her job. Stuck in a grimy garage, working on cars all day was a drag. She didn’t particularly like cars – and she definitely hated having hands that smelled like grease. But in a small town like Riverston Iowa, there weren’t many options for employment. And growing up with five brothers and no sisters pretty much meant her skills were limited to working on cars and playing football. With no football team in town, she found work in the garage. Most of her days were filled up with fantasies about big city life: dancing in downtown nightclubs, shopping at the trendiest spots, and – her favorite – falling into a whirlwind romance with a billionaire from the big city. Tuesday morning was yet another morning Jill spent engulfed by her fantasies. She was supposed to be working on the old rusty carburetor in Mr. Jamison’s pickup truck, but instead she spent the morning thinking about Lance. Lance was the name of her imaginary billionaire, He’d been around for a few years, haunting her fantasies and providing the loving touch she couldn’t get from real life. Lance didn’t have a face, but when she closed her eyes, she could feel his strong, steady arms around him, holding her closely as they danced for hours. Soon the dancing would surrender to kissing and caressing and his hands would begin to roam down her hips, across her shoulders and through her long brown hair. Then lance’s grip would hungrily dart inside the satin evening gown she’d be clad in. He’d lightly stroke her breasts, brining her n*****s to full flower as his wet, warm kisses would hit her chin, her neck, her shoulders, her chest. Mmmmm, Lance. But then a loud, raspy voice...
It started as an ordinary day at the grocery store. Boring as usual. Mrs. Miller came for her pills and footpads at eleven. Mrs. Chambers dropped in at twelve-thirty and poked around as usual, hoping something would happen to give her something to gossip about. And Amy sat at the front counter, watching all of this nothingness unfold, fighting off the urge to take an eight-hour nap. But at 12:45 something happened to wake her up and give Mrs. Chambers an actual reason to gossip. The mystery lady strolled in. Amy snapped at attention, watching her every move with wide-eyed curiosity. The lady’s petite but curvy frame was wrapped in black leather and lace. Her boots climbed nearly to her knees while her miniskirt didn’t quite get that far. Amy noted a bright red shade of lipstick on her full lips and hair that curled almost halfway down her back. Her look was racy for so early in the day. And for Crimson Valley, South Dakota, it was downright scandalous. She strutted through the breakfast aisle, whistling to herself like somebody without a care. Then she studied the...
Mia loved her job. Writing an advice column for sexually troubled people was a task she was perfectly suited for. She had a therapy degree and an uncanny ability to place herself in other’s people’s shoes. Every day, her inbox greeted her with a new challenge. Monday morning was no exception. Mia read the email seconds after dragging herself out of bed. She hadn’t had her coffee yet, but the email’s explosive content jolted her wide awake. Dear Mia, After years of marriage, my husband and I had become accustomed to wild, passionate s*x night after night – sometimes up to three or four times a day. Taking a break from the email, Mia fanned herself. “Three or four times a day?” she shouted. “Whew!” But lately things have changed. His hours at work have picked up, leaving him exhausted when he comes home at night. To put it bluntly, I want more. I’d love to return to the days of endless lovemaking between the two of us, the days where he would spend hours tickling my body with gentle strokes and licks until I simply couldn’t take it anymore. Mia leaned back in her chair easing her legs apart slowly. It was a challenge to keep her mind from drifting, but she somehow kept reading. The problem is I’m too shy to demand what I want from...
Mia loved her job. Writing an advice column for sexually troubled people was a task she was perfectly suited for. She had a therapy degree and an uncanny ability to place herself in other’s people’s shoes. Every day, her inbox greeted her with a new challenge. Monday morning was no exception. Mia read the email seconds after dragging herself out of bed. She hadn’t had her coffee yet, but the email’s explosive content jolted her wide awake. Dear Mia, After years of marriage, my husband and I had become accustomed to wild, passionate s*x night after night – sometimes up to three or four times a day. Taking a break from the email, Mia fanned herself. “Three or four times a day?” she shouted. “Whew!” But lately things have changed. His hours at work have picked up, leaving him exhausted when he comes home at night. To put it bluntly, I want more. I’d love to return to the days of endless lovemaking between the two of us, the days where he would spend hours tickling my body with gentle strokes and licks until I simply couldn’t take it anymore. Mia leaned back in her chair easing her legs apart slowly. It was a challenge to keep her mind from drifting, but she somehow kept reading. The problem is I’m too shy to demand what I want from him. I usually just accept his neglect in silence, hoping that someday he’ll change. But he never does. If I’m lucky, we have s*x once a week, and even then it’s not very good. I want him to take his time and explore every area of my body. I want his lips, his tongue, his teeth savoring me all over, but he usually just wants to get it over with and to get back to sleep. Like I said, I’m shy, so I’m not so good at telling him what I want. Can you help me, Mia? Unsatisfied Frida Catching her breath, Mia considered... WARNING: THIS CONTENT IS INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES. 18+ ONLY.
