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    The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 90: 11 Erotica Books
    The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 90: 11 Erotica Books
    The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 90: 11 Erotica Books
    Ebook282 pages3 hours

    The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 90: 11 Erotica Books

    By AmorBooks.com

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    About this ebook

    This is a massive collection of 11 Erotic Books for Women, an ultimate package consisting of 11 tremendously popular Erotic Short Stories for Women, by 11 different authors.

    All of the 11 chosen books are exclusive to this specific collection, so even if you've purchased other volumes of ”The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection” you can rest assured that you will receive no duplicates between collections.

    These are the 11 included books in this collection:

    Blanche Wheeler - Bridges and Locks

    Bonnie Robles - A Whole New Liberation

    Diana Vega - Awkwardly Delicate

    Grace Barron - Acting the Vamp

    Heather Morin - Sophie's Positions

    Inez Eaton - The Perfect Man

    Jean Mathis - Amanda’s Bumpy Ride

    Odette Haynes - Attracted to the Opposite Life

    Pearl Whitaker - One Night Fantasy

    Rebecca Milton - A Weekend Getaway Cityscape

    Sue Harrington - The Star

    Whether you prefer romantic erotica, light erotica, or really hardcore stories you will surely be satisfied as this collection is a mix of the best of the best across many different erotica genres.

    Simply put: If you have even the slightest interest in reading great Erotica specifically written for women readers, you are going to LOVE this collection!

    Warning: These stories are intended for adult readers 18 years of age or older. They contain explicit language and graphic sexual content.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAmorBooks.com
    Release dateJan 5, 2022
    ISBN9781005898649
    The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 90: 11 Erotica Books
    Author

    AmorBooks.com

    AmorBooks.com publishes sizzling erotica and romance stories that pack a punch.With over 40 authors under our umbrella it doesn't matter if you prefer cosy romance stories, light erotica, or really hardcore stories - you are bound to find something you like.

    Read more from Amor Books.Com

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      Book preview

      The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 90 - AmorBooks.com

      The Ultimate

      Erotic Short Story Collection 90

      11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books for Women

      by AmorBooks.com

      Copyright 2021 AmorBooks.com

      Distributed by Smashwords

      Free Gifts

      As a Special Gift for acquiring this collection you are entitled to another 10 Free Bestseller Romance and Erotica Books worth $34 PLUS incredible weekly deals on new books and collections! Do as over 12,700 people before you and grab it all — FREE for a limited time only!

      http://www.AmorBooks.com

      or simply

      AmorBooks.com

      Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and is intended for those over the age of 18 only.

      ***

      Table of Contents

      A Weekend Getaway Cityscape

      Bridges and Locks

      The Perfect Man

      Amanda’s Bumpy Ride

      Acting the Vamp

      The Star

      A Whole New Liberation

      Sophie's Positions

      Awkwardly Delicate

      One Night Fantasy

      Attracted to the Opposite Life

      A Weekend Getaway Cityscape

      by

      Rebecca Milton

      What would happen if the people who were following you on twitter were actually following you? You walk outside your apartment in the morning and the fifty or so people who are following you on twitter are standing there, waiting and they follow you through the rest of your day.

      They follow you to the train, they follow you to the office, they stand in the corner of the office and watch you, text all the funny, interesting, banal things you say to others and then, by the end of the day, you’ve picked up several more followers. They follow you out of the office and sit at a huge table next to you at the Chinese restaurant you like to go to on Thursdays because the special on Thursdays is beef with broccoli, something you like but are never able to achieve with same level of deliciousness when you try to make it at home.

      When you say to the waitress; I just love this beef and broccoli, I wish I could make it this good at home, the fifty or so followers sitting at the huge table next to yours all take to their twitter accounts and then, the fact that you long to make beef and broccoli but cannot make it as good as the Ho-Ton Palace on Spruce Street, is rocketed all over the internet.

      Then, they tweet or twit or twat or whatever the fact that you leave a good tip and take a small container of beef and broccoli home with you, or, rather, back to the office, where you put it in the fridge in the kitchen but, two hours after lunch, you have it back at your desk and with chop sticks you finish it off.

