Category: eroticliterature

[MF][Romance][Striptease] Very Cold then Very Hot

The day is bitterly cold and freezing rain falls slowly and steadily as it has all day. Millions of icicles dangle off of millions of surfaces that sparkle in the muted light of the low clouds. It is my favorite kind of day. Sweet and slow, warm in this place we inhabit. I am holed up in the spare room that is filled with my art supplies.

On this day of ours, while you are reading on the couch beside the fireplace, we are full of rhythm. Life is average and in that—is beautiful. The washing machine hums a unique beat accompanied by a dish washer. The muted hush of dancing white noise against the steady dripping of the rain outside the windows. The fire crackles and reflects the warm and wavering glow on the skin I’ve loved hundreds of times before. Read more »

Help me find this book! (Possible spoilers)

I hope this is okay! A few years ago (10+ years) I read a strange erotic novel. The man character was a married man, he stumbled across a strange sex group. Involving some kind of supernatural being that when it touches your forehead, you experience incredible sexual pleasure. It gets weirder and it’s very detailed. It has been my first and only erotic novel I have read. I found it at a Salvation Army of all places.

Through the Fog, Part 2: Payton is Lost, [t], [fantasy], [anal], [creampie], [reluc], [long]

Disclaimer: This is a purely fictional story. I’m honestly not sure how many parts this will be since I have no idea where it is going. Feedback and input is more than welcome since this is out of my normal realm of writing. What works, what doesn’t, etc.

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I wake up slowly, and my head is throbbing. I slowly open my eyes and am all but blinded by the sun burning overhead. I turn my head and the motion makes me feel sick to my stomach. Slowly, I open my eyes and I look around, moving my head as little as possible. I listen for any familiar sounds.

*Birds. Well, birds are normal. Water. Water is normal since I live near a bay.*

I get on all fours slowly. My hand brushes against the lantern. Grabbing it, I stand up slowly, still feeling off balance. “Last night was not normal.” I test the lantern. Thankfully it still works and didn’t break. I put it in my backpack and look around. Read more »

Abraham Lincoln’s Log [MF]

The president moved gracefully around the room, experiencing each piece of furniture as if it were new. She watched him from her position in his plush slipper chair, where she’d been reviewing Union expense reports. This was far from her job description, but he knew better than to articulate that thought.

“Am I dreaming?” He paused at the window, looking out onto the snowy lawn.

“This is real,” she assured him. “It’s worrisome you can’t tell the difference, sir.”

“I have such vivid dreams.”

She set the reports aside, her attention refocused on him. “I know you do; I’ve heard every detail.”

A thin, tired smile crossed his face. “You’re weary of me.”

“I’m not. I couldn’t be,” she paused. “I just worry about this sadness.”

“There’s no curing it,” he informed her. “I’m melancholy by design.”

She knew that. She was drawn to it, really; most of her attraction to this man was rooted in desire to cheer his sadness, to feel needed and useful, to focus on him rather than turn that gaze inward. Neither of them had much use for well-adjusted. Read more »