Erotic Short Story: The Mature Student

TheMatureStudentCoverWebA few years older than the other students, mature student Karen feels decidedly out of place and dowdy amongst her younger, more glamourous, classmates. Until one night at the student bar when Elliot, ten years her junior, starts paying her special attention, making her feel desirable and atttractive again, and awakening a rampant long suppressed lust within her. Throwing caution to the wind, she goes back to him room for a night of passion. Things get even hotter when they find his roommate home and eager to join in.

I took a sip of my gin and tonic and smiled, trying to feel comfortable among the younger crowd in the student bar. It was loud. Loud and dark and eclectic. Full of people branching out in the world for the first time, exploring themselves and their new-found independence, experimenting with different aspects of their personality, trying to make an impact on those around them, vying to be seen, to be heard, to have fun, and live it up. And then there was me, desperately trying to get through this course as inconspicuously as possible.

“Right, shots for everyone!” a deep voice announced, placing a tray of shot glasses on the scarred table in front of me. Even the furniture in this room was a ramshackle collection, as if collected from various times and places, seeming to reflect perfectly the diverse looks of those who used it.

A cheer went up from Sarah and Izzy sitting across from me, their flushed faces and loud voices suggesting that maybe they’d had more than enough to drink already. They had, after all, been supping pints of beer for the past three hours, since we’d received the results for our assignment, and it wasn’t even 6pm yet. Continue reading

Erotic Short Story: The Beach

TheBeachCoverWebA young woman escapes to an exotic island resort in an attempt to forget her cheating ex, and finds herself enthralled by a mysterious stranger on the beach. Her imagination runs wild with visions of lustful escapades. Will her fantasies become reality?

I was in a delicious state of bliss. The sun, high in the mid-day sky, blasted my bikini-clad body full force. I was hot, sticky, and wonderfully suspended from reality. Squinting up at the sky, all I could see was an endless dome of deep azure. Closing my eyes against the glare of the sun, I sighed with contentment. My ears were filled with the sound of the gentle lapping of the ocean waves, a quiet beat of reggae music drifting from somewhere nearby, and the occasional squeals of children playing at the shore. I trailed a hand in the sand at my side, the fine hot grains slipping through my fingers like silk. I felt as if I was floating, all the stresses and strains of real life a distant memory here on this idyllic island in the Indian Ocean. Even Justin seemed a million miles away, and a gazillion years ago. Dana had been right, this holiday was doing me the world of good. Continue reading

Erotic Short Story: The Cave

TheCaveCoverWebA bored twenty-one year old girl is on holiday with her parents, and goes on a coach trip to the caves to enjoy some independence. When she notices a young couple sneaking off the tourist path for some sexy fun, she follows them, and enjoys far more than just independence.

Nine o’clock in the morning is most definitely not a time of day I want to greet when I only crawled into bed a poxy five hours earlier. When I’d signed up to go on an excursion to the caves on the other side of the island, prompted by my mother, it had actually seemed like quite a good idea. That had been in the pleasant, alcohol induced good cheer of the evening before. Waking up to my mum’s insistent knocking on my hotel room door however, with yet another pounding headache and a mouth as dry as sandpaper, despite downing two pints of water before bed in a last minute attempt at damage limitation, it seemed like the worst idea in the world. Continue reading

Erotic Short Story: The Waiter

TheWaiterCoverWebA bored twenty-one year old girl is on holiday with her parents, and finds herself fantasizing about the dishy waiter serving them dinner in the hotel restaurant. Flirting is fun… but what happens when her parents leave her all alone with him?

It was the third night of my holiday and I was enduring another dinner with my parents. Actually, I should probably give them a bit of a break and stop complaining about them so much; they might treat me like I’m twelve, but at least they care. Some people have it far worse.

I was feeling in pretty high spirits and ready to party. The parents seemed to be in a good mood too, and were even treating me to a meal in the hotel’s posh restaurant tonight, instead of the cheap canteen. I’m not sure what I’d done to deserve this. Maybe the sun was doing us all some good.

“Jenny and Phil were so pleased with your services last night. Phil seems quite taken with you dear,” I almost choked on my water on hearing my mum’s words.

“Huh?” I managed, wide eyed. For a second the image of Jenny peeling her dress over her head as I climbed off of her husband’s cock flashed into my mind. A dream, I reminded myself, it was just a dream. Continue reading