“Ease up on the make-up, Brenda,” I said, turning my face away. “That’s way too much mascara.” Brenda gently turned my face back to hers. “Will you be still before you make me mess up?” “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I asked. I was trying to sit really still but it was hard. I wanted to see what I looked like. I never wore much make-up. I guess I never really needed it. Guys seemed to flock to me anyway without it. I hoped it would be that way this time too. “Of course I know what I’m doing,” Brenda snapped. “I did Kari’s make-up the last time. And she wasn’t complaining.” I chuckled. “Ok. Ok. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to look like a tramp or something. And I definitely don’t want this guy getting ideas and pawing all over me.” She put the finishing touches on the mascara and stepped back to admire her handiwork. ”Damn I’m good,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. “You look hot, mama.” “Great,” I said with a frown. Just what I didn’t need. “Can I look now?” Brenda turned the chair so that I was facing the mirror. I barely recognized myself. Wow. I was….hot! “Whatcha think...?”
24 Gay and Lesbian Short Stories Story 1: 50 Shades of Gay Story 2: Ring Girls Story 3: Hard Story 4: Theresa’s True Passion Story 5: Wanting My Best Friend Story 6: Bumper to Bumper Story 7: The Centerfold Story 8: Striptease Story 9: Worth the Wait Story 10: Cassandra’s Knockout Story 11: The Arresting Billionaire Story 12: Tempted to Touch Story 13: Middleman Story 14: Her First Time Story 15: Making Him Mine Story 16: Catching the Bouquet Story 17: Butt Naked Story 18: Pillow Queen Story 19: Three Men in the Woods Story 20: Bi-Curious Temptation Story 21: Stripped Naked Story 22: Spread Open Story 23: Coming In and Then Coming Out Story 24: Licked Clean WARNING: STEAMY CONTENT. READING DEVICE MAY MELT. HAPPY EVER AFTER ENDING IN EVERY STORY. NO CLIFFHANGERS. ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18.
That’s why she was surprised to feel a tap on her shoulder while she had her head in a bin full of microprocessors. She turned immediately, almost catching her afro on the bin’s lid before straightening out. The man before her looked as surprised as she felt. He wasn’t wearing a nametag. “Oh!” His green eyes were wide, his mouth dropping open. “I’m so sorry, I thought you worked here!” Olivia’s eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. Well that was certainly a first. Then she looked down and noticed the outfit she’d chosen that day: a red polo and dark jeans. She let out a sigh. “Yeah, well, you know... gotta blend in.” Olivia mumbled with a tiny wave before turning to escape the situation. “Wait!” She stopped, turning back to face him. He had a nice smile that showed all his teeth. “Do you know if...
Scarlett stared at the sign staked in the grass at the side of the highway. ‘Paradise Peak, population 1100,’ it read; a sign she hadn’t seen since her family had passed it on their way out. It was the same sign though, rickety and worn. It was a wonder the rotting legs hadn’t given out years ago. This was it. Just a few more minutes and she would be home. At the moment though, the idea of coming home seemed more daunting than comforting. Not for the first time on her eleven-hundred mile trek up the west coast, she wondered what the hell she was doing. This had seemed like a good idea six months ago in California. Now though, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d gone just a smidge—or off her rocker—crazy. But it wasn’t crazy, she reassured herself. The oversized, glass-walled monstrosity her family had moved to in California had never felt much like home. Hell, she’d needed to use the intercom to call to the opposite side of the house. No, the quaint, ranch-style house she’d grown up in…that was home. Of course, home was situated in a place where everyone knew absolutely everything there is to know about…well…everyone. So, if she thought she could keep her homecoming quiet, she really was losing her marbles. Realizing she’d slowed to a crawl’s pace, she forced her foot down on the pedal. It was too late to change her mind now. Besides, it was entirely possible nobody would recognize her and she’d at least make it through the day before the Paradise Peak Gazette’s only reporter was banging down her door. She drove the half mile into town and stopped at the nearest...
Elijah paced back and forth across the office of Owen Clarke—his lawyer. He felt like an animal caught in the headlights, just waiting for the inevitable blow that would crush him. A whole team of lawyers, and this was the best they could come up with? If it wasn’t Owen sitting at the desk in front of him, he’d tell the man—the lead lawyer on his case—to go to hell. But Owen had been a good friend for a long time, since before either of them had found their success. If he said the only option was to make some changes, he didn’t doubt the man for a second. That didn’t mean he had to like it. So he flopped back into the leather chair in front of Owen’s desk. “Tell me,” he said with a heavy sigh. “All right. You’ve been Sophie’s sole caregiver her entire life—that’s definitely a point in your favor. But how you’ve been caring for her is what has come under fire.” Anger simmered in his veins, but he closed his eyes and breathed deep in an effort to stop it from heating up to an all-out boil. When Addison had showed up at his door two weeks ago, he never dreamed she would take it this far. “The woman hasn’t shown an iota of interest in Sophie since dropping her off and driving away four years ago. She was two weeks old when Addison abandoned her! And yet she can waltz back into town and accuse me of being a bad father?” This was insane. “It isn’t right, but yes, she can. And she’s got a..."
