Illicit behind the scenes of my Dreams Part one
The Library is delighted to present a very promising and prolific newcomer next! She says that her heart belongs to her pen. A visit to her tumblr reveals that and so much more.
Making her way onto the dais to make her Library debut, please welcome Monica leu, also known as…
I dreamt of his hands,
Gliding gently across my back.
Up and down.
He knotted his fingers in my hair
And pulled me in for a kiss.
It wasn’t just an ordinary kiss.
He poured all of his want and need into it
Reminding me that he has been waiting
To have me.
Waiting to claim me as his own.
“You’re beautiful,” he gasps.
He rolls me beneath him, his kisses traveling
Until his lips skim my panties.
He glances up at me and smirks.
And I know I’m in trouble.
Trouble that will can only end one way.
Without Expectation of Perfection
The literary kitten returns to the Library to get the festivities rolling along today with a demonstration of the power of one’s own imagination.
Stepping atop the Library dais once more, please welcome back…
"So what do you think would fill your hunger?"
She became acutely aware of his body the instant his question settled into the space between them. His limbs were long and strong, and she wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like if he held her close, like a lover would. Would he be warm, and would his scent wash over her with the power of an aphrodisiac? Would his arms surround her like bands of steel? Would she feel his heartbeat? Would it echo hers?
Her breathing deepened, as she suddenly seemed to need more air. Her lungs felt tight, as though what air was there was being sucked in by him. And yet, all he was doing was sitting back, sipping his drink, watching her. The smile that curved his lips made her suddenly aware of her own lips, and how they felt heavy with the hunger for his teeth and tongue. Would his kisses make her wet with need for more? Would they drag moans of delight from her parched throat? Would he coax his way into her mouth and ravish her there?
She swallowed at the thought of his tongue in her mouth, and immediately a vision arrested her inner eye, causing her to inhale sharply. If what she saw were ever to come true, he would not be sitting back in a chair across from her, watching her struggle to give voice to her needs. If what she saw were ever to come true, she would be up against the wall, the air fraught with danger around them, the anticipation of his touch a palpable thing between them.
Like a portrait, the scene unfolded before her inner eye. Her head back, so he would not feel the telltale rasp of shaved hairs on her chin, so he had access to the scar she could not hide that marred her throat where they had removed a part of her thyroid. Or so he could reach the little hollow behind each earlobe, where she spritzed a different fragrance each day. Or so he could begin in the valley between her collar bones and make his leisurely way down through the gorge between her breasts to…wherever else he wanted to go for his taste tests.
She could see him lift one leg and wrap it round his hip bone, because he knew it would go no higher — she was not, when all was said and done, a ballerina, but she was limber for all that. She saw his hands wander over the flesh of that leg, felt his fingers admire the hard muscle of her calf as he traced its curved line down her leg to her ankle. He didn’t seem to mind that it was no longer slender, or that her toenails were unpainted.
She could feel that same hand smooth its way back up the inside of her leg, to her inner thigh, where he played with the silky, darker flesh, made so by the rubbing of her legs together, flesh on flesh. His other hand, while he was teasing her, steadied her on the leg left on the ground. And as his hand did walkabouts upon her flesh, as he teased her senses, both their breathing hitched.
She looked up, and his glass was empty. How long had she sat there, a silent witness to his patient demand that she tell him her most intimate dreams? Could she reveal the need for tenderness that rolled inside her, and made her weep with regret at the certainty of its never being hers? Could she expose her vulnerable heart, where fanciful romantic desires had made a home, despite her ruthless efforts to dislodge them?
Someone — the waiter she supposed — refilled his glass, and he sipped again, before placing it on the table before him.
"Are you ready to tell me now? Or will you concede that what I told you is true? Will you agree with me that I know you better than you ever imagined, and that I know what will fill your hunger?"
She looked him in the eye, a moment before lowering it to the vision of his body making one with hers again and again against a wall, in the resounding darkness of a rain-washed night. Her vision assailed her; his passion and power and aching tenderness…his love disarmed her, undid her, fulfilled her. He deployed his hands, his mouth, his teeth, his tongue, his words…nothing was neglected in her seduction. The answer to his question was there, in the things she was seeing, the things she could never hide from herself, the things he already knew.
hey i was wondering if you knew anymore like toy shopping by stark arts? i love your blog btw!
