15 Erotic Stories BUNDLE: Huge Collection of Individually Sold Short Sex Stories

by Danica Williams

  Iris remained perfectly still, mesmerized by the sway of Gingers’ hips as she moved, sea green eyes widened as Ginger tugged the scarves free and returned to the bed. She felt her body respond immediately, it clenched up tight only to release a few seconds later. This was making her wildly hot, painfully aware of the moisture seeping between her legs.

  “Time to teach you a lesson.” Ginger sang as she fastened the scarves around Iris’s’ wrists, making sure the knot was loose enough for her to wriggle free of, if she wanted, but kept just the right amount of hold, to give Iris the feeling of being bound for Gingers’ personal use. Slowly, Ginger teased a finger along the crack of Iris’s ass; following the curve as it lead her to her dripping entrance, already quivering with want of her touch.

  “Look at that…” Ginger dropped to her knees, planting her face into the crevice of her silky thighs, lightly teasing her clit with her mouth and tongue.

  Iris squealed with delight and wriggled as Ginger lapped up her juices. She moaned softly, turning her face into the covers to muffle the sound.

  Ginger was enjoying the sweet addicting taste of Iris, the scent of her sex, so intoxicating, it almost had her feeling drunk. She curled her fingers along the curve of her ass and gripped it tightly, feeling the firm flesh mold beneath her fingertips. Unabashedly, she invaded that tight hole with her tongue. She was careful not to go too far though, wanting to tease her lover into a state of wonton passion.

  Iris quickly found herself on the verge of yet another moan, her insides clenched so tightly, the coil that mastered her climax was about to unfurl, but Ginger was keeping her constantly on the verge of release, balanced carefully on a ledge, not allowing her to feel the full weight of release. A throb began to form between her legs, hard and powerful, the ache reaching so deep she could feel it in her bones, every nerve ending began to spark to life, sending wave upon sweet wave of bliss along the curves of her body. She wriggled against her restraint, hands curling tightly into fists as she whimpered and moaned. Iris felt herself on the verge of becoming a beggar, defiantly; she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, refusing to give in just yet.

  Ginger watched and sighed happily, she watched Iris squirm and wriggle beneath her careful titillation, a sultry chuckle was released, as sweet Ri tried so valiantly to keep herself under control, still unable to let herself go. Her eyebrows rose, as a sly smirk tilted her lips. She could play hardball too. Without warning, or hesitation, Ginger slammed three fingers deep into Iris, pushing as far as they could go, wriggling her digits to caress and stretch out her slick inner walls. Then she stopped, keeping them tightly wedged inside, she just hovered there, waiting for what was sure to come.

  Iris screamed, a delightful sensation wracking her body, she had tried to remain aloof, and that was quickly coming to an end. Ginger was so far in, but still refused to free Iris from these painful throws of passion. She panted, turning her head to the side; sweat dappled her brow, a glorious mixture of pain and pleasure erupting in her core. “I’m yours Ginger.” She gasped out. Iris wanted sweet climax, begged for it. “I’m yours.” She conceded with a soft cry.

  Ginger pulled her fingers out just enough; only to slam them back in, this time she stretched her walls out even more, pressing further, harder, and faster. But, no. This was not enough “Good girl.” She whispered as she yanked open the drawer to Iris’ nightstand. “I wonder if you still have…” Yes, she did. A dildo Ginger had given Iris as a gift long ago. Iris had mentioned she placed it here, but they had never had a chance to use it.

  “Oh... no Gin!” Iris wriggled, but didn’t break free of the restraints just yet, part of her vividly curious, she wondered what sort of pleasure could be brought from that.

  “Shh…” Ginger cooed kissing Iris at the tender spot between her shoulder blades “I am going to take your virginity Iris…”

  Iris shuddered beneath the kiss, sucking in a rampant breath, bracing herself for what was to come. She would rather have Ginger to this, than anyone else. “I want you to be the one Gin.”