      Is this real a question you’re asking me, he said, laying on his side looking at her face as she looked up at the ceiling and spoke the twitter nightmare. She laughed and turned to him. This was her favorite part of their time together. She would save up these questions during the week and then, when he came on the weekend, when they got past the awkward first few minutes, the hi, how was the week, what did you do, things and got down to the love, down to the naked, down to the kissing, down to the pumping, the breathing, the clawing, the biting, the slapping, the fucking.

      When that was done and she was blissful, released, relaxed, loved, sated, secure in him again, she loved to talk about the ideas that had floated around her head all week. The ideas that she could only share with him. Perhaps she could share them with others. Terry would listen to her when they had coffee in the morning or lunch or went for drinks at night, but she would laugh strange and worried and tell her she needed to see someone. Not like a date see someone, but like a professional who could give her professional help. Which she, maybe needed, but which she rebelled against and ignored. She could tell Andy, her nice, gay, boyfriend she took to places where a plus one was required. He wouldn’t laugh, he would do just the opposite. They would come home from some required gallery opening or office function, which he always called an office fuck-shun.

      Just watch, he would say to her before they went in, last month when we had this meeting, people fucked. People left the party and went to bars, got drunk and then went to hotel rooms and they got all hot and horned up and got all sexed down and now, they’re back. Thing is, Ms. Tethon didn’t take Mr. Green’s calls and Mr. Bildren didn’t tell Ms. Childs he was married. All those little trysts and couplings last month are now going to explode. They have fucked and now... they will shun each other.

      They would then go in, head to the bar, and walk, cocktails chest high like little shields and watch the subtle shunnings, beggings, wantings of the office fuck-shun. So, she could tell them to Andy. They could go back to her place and smoke a joint and then she could tell him the running list of questions, ideas, wonders, pounding the streets of her mind, but he, sweet Andy, would encourage her, take her too seriously.

      Darling, he would say, getting up off the lazy, stoned comfort couch and prowling the room, you need to write that down, you need to write that down. That is going to make you someone, make you some serious, get out of this town, onto the beach, drinks and boys dripping off you, money.

      Then he would take the idea, question, wonder and work it, twist it, refine, define it and, by night’s end he would have a business plan, she would have a headache. Next day he would tell her he was working on the idea from last night, wink and promise her details soon. Details never came and she didn’t care. So, that’s why she didn’t tell Andy.

      She told Devin.

      If it was a real question, she asked Devin, touching the tip of his nose with her nose and looking at his face ultra close up, what would your answer be? This part she loved. He would take a deep breath, furrow his brow in mock, deep thought and then give her his completely honest opinion; Twitter is a power not to be messed with, really. I believe twitter followers started back in Russia during the Stalin years. Followers, of any kind, must be dealt with in a manner that allows them to have free thought, but also understand that, as followers, they must adhere to the Byzantine list of rules and regulations that you, the followee, must lay down. It is preferable that these rules are hand written, double spaced on yellow lined paper and handed out to the followers at a weekly follower meetings. You must be cruel, quick and deeply, deeply unusual with your followers. They also need to be fed, watered and exercised on a regular basis. Now, if you decide to have followers, you’re going to have to be responsible for them, I am not going to be the one who ends up taking care of them. I refuse to be the one who ends up cleaning up after them. So, you need to tell me right now, are you asking me if you can have followers? She would laugh and push her face into his, kiss him, wrap around him like a blanket and ask more questions, float more odd ideas.

      ***

      The weekends were splendid with passion and ease. She cherished the time with him, wished for more but never asked, never pushed, never pestered him because she knew the situation. She knew and she was thankful for what she had, what he gave, could give and she told herself to be satisfied, to be thankful and to hold on to the time that was theirs. She didn’t pretend, he didn’t either.

      She always asked after his wife’s health. Was she getting better, was she showing signs of recovery, change. He was honest with his answers and he didn’t sugar coat or lie. She was worse, she was slipping away, slowly and painfully. He still loved her, he missed the her she once was. He did his best, he tried his best, but it was getting more and more difficult. There were not children, there was a nurse who came on weekends when he had to travel for business.

      Does she ever wonder, she once asked Devin, does she wonder about your weekend trips?