Hi there Anon!
That story is one of my favorites too! Check out the tag “public sex" for others like it.
Thank you for your question and your kind words.
"I like my books like I like my playmates - hardbound."
Model: Robyn Lawley
Photographer: Stephen Chee for Cosmopolitan Australia
Welcome to the latest edition of Erotic Storybook Saturday! Let your fingers (and hands and lips and mouth and…) wander as some of the finest erotica writers in the Tumblrverse share their salacious stories, randy readings, passionate poems and scandalous selfies. Want to share your own works? Just read the Library Rules and visit the Library Submit box. And of course, your questions, suggestions, feedback, recommendations and reviews are always welcome in the Library Ask box.
Thank you for visiting our Library! Please enjoy your stay!
Show Me Love
This next writer confesses to having been blocked during this summer. She expects her upcoming return to college will provide ample “inspiration” for her writing though. In the meantime, here is her most recent work.
Returning to the Library dais, please welcome back…
Thursday night, July 10th.
He was light skinned, fit, dark hair, and caramel like eyes. His lips were plump, inviting, soft, and the way they felt when he kissed her, when his hands caressed her soft tan skin, when he held her close to his body… no words could ever describe that feeling.
She remembered the first time she saw him: gelled up hair, aviator sunglasses, black leather jacket, t-shirt, blue jeans and boots. She wore a red skirt with white flowers on it, and a white tank top; she remembered sitting in the front seat with a friend as she argued with him about her taste in music; He liked Metal, she liked Ska. He liked Sci-Fi, she wasn’t a huge fan. They’d been arguing since day one, she thought and laughed.
He taught her how to wrestle and she remembered his sarcastic smirk every time he won, it always gave her a mix of feelings between punching and kissing the hell out of him. They fought all the time about silly little things and it was actually quite fun every once in a while. It was their bickering that brought them so close, in between little fights the little things that were said, when he told her he liked her, when she told him she liked him. They had just finished wrestling the night they finally got together and decided to be a couple.
Almost a year later, and they’d gotten into a heated argument about her jealousy, but since they had company they decided to drop it until they had cooled down and had time alone to talk. The night went on, they went out with friends and did some small talk with each other when possible. When they reached the house again, he thought of just going to bed but then reconsidered when he saw how mad and even kind of sad she looked.
She took her shirt off and stayed in her bra and her skirt; she crawled up in bed and looked at him gesturing him to come talk. He looked at her, she was his baby girl no matter what or how much of a pain in the ass, she was his pain in the ass; forever and always.
He got up, lit up some candles, turn off the lights, and went to bed with her where he laid down and she sat on his lap. They started talking about their fight, she explained why she felt the way she did, he did too.
She started to cry and he wiped her tears away gently as he looked at her. His hands caressed her waist softly as he held her and told her everything was ok and that he loved her. He pulled her close to him and kissed her, his hand travelling down her back, up and down her skirt softly. She kissed his neck and whispered that she loved him to his ear as she starts to grind softly her body against his.
He looks into her eyes, cupping her face in one hand. “I love you,” he said.
“Show me,” she said. “Make love to me.”
He lifts her gently above his lap, she moves her skirt out of the way and he slides in; a soft moan escapes her mouth as she looks into his eyes and kisses him. Their kisses turn hungry, passionate, as their bodies consume themselves; the heat generating from their bodies filled up the room.
His hands danced down her back and grabbed at her ass pulling her as close as possible to him, allowing him to slide in and out slowly but deeper with each and every thrust; her moans and her hot breath down his neck sent chills down his body and made him even harder inside of her.
He kissed her neck as well and her chest, nibbling on her nipples and massaging her breasts softly. In a heartbeat, he held her body close to him, and sat up. Their bodies hugging each other, his legs crossed under her, and her legs wrapped around him. They rocked their hips back and forth, kissing, moaning, breathlessly loving each other.
He could feel her get tighter and knew she was about to cum. Her fingers tugged at his hair and she lost her breath as he shifted back and forth fast.
“Cum, baby…” he told her, and she did.
He laid her on the bed, their hips never separating. His arms held his body above hers, her legs wrapped around his waist as he slammed his hips into hers. Her moans grew louder, and she lost her breath saying his name over and over again. He sank himself in her for a moment, his lips kissing her neck, nibbling at her ear making her shiver.