  Ginger slowly caressed the phallic member with her hand, before dipping her fingers into Iris, using her sweet moisture to lubricate it. Slowly she pressed it against her entrance. Thankfully it was not overly large, a mere few inches long and an inch thick. Nothing a budding virgin could not handle if done delicately. Slowly she pressed it in, pushing it past the velvet folds, deep, and deeper into the confines of her constricting body.

  Iris cried out, she pressed her face into the softness of the mattress as her features contorted into a mixture of pain and pleasure. She pushed her hips back to take the thing in further, even though Ginger was moving it at a slow pace. Iris felt her body would respond against her will as she rocked back against it. Gingers hand was firmly on her ass, guiding it in. She felt herself constrict and tighten around its hardness as it pushed ever the more forward, so much further than anything before. She couldn’t take it any longer, something feral snapped within her, she threw herself back and forced the thing so deep inside of her, it caused a momentary snap of pain that echoed through her body.

  “Easy there” Ginger whispered as Iris rocked back and forth, essentially fucking herself. At the moment when Iris had lost control completely she knew her hymen had been splintered. Slowly, Ginger soothed her lover; she caressed her back, urged her to be still a moment, to allow her body to get used to the width and depth. “ Relax.” She whispered in a hushed coo as she slowly retracted, then pushed it back again.

  Iris moaned, a single tear rolling down her cheek as Ginger pressed onward, she built up a delightful friction that forced her to cream herself over and over again. Hopelessly she was lost, rocking her hips back and forth, she begged for more, wanted the pace so desperately to quicken. “Damn it Gin, stop teasing me” she growled as she bucked her hips “Please…”

  Gin hid a smile as Iris finally emerged from her shell, she stood up to get better leverage, placing a hand on Iris’s shoulder, then yanked her back so that her pussy would be forced to accept the entire length of the thing in one fast motion. When Iris moaned, so did Ginger, her thighs becoming slick as she stood there and forced it in and out. Ginger made sure Iris was fucked hard and fast, just like she had asked. Each stroke was a little bit deeper or harder than before. Ginger continued at a relentless pace, until Iris had become a quivering wet mess in front of her. Her only desire was to help her lover reach that final world shattering climax.

  The weight that sudden final release wrenched a loud cry of ecstasy from Iris as she lay there lost in the rapture of feelings, sensations and chills that were sparking to life all along her body, every nerve, every cell was humming with content.

  Ginger wore a proud smile, as she reached down and untied the scarves. In one fluid motion she flipped Iris over to stare into her lustful eyes.

  Iris trembled from head to toe, her legs felt like jelly, she could barely catch her breath, breasts heaved with every inhale she struggled to take. Iris passed Ginger a wicked smile as she laid there, trying to find words to speak, but there were none that could possibly describe what she was feeling right now. “Damn…”

  Ginger grinned playfully as she tossed the dildo aside, and crawled along the bed to snuggle beside Iris. With the utmost care and love, Ginger pulled Iris in and curled up against her. “You can say that again.” Ginger laughed as she placed a kiss to her forehead. “Now get some rest, while I think. We have to have a plan, when we announce ourselves to the world.”

  “But, what about you Gin?” Iris worried at her bottom lip, afraid Ginger was getting the short end of the pleasure stick.

  Ginger cuddled Iris against her “Oh, don’t you worry. I have everything I need, right here and now. Sleep, we will have all the time in the world together after tonight.”

  Iris didn’t have the energy to fight her on this. She was utterly zapped of strength. Perfectly happy to just lay there curled against Gingers nude form. Soon, unlike the previous night, Iris found slumber, she dri
fted to sleep in Gingers arms.

  Ginger held Iris as she slept. Ideas were running rampant through her mind. They had to do this right. Even in this world of high society, they could tackle this situation and rise from it stronger than they were before. How she was going to do that was escaping Gingers realm of thought at the moment. But she refused to give up. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with Iris, nothing was going to hinder that. Not even some pervert with a pension for spying.

  By Danica Williams

  Copyright © 2011 Danica Williams

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental.

  This book contains sexually explicit content and is intended for a mature audience only.

  All persons portrayed in this book are over 18 years of age.