Erotic Poem: Consumed by You

My every thought consumed by you, in day or darkest night,
and every thought it sends me soaring to the highest height.
Walking through the park one morn and suddenly there you are,
appearing in my mind as if you’re here and not so far.
My body is aflame for you, burning with desire,
each time I wonder when we meet, what passion will transpire.
My knees go weak, my heart begins to drum a faster beat,
all my strength goes into staying upright on my feet.
I gasp a little and groan a bit as blood rushes down below,
my underwear rubs against me and my juices start to flow.
People pass me by, oblivous to what is on my mind,
in my imagination you are taking me from behind.
A copse of trees, there, to my left, would be the perfect place,
for us to hide and send each other into outer space.
Towards me now, here comes a man, smiling at me,
stranger sex could scratch this itch and set my passion free.
I tremble as I picture him, naked between my thighs,
but I cast my eyes to the ground and carefully avoid the strangers eyes.
It’s you I want to push my bare back up against a tree,
and hook my leg behind you as your hardness enters me.
Oh God, the thought is sending pulses through my sweetest spot,
I slip behind the trees alone, feeling oh so hot.
In my mind my legs are wrapped so tightly round your back,
you fill me up and pump so hard, my vision’s turning black.
Waves of pleasure wash through me, it feels so fucking good,
the orgasm you give me as I pulse around your manhood.
My breathing calms I look around and remember where am,
my hand stuffed down my knickers and I don’t give a damn.
Hurry home to me baby, I need to see you soon,
I’ve got a special present I’ve been saving up for you!

Erotic Short Story: Seducing the Boiler Man

I knew I had to have him to moment I answered the door to his knock and he stood there, all stubble and scruff, all manly man.

“I’ve come to service your boiler love,” he said, a line straight out of a porn film. I might have been immune to his rugged charms had I not just spent the morning writing my latest romantic tale of sex and seduction. But my characters were so real to me, the situations I created so vivid in my imagination, the physical effect was as intense as if I was right there. In fact, I couldn’t finish a story without having to satisfy myself, since i didn’t have a husband or boyfriend to take care of my desire. I always made myself wait though, until after my characters had been satisfied too – so my own desire, my own desperate melting need, would translate into the story I was writing.

That’s exactly where I’d been when he’d knocked on the door – coming to the climax of the scene, moist and sticky between the legs, aching to be touched. I’d been five minutes away from fetching my faithful friend to bring me to my own climax as I re-read the scene – as was my routine upon finishing every new sexy tale. So then I found myself staring at this beautiful man, my heart racing, my body crying out to be touched, wondering if he’d been sent as some kind of divine intervention to see to my every need.
Continue reading

Erotic Poem: Don’t You Want Me?

cuddling-268x200It was always different with you, from that very first time I laid eyes on you and you looked not at my cleavage, brazenly displayed, and not at my curves, clearly defined through that short slutty dress, but into my eyes. And even while my body was crying out to be noticed, to be acknowledged, I felt a stirring in some unfamiliar place as your glistening hazel eyes bore into mine, icy blue. Not only a tug deep in my loins, but a tug also, deep in my heart. A door creaking open within me, a candlelight flickering in the shadows that had gathered there, layered thick and heavy, ever since I’d closed that part of me off to the world.
It was unsafe, I knew, to feel anything there. I slammed that door shut and I made you my challenge. I must conquer you. I must have you. I must make you need me, want me, desire me more than anything else in the whole of existence if only for a moment in time. Never before has a man resisted me so. Not in the years of trawling the clubs, gyrating, performing, displaying myself, eventually going home with someone, anyone, to be claimed, to be owned. Not in the years prior to that when, too young to gain entry to the nightclubs, I’d offered myself to any man who’d shown interest – rewarding them for wanting me with a hand job, a blow job, or even a quickie – in the bushes, or in the back of his car, or in the supply cupboard at school. Taking affection in any twisted form I could get it. Lapping it up.
You didn’t respond to my grinding and groping. You held me close instead and slow danced with me. You didn’t respond to my suggestive remarks, but whispered in my ear how beautiful I was, how perfect. You wanted to talk. You wanted to know me. You opened old wounds and you tended them so carefully, so lovingly as salty tears stung my eyes in that moonlit room. Yet still that little part of me needed to win. I knew what men wanted, I knew what they craved. If you didn’t want me there must be something wrong with me? Rejection, all over again. My hand slipped lower, seeking you, needing to make you want me. Your hand pulled my wrist and gently moved it to your chest.
“Don’t you want me?” I asked, my lips numb from your kisses, my body buzzing from rubbing against you as we lay entwined on that couch. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”
“No,” you answered, a lance through my heart, “I don’t want to fuck you. I want to dance with you, play with you, show you the world. I want to know you the woman and you the girl. I want to love you and caress you and shape my whole life around you. I want to mend your heart and wrap it carefully in mine. I want to make you my princess and love you and prove to you my devotion, until I am worthy, until I deserve the honour of laying with you. I want to erase from your memory every man who laid hands on you so disrespectfully. Even then I don’t want to fuck you. I want to worship you. I want to know every part of you inside and out. I want to explore you and please you and take you to heaven with every kiss, every touch. I want to join with you in a union so sweet we will transcend this world, and live in our own. You are my Goddess and I want to treat you as such.”
Your eyes shone truth. Your words, a whisper, a magic key. You opened my heart as the stars danced above and something inside me melted. I allowed myself to need you then, with all of my being. I knew then I would never need anyone else. My saviour.