“I love you,” he said his breath so hot next to her ear making her get tighter around his cock as he went in and out, “I’m yours,” he slid in deeper with each statement, “you’re mine.” He thrusted again, “My love,” again, “my rose,” and again deeper than ever “my queen.”
Her nails carved into his back as she came again again and again, melting into his arms, his kisses, their bodies becoming one as they came together.
His debut just last month was met with a rousing chorus of likes and reblogs. Today, he returns to open this week’s chapter.
Making his way back atop the Library dais, please welcome back…
“I’m bored” he murmured in her ear, his lips and teeth working down her neck.
His hands first on her hips, pressing her firmly back against the wall, and then inching slowly up to her waist. Strong hands, with a tight grip.
Hands with a purpose.
Hands meaning business.
The lights dimmed, then brightened. Intermission was ending and the crowd filtered past them in the hallway, heading back to their seats. He hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. Wagner. All that sturm und drang left him cold.
“I want to do a test.” Nibbling at her ear lobe
“No” she said. “I want to see the second act.” She said it because she felt obligated — they had planned the evening long ago, spent a fortune for the tickets, and had both dressed for the occasion. She’d bought these new badass heels and loved how the slinky sheath felt against her body. She was enjoying the ravenous way he had been watching her all evening.
But there was no conviction in her voice. Whatever desire she had for being in her seat when the curtain rose again was swiftly being replaced by a more urgent, elemental desire. His hands crept from her waist up her torso, stopping just short of her breasts.
“Stop it. People are staring.”
“C’mere then.” He gripped her arm firmly and pulled her toward a door marked “exit” a few feet away.
Once in the stairwell, he spun her around so that his back was against the wall and her back against his chest. His lips at her ear.
“Let’s see how long this takes.”
Sex for them wasn’t usually a hurried affair. Sunday, for example, they had spent the entire day naked, the sun on the bed, some fresh strawberries from the market and the morning papers, and they just explored each other. He mapped her body with his lips and his tongue and his teeth, from the nape of her neck to the soles of her feet, touching every cell of her. He spent what seemed like hours with his head between her thighs.
But sometimes, they craved it quick and dirty. Quick. And dirty. Both.
His hands on her. Owning her flesh. Pressing, kneading, pulling at the fabric of her dress. Both of his hands gripping her neck. Both hands on her shoulders. Both hands on her breasts, starting with the soft, neglected flesh underneath and them working up, squeezing them. Hard. Her nipples instantly stiff at his touch. Both hands probing, scraping, digging into the flesh at her core, then on to her waist. Both hands sliding down the front of her thighs, pulling her legs apart. Both hands lifting her hem, exposing her panties, so wispy they hardly existed at all. Both hands tracing a line up her inner thighs.
She leaned back against him and closed her eyes. God it felt good. He felt good. His hands seemed to have cataloged and recorded every desire she had ever had to be touched. From the first moment they met — when their conversations were still awkward and tentative — his hands and her body seemed lifelong companions. Like they shared a prior life.
“On your mark … “
He cupped her mound in his right hand and she gave a soft moan. She was already soaked. He pressed his fingers against her slit through the lace of her panties and began rubbing her in a circular motion. Without conscious thought, she spread her legs further to welcome his touch. His left hand returned to her breasts. She pressed back against him, feeling him grow stiff against the small of her back.
She tried — she really did try — to stifle the sounds that always accompanied her arousal. But she failed, and her moans and her panting and her approach mixed with the sounds of the orchestra filtering into the stairwell.
“Inside. Put them inside me. Fuck me with your fingers” she pleaded, and almost before the echo of her plea had died his fingers were inside her, curled up and urgently pressing on her spot. The savage sound that resulted didn’t appear to come from her mouth at all, but from some beastly spirit inside her. Her body almost instantly folded at the waist as he stroked inside her, his hand a blur.
To keep her erect, he reached his left arm around her body and firmly grabbed her right shoulder and held her tightly against him, her breasts crushed under his arm.
As he fucked her, her body first went limp in his grasp as she lost the ability or the will to control any muscles other than those between her legs. Then, when her orgasm came rushing, every muscle in her body constricted simultaneously, drawing up tight as a fist. Every muscle, from her neck —snapping to attention like ropes on a sail — to her feet, which lifted off the floor, her new heels dropping, first the left and then the right, down the stairs.