  London, 1850

  By night Moira Bentley dreamed of phantoms. Beautiful beings shrouded in darkness that cast graceful silhouettes on her bedroom wall; images of sensual dances that brought each pair of them closer and closer….until finally they succumbed to the intimacy of the dance, merging together to engage in unspeakable acts that defied all moral convention.

  “Which means they must feel awfully good,” she mused, her senses inflamed by those erotic dreams that haunted her every night.

  She usually played the role of voyeur in most of these nocturnal visions, watching as gorgeous, mysterious beings collapsed together on a shiny dance floor; their lips merged in passionate kisses, their arms and legs entwined, their naked, sweaty bodies becoming one with the night. On occasion, however, the most beautiful phantom—an ethereal male with long, silken auburn hair, wide dark eyes, full lips and sculpted features—parted from the sensual fray; his muscled body standing tall above the chaos as he extended his hand to her.

  Then, blast it, she woke up.

  “Bloody hell!”

  Surging upward in the silken sheets of her floral feathered bed, she took a moment to focus on the calming, beautiful rose print that lined her overhead canopy. It was a beautiful sight indeed.

  “Only not as beautiful as that man,” she sighed, wiping some telltale sweat from her brow and rising from her bed.

  Crossing the room in a few quick strides, she took a seat at the cherry wood writing desk that formed a corner of her bedroom.

  Settling her rubenesque body onto the cushions of a straight back wicker chair, Moira soothed the skirts of her lavender nightgown and took a deep, sustaining breath as she clutched her quill pen.

  Placing a piece of parchment paper at the center of her desk, she wrote three words across the top of the page: The Phantom Lover.

  ****

  One year later

  “Moira, you are an amazing lady.”

  Lord Thomas Caldwell smiled as he accepted a steaming lavender teacup from Moira Bentley, his newest and most successful author at Silver Ridge Books; a premiere publishing house in the heart of London.

  The two now sat in the elaborate drawing room of Moira’s stately manor house, situated in a quiet enclave on the outskirts of the city.

  “Thank you, Lord Caldwell.” Moira cast a quick glance around her living space, relieved to find that her prized drawing room—with its cherry wood furniture, red brocade wallpaper and plush ivory carpeting—was neat, clean and prepared to welcome the most particular guest.

  Only no one can really be quite prepared for Lord Caldwell, she pursed her lips as he launched into a familiar oratory that hurt her ears nonetheless.

  “I still find it difficult to believe that an unmarried woman could manage to pen such great and exciting romances,” he took a deep sip of tea, fixing her with an assessing gaze.

  “Quite the contrary, Lord Caldwell,” Moira forced a small smile, “Many of my married friends have quite despaired of ever again experiencing romance in any form.” She shrugged. “As a solitary female, I am free to dream.”

  Lord Caldwell guffawed outright.

  “Well young lady, your dreams are magnificent,” he admitted. “The ladies of the London ton cannot get enough of your works. The Phantom Lover is our top selling title at Silver Ridge.” The graying nobleman shook his head, eyes wide. “An amazing accomplishment for a woman writer, especially one who dares to use her own name.”

  Cringing slightly, Moira smoothed the sleek skirts of her azure silk day gown across the cushions of her prized floral settee—only at this point she wished that it was Lord Cardwell’s wrinkled, smirking face she could smash against any random piece of furnishing.

  “Well I do hope that my success will encourage you to give other female authors the chance that was offered me,” she said finally, meeting his pointed stare with one of her own. “It saddens me to think of all the great books we’ll never read, simply because their authors didn’t happen to have a…” she bit her lip, suppressing a nasty thought, “…a monocle.”

  Lord Caldwell cleared his throat.

  “I just may have to do that,” he pinned her with a sly smile, “especially as the most successful book in my stable has just been optioned as a stage musical.”

  Moira doubled over, coming dangerously close to coughing up the contents of her tea cup.

  “The Phantom Lover, on a stage?” She shook her head, stunned. “Just so I’m clear, a theatrical troupe is going to act out the scenes detailed in my book,” the color of her face now matching the pearl pink carnations that sat in a tall bronzed vase at her side, “and set them to music?”