The words never came and they never left my mouth, instead I just pressed my lips against his and kissed him more passionately than I have ever kissed in my entire life. All of the pain, jealousy, and attraction that I had to hide from myself came bubbling to the surface and I couldn’t help myself from finally giving in. At first, he was shocked by my embrace, but he began to move his soft lips against mine. He wrapped his arms around my body and leaned back, pulling me on top of him as his hands roamed over my backside. His touch was electric and he left a trail of goosebumps everywhere his fingertips grazed. I felt as if I were in a dream again. His kiss grew deeper before he gently bit my lip. I moaned as he...
“Hey Stace. Take a look at this. It’s right up your alley.” I glanced up from my book at my roommate Emma, who was holding a newspaper. “What is it?” She scanned the paper. “This daycare wants pre-k a teacher for their 2-year-old class. This has your name all over it.” I wrinkled my nose. “Um no thanks.” “I thought that you wanted to work in childcare.” “Nooooo, I want to work with children.” Emma frowned. “Okay. Isn’t teaching the same thing?” “Nope.” I looked over at her. “I don’t want to have a whole group of ankle biters. I want a nanny job. Preferably, a live in nanny position. That would be better.” Emma spread her arms. “How cool would that be to have your own little class? They would be so cute. And-” “Then you do it,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t have those types of aspirations.” “Then what is it that you want?” I sighed. “Chelsea got a job as a nanny. Remember? She got to travel with the family on vacations. Had her own room and access to their kitchen and pool. And she got paid well. Very well.” “Yeah but the parents were both like famous surgeons or something.” “True. But that’s what I want.” Emma tossed the paper in our recycling bin. “You know gigs like that come once in a lifetime. She got lucky.” I snorted. “I’ll just be honest. I want to make a lot of money without expending a lot of energy.” “That’s everybody’s dream,” Emma said, opening her book. “But some of us have to study. We’re not all born with good looks and daddy’s credit card.” I shook my head, not the least bit offended by her words. I knew I was one of the lucky ones. My dad had his own business and my mom was a prominent doctor. There was no need for me to sweat. There were plenty of eligible young men after me with their fathers’ money at their disposal. I wanted to be kept, coddled like my daddy had done for me all my life. While many of them were cute and all, I wasn’t interested. I wanted someone a little older who was already established. And- The alert chime went off on my phone. I picked it up, thinking it was another tedious invitation to dinner from one of the little rich boys that had been calling lately. But no. It was the nanny agency that I worked for...
Dave reluctantly got to his feet, pulling Joey up as well. They ran through the rain and the storm to their cabin laughing as they got inside and tumbled onto Joey’s bunk. “Oh, we are so sleeping in yours when we’re done. Mines going to be soaked.” Joey rolled them over so he was on top, reaching for the button of Dave’s jeans. “You won’t hear any complaints from me. With the power out, it’s going to get cold tonight.” Dave stripped off his shirt and tugged at Joey’s pulling it over his head. Joey kissed him and got up to open the locker. “You’re okay with this?” he asked, shucking his pants and underwear...
WARNING - THIS BOOK CONTAINS STEAMY EROTICA GAY SCENES AND IS MEANT FOR MATURE AUDIENCES. 18 AND OVER ONLY! Once they were in the elevator, Troy crowded Adrian against the wall, kissing him slowly and making him moan. Antonio stroked his back, hand drifting down to cup Troy’s arse, whispering about how beautiful they both were. Finally the elevator tone rang out and the door slid open. They tumbled into the hallway, quickly getting down to their room and getting the door open. Troy shut the door behind them and Adrian pinned Antonio against the wall, kissing him again and grinding against him. Troy moved behind him and held his hips. “Is that what you want?” he asked. “You want to be in the middle...?”
“I'm never going to date again!” Sarah swore vehemently, standing in the middle of their hotel room, objecting to her best friend Callie's insistence on a “girl's night out.” “I'm going to join a nunnery, stave off men altogether. So I most certainly have no interest in hanging out at a bar where there will be scumbags aplenty,” she insisted petulantly. It really wasn't all men that Sarah was exasperated with, but rather the string of men she'd managed to attract who should have come with warning signs, like “Scumbag King,” “Super Sloth,” or “Lying, Cheating Dirt-bag.” “I'm not trying to find you a husband, Sarah...just a good lay. Or hell, a little flirting is fine with me,” Callie explained patiently. “You've been out of the game for months now. And I get it, you had some bad luck. But, it's time to get back on the horse—at least long enough to take one out for a ride.” Bad luck was an understatement in Sarah's opinion. In the past three years since graduating from college, she'd wound up dating a gambler who had maxed out her credit cards behind her back, and a deadbeat who, it turned out, was not a video game designer as he had said, but rather a fanatical video game player. The latest in her string of “bad luck,” a compulsive cheater who couldn't keep it in his pants—even in the midst of her twenty-fifth birthday celebration. She'd darted off to her bedroom to look for a sweater and ended up finding her sister riding her boyfriend like he was a bucking stallion. “Is this the line for pony rides?” Sarah had asked dryly before turning around and walking out of the house. She wasn't angry at her sister; Liz hadn't known the scumbag was her...
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