And she screamed. She didn’t want to, and would be mortified later when she thought about it, but she wailed loudly as her pleasure pooled in his hand.
When he had his fingers on her spot this way, her orgasms were not discrete events; they came in bunches, in rapid succession, like pearls on a strand, and as he continued to knead her pussy, she continued to cum until her body simply collapsed against his arm.
When he finally stopped, she leaned back against him. Panting, sweating, leaking sap down her thighs.
He slowly pulled his fingers from her pussy and brought them to his lips.
“New record I think but I think I can do better. There is a second intermission, isn’t there?”
[Please do not remove the text from this post. Thank you]
Return to Brackford
Though this professional author does not have a Tumblr, she has been a great friend to the Library on Twitter. Today, as part of Sample Sunday, you can read an excerpt from her latest book, Return to Brackford, available in digital format from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, AllRomance and Google Play.
Stepping on to the dais to make her Library debut, please give a warm welcome to…
When Charles reached the door to Lady Charlotte’s bedroom, he didn’t bother to knock, or even to peep through the keyhole. He shoved the key into the lock and burst into the room. It took Andrew a moment to realize what was happening before he shoved himself off of Lady Charlotte, sputtering.
“This…isn’t what it looks like!”
Lady Charlotte examined her fingernails.
“Don’t be stupid, darling. It’s exactly what it looks like.”
The dark-haired woman’s droll tone and lack of remorse took Charles by surprise. Unthinking, he whirled on her and opened his mouth to scold, or perhaps to shout, but the words died in his throat as he caught sight of his sister’s cousin-by-marriage.
Raven hair fell against creamy skin which stood in stark contrast to the deep red bedspread. Lady Charlotte’s peach-colored silk undergarments were pulled partly down, stretched taut between her thighs, looking as though they might rip in two. Charles curled his lip in disgust and he tore his eyes away from Charlotte to glare at his brother-in-law.
“Couldn’t even wait to get her knickers down, could you?” he leered.
Andrew huffed even as he clumsily donned his pajama shirt and…
10 Tips for (Erotic) Writing
Here is a little something different brought to you by a regular Library contributor. Ever thought about writing your own stories, erotic or otherwise? Let one of the Library’s most celebrated writers help you get started.
Returning to the Library dais, this is…
Image via fuckyeahnotebooks
Writing allows you to share the wonders of your imagination. But many lack the confidence to express their thoughts in words. So here are 10 tips to help those who’d like to start writing, erotic or otherwise…
1 - Storytelling is the gift of new imaginings
We read stories because they give us a chance to imagine something we’ve never thought of before. A writer gives their readers a recipe of settings, characters and events and says: here, visualise this.
Writing is meant to be read. Seduce your reader, don’t baffle them with complicated words or overly complicated plots, or drench them in a deluge of descriptive adjectives. Allow your readers’ imaginations to fill the gaps between your words.
Don’t worry if you’re sexually inexperienced and you’re writing about sex. I’m pretty sure sci-fi authors don’t own spaceships and J.K Rowling has never cast a magic spell. It’s far more important to be able to use your imagination to create compelling happenings, ones readers will care enough about to invest their precious time and mental energy to recreate inside their heads. And if you really want to become more creative, sign up for improv classes.
2 - Assemble your ingredients
So, think of storytelling as the process of compiling a recipe for your readers’ imaginations. And like any good cook, the first step is to source some exceptional quality ingredients. Characters, locations, events, dramas, conflicts, philosophical dilemmas, surprises and twists. Your mental pantry should be filled with raw ingredients, that unusual place you visited on holiday, that intensely erotic photo you’ve just seen, that disturbing dream you had last night.
All these ideas should go into a notebook. Physical or virtual, it’s up to you, but you need a notebook. As Linus Pauling said, the best way to have a good idea is to have lots of ideas. But ideas are such fragile things…
Another Aussie gent returns to the Library next. He made his Library debut just two weeks ago and his work was met with rave reviews.
Making his way back onto the Library dais, please welcome back…
"I’m going to my room
I don’t care
Which of you three
Come to take care of me
But one of you will
And when I’ve had my fill
And he is drained
Then I will welcome the next
Because I’m hungry you see
You know the score
I don’t care who’s first
Slake my thirst
But number three
On his knee
Before he feels
Will see that he kneels
So fight for the right
And pleasure me boys