Category: eroticliterature

So, if ya'll haven't heard of Yik Yak, it's a social media site where people can posts 150 character posts, but your identity is completely anonymous, and you only see "Yaks" from people in a 1-2 mile radius of you. Each "Herd" is based around a College Campus so it's a way for it's students to communicate on a large scale to their fellow classmates.

Around 9:00pm, I anonymously posted the following question: "English majors are great sexters, athletes are good in bed, artists are kinky; so what is a business majors specialty?" 45 comments later, MSU had it's very own erotica fiction: 50 Shades of Maroon.

"8 50 pm, Thursday. A breeze rolls through my open window, carrying in the scent of dew-covered magnolias outside. Reminded of your delicate form, my pants stretch under the evidence of my arousal."

"Moaning, his lips stole her breath while his fingers traced her thigh. She whimpered when his teeth grazed her bottom lip, and a delicious warmth began to grow in her core."

"Tingling as though with electricity her hand makes for his belt. His pupils dilate; a sharp inward breath breaks through his quivering lips. Growling under tension, he pushes her flat onto her back." Read more »

I wasn’t in to Dirk’s plan. So that night, I ignored him. I got trashed at a bar further downtown in Miami and hit on several groups of girls. None of them were interested. I vaguely remember some big dude stepping between me and some other chick and yelling in my face. I swung at him. He socked me in the face. I remember me throwing a chair. We were restrained by bouncers and I was thrown to the pavement. I woke up in our hotel room the next morning with a white hospital bracelet on my wrist and a bandage on my cheek. I didn’t recall anything. Dirk was, once again, not there. I checked my phone and saw a ton of texts from Anjali. I only knew it was her because the first message said; “Hey this is Anjali.” I drank coffee and rehearsed a plan. I would go to her room and we’d have a quick pity fuck. I wasn’t sure how functional my cock would be after the previous night, but I’d manage. I would make sure that she sucked my cock for at least five minutes. I don’t leave these situations without lips having been around my cock. I’d tell her I didn’t think she was my type, get dressed and go. I made sure to remove the bandage before I left, because despite her insecurity, I didn’t think Anjali would want to fuck a mummy. I arrived at her room and rang the bell. Nothing happened. I rang it again. I thought she probably wasn’t there. But she opened the door and stood with her arms crossed, once again wearing a t-shirt and her underwear. In the background, buck-naked: Dirk. I couldn’t fucking believe it. “Hi Dennis,” she said, matter of a fact. “Hey…” I said. “What!?” There was a pause. “What,” she said, “is you’re a neglectful shit-brain. You promise me we’ll hang out again, and you don’t answer my texts. ‘It’s okay, Anjali, you’re such a special person. Your Mom just doesn’t realize it.’” She pointed a finger at me. “Bullshit. You just wanted to have sex with me. You’re a shithead male stereotype, do you know that? Well, guess what? Two can play at the game you’re playing. How old are you, anyway?” “Nineteen. What does that matter, you—“ She looked kind of surprised. “Nineteen,” she said. “Well I don’t know how many women you play these games with, but I hope you get AIDS before your twenty-fifth birthday.” “Thanks for granting me that six-year window,” I said as the door shut on me. I walked away. The door opened behind me and I heard Dirk call, “We’re still on buddy.” At first, when Anjali had used the word game, I’d thought that Dirk had let her in on the moan game. But I realized she was more likely referring to me being a manipulative douche. But I now saw what Dirk meant when he’d said, “No. Those same chicks.” I bought a coke from the machine downstairs. I took a long swig and thought of how two would, indeed, play at that game. Read more »