Erotica Author
I didn’t expect it, that slip of your skin against mine as we walked, the summertime heat leaving your palm warm. Just the slightest of touches set a spark inside me, igniting my blood; it was the way your fingers encased mine leaving me simmering with desire and an anticipation I dare not express, even to myself. You were just making sure I was safe, weren’t you? Did you know that even the smallest brush of your skin against mine set my emotions in turmoil?
There’s something about every room I wander into that excites me, makes me aroused, just as if the softest of paintbrushes was running over my flesh, brushing the tips of my nipples with its tender sable. I have to slip my hand beneath my top and touch them through my bra to check, the feeling is so convincing. There they are, erect and willing me into each room, this feeling of arousal spreading, brushing my belly into knots and transferring the feeling between my legs as I realise what it is that affects me so: it is the smell of you.
This is the ninth and final short story offering in my series of literary/women’s fiction stories. I’m ending on one of my absolute favourites. This(read more…)
This is the fifth in my series of short stories of a literary/women’s fiction nature. This piece is only about 1500 words, but holds a(read more…)
Welcome to the third in my series of nine non-erotic short stories. This one is quite a short piece, written for Secret Attic about ten(read more…)
This is the second in my series of literary/women’s fiction short stories. “I won’t ever eat the fish” appeared in my head one day when(read more…)
My imagination taunts me: my own hands become his hands against my skin, reliving every touch, every culmination of our messages, and every single year of desire since I first set eyes upon him. Amid the gushing water and the waves of tears I make myself come, because I need to find a release from the excruciating pain that threatens to overwhelm me. The feeling builds, an all-consuming ache that roots itself in my cunt and winds through me like a serpent, at the picture of his face burned on my retina, and the memory of the way I clung to him during the night, finally knowing the fullness of him inside me. The pure energy of the memory threatens to leave me unconscious there under the water, drowning me in my own desire and desperation and salty reprisals.
