Short Stories

Short erotic stories

The Desire Artist

You know what it’s like. You’re only reading this because you think that maybe you’re different from everyone else. Maybe you aren’t seeing things, feeling things right, but you are. But I’m going to write this anyway. Just so you know. So you can think: well, at least there’s someone else out there who thinks…

Entanglement: Shaken

The night with the sisters haunted Joaquin. What sane, heterosexual man doesn’t fantasize about having two beautiful sisters at once? The warm, busy tongues on his cock, the layered landscape of breasts and buttocks, shoulders and thighs. The pleasure of violent and unmeasured thrusts into dense flesh so perfectly built to take them. That first…

Entanglement: Familiar Curves

For months after Joaquin Ibañez was posted to Saigon as economic attaché, he had no eyes for Western women. The exotic, humid paradise was swarming with motorbikes, ghosts and tiny Asian sylphs. They possessed none of the attributes he’d grown up thinking of as womanly. No hips, no ass, and tits so small he sometimes…

The Slow Act of Love

Just as the monsoon rains hit Hue, I visited the secret garden of Doctor Minh Khanh Nguyen. I’d heard about it from a couple of students snarfing Cao Lao by the canal and getting smashed on cheap rice vodka. “Oh,” said the girl, “I can’t describe it. It’s just too obscene.” Her student boyfriend elbowed…

The Last Word – Part 3

Men. Men and love. It was like being in the driver’s seat of some huge American car, with power everything: steering, brakes, cruise control.  It would start up and take off like a 747, with the windows down and the music playing loud on a massive, sunny six-lane highway, then slowly the day would cloud…

The Last Word – Part 2

Carmen was sitting on the rug, pulling books out of recently delivered boxes and checking them off against her order sheet.  This was not the part of the job she liked the best. Neither, it had to be admitted, was the proofreading sideline. The English language had its rules and she had met very few…

What You Want

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” she said, tugging my hand down the front of her skirt and pressing it home into the hollow of her crotch. The material was thin; there was nothing beneath her linen skirt. The sound of drunken conversation leaked out into the humid air. The shadows lay heavy across…

The Last Word – Part 1

One day soon, she knows three o’clock on a Tuesday will pass and the bell above the door won’t chime. The shop’s old floorboards will not creak under his weight, and she won’t look up, because there will be no reason to. He won’t come bearing coffees from the Starbucks up the street, smelling of…

The Filthy Wound

The first nick came with what Blanche thought was a sincere apology. She was amenable to accepting it because she was enjoying the view: him kneeling between her spread legs, with nothing on but a pair of underwear. It mitigated her discomfort at being so exposed and the ache where the rim of the bathtub…

Enough

He wants it to be easy. He wants it to be quick and quiet and to feel nothing but the urges of his body following their predestined path. He wants simplicity – a bit of friendly fun. Perhaps a reenactment of some two-minute video he used for last week’s wank. Why can’t it be that…