  “Um, yes.” Lord Caldwell shifted in his seat. “Only they are not a theater troupe, precisely. From what I gathered they are instead a ballet troupe that incorporates drama into their performances.”

  “Yes, well,” Moira folded her arms before her, cocking her head to one side, “I find that difficult to envision.”

  And that is something of an understatement, she added silently.

  Lord Caldwell reached in to the side pocket of his sleek brown jacket, withdrawing a folded parcel of papers that he handed to a gaping Moira.

  “What you will have no difficulty envisioning, dear girl, is the princely sum that the troupe is offering us to dramatize your work.” He gestured toward the papers. “There you will find their proposed contract, as well as an invitation to their London theater, to see their latest production.” He arched his eyebrows. “The very same place that they will bring your book to life.”

  “If I deem it fitting,” Moira drew herself up and squared her shoulders, adding with a small smile, “I must admit, though, that I am rather flattered at the thought.”

  She stopped a moment to consider Ian, the hero of The Phantom Lover. She pondered just who the troupe would select to dance the role of that exquisite creature who ruled her dreams; the one who filled her nights with visions that represented the embodiment of her secret desires.

  Surely they couldn’t find anyone that beautiful or (ahem) outright limber, she arched a curious eyebrow, even in the dancing world.

  Even Moira had no true model for her hero; a man with carved and impossibly gorgeous features, thick layers of auburn gold hair that fell across muscled shoulders, and wide ebony eyes, he seemed more a dream than a human being.

  In addition, she reasoned, it seemed unlikely that a lean, lithe dancer could portray a muscular man of such hulking masculinity; the type of man that could consume a woman in his deepest embrace, making her feel both worshipped and protected while kissing her quite senseless….

  “Moira, are you quite all right?” Lord Caldwell cocked his head, squinting his eyes in Moira’s direction.

  “Yes, of course.” Jarring herself from her reverie, she sat up straight on the settee and focused her gaze on the invitation that occupied her sturdy grasp; an elegant ivory invite trimmed with pink ribbon and paper lace, that bore a message inscribed in flowing script—words meant only for her.

  “Ballet Noir would be honored by the presence of Moira Bentley, the esteemed author, at the London performance of our current show, A Dance of Lovers, to tak
e place the 23rd of May at Theatre Satine downtown.”

  “Theatre Satine,” she murmured aloud, brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m a lifelong Londoner and I swear I’ve never heard of the place.”

  Lord Caldwell shrugged.

  “From what I understand it is a low profile theater owned and maintained by the troupe,” he explained. “They do seem to be a small and mysterious company, but certainly well endowed.”

  “Well endowed?” Moira squeaked, eyes flying wide.

  “Indeed,” Totally missing the “point,” Lord Caldwell once again gestured toward the papers in Moira’s hands. “They are offering us a substantial stipend to produce ‘The Phantom Lover’ as a full-scale ballet production.”

  Moira nodded.

  “Well that’s very kind of them.” Still distracted and more than a bit aroused, she struggled to focus on the contracts in her hand as images of Ian still haunted her psyche. “I just want to insure that they respect the integrity of my work.”

  And that they find someone delicious enough to play Ian, she added silently.

  Aloud she said, “I’d be more than pleased to attend their show and meet the troupe.”

  “Excellent!” Lord Caldwell clapped his hands together, adding through gritted teeth, “Although I warn you, lass, you may want to take an escort to the show.” He stroked his chin. “Something about these people seems just a bit,” he paused, “unseemly. Bizarre, even.”

  ****

  Ignoring Lord Caldwell’s paternal advice, Moira ventured alone the next evening to Theater Satine; first adorning herself in a rarely worn red silk dress lined with tiny diamonds on the front. A shiny pearl pin held her unruly mass of ebony hair firmly in place, accentuating her wide dark eyes and ivory complexion. A pair of sleek red satin slippers completed the costume, which was not in keeping with her usual mode of dress.

  I guess I’m not quite myself tonight. She smiled as she hopped into the hired coach that would whisk her across the city; delivering her at the front entryway of the magnificent Theater Satine.