      No, Abby, he told her, she doesn’t have to wonder, because she knows. That had been the make or break moment, he knew it and she felt it. He had told his wife. He told her that he traveled to another city and that he was having an affair. He told her, he was honest with her.

      She told me to, Abby, he explained to her, at first I thought she was being polite, she was looking for attention, but she wasn’t. She has no strength, no desires and, the cancer just... Anyway, after a year of telling me, I realized she meant it. She asked that it not be with one of her friends, she prefers that it’s out of town. So...

      He hadn’t been looking for the affair, he hadn’t left town, come to Abby’s city just for an affair. He was there for the convention, he was there with the seven hundred and thirty-six other people who had taken hotel rooms and signed up for daily seminars. He had sat in the back of her’s, a seminar on corporate creativity, breaking the boundaries of the day to day. He had approached her after the talk, thanked her, told her how much he had enjoyed it. They had drinks in the bar, they had gotten in an elevator to go up to his room. They had stepped out and he stopped them just outside the elevator and told her he was married. Told her about his wife. He didn’t tell her his wife had encouraged an affair. But, he was honest. Something she liked and needed.

      Interesting that you tell me this while we are about to go into your room, Abby had said, a little upset, a little confused because he was so much what she had wanted.

      We’re not, he said, I’m not on this floor, I’m six floors up. They went back to the bar and she went home alone that night. He called on the following Friday and said he had to be back in town, could he see her? They had drinks and dinner. She went home alone. This went on for a month. Each Friday, he would call, was she available? They would meet, drinks, dinner, movies, once they played miniature golf. He went back to his hotel, she went home. One weekend, she met his flight at the airport. She told him to not bother getting a room and she took him home. He spent the weekend. After that, he stopped getting a room.

      There was guilt at first but, he assuaged that. There was wishing as well. What happens if she dies? Did he want to marry again? Did he want to be with her? Abby never asked these questions, because she didn’t want to hear the answers Or, rather, the non answers. The mumbling, uneasy, I don’t knows, the, I haven’t thought that far. Why can’t we just have what we have and not worry about what’s next? So many things she didn’t want to hear, so many conversations she wanted to have, but stopped herself from staring because, why couldn’t they have what they had? Why did they have to think beyond this? Was she happy? Yes, she was. Was he happy? He seemed to be. He kept coming back. He always seemed happy to see her. The passion he had for her had not dimmed. They were good together. They laughed, they were easy with each other. Being from another city he didn’t have to hide. He was happy to go places with her, be introduced as her friend. Everything was fine. Everything was wonderful.

      Wasn’t it?

      He couldn’t come that weekend, he told her over the phone, honest grief in his voice. True sadness, true sorrow at not being able to see her. She told him it was fine, they had seen each other every weekend for almost a year, she could survive one without him. She didn’t ask for a reason, but he gave one. His wife, a new treatment, a last ditch effort to help her, set her back on a path that was moving in the opposite direction of the grave.

      She had wished her luck, not to her directly, but through him to her, which, of course, he would not pass on. How could he? My lover wishes you the best of luck with the new treatment. Ridiculous. She knew. He thanked her anyway, said he’d pass along her good will. Would he? If he did, how would that work? She didn’t ask.

      ***

      He arrived the following weekend, Late Friday, she picked him up at the airport, he looked tired, worn out. The new treatment, he explained, was brutal on his wife. He hadn’t gotten much sleep. Would it be all right if he could just lay down for a while? Of course it was all right, she told him, anything he wanted, anything he needed, she was happy to see him, missed him, glad to have him there. Back at her place he crawled into bed and fell into a sound sleep. He told her to wake him up after an hour, they would go out, they would order in, they would make love. Just needed an hour of sleep, that was all.

      She looked in on him after an hour and he was so deeply asleep, she didn’t have the heart to wake him. She watched him sleep, closed the door softly and went to sleep on the couch. She woke early, checked on him, he was still sleeping. She made coffee, started cooking breakfast and he wandered into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Why hadn’t she woken him, he wanted to know. She told him, he admitted he really needed and appreciated the sleep.

      They had a good breakfast, he wanted to go see a movie, something new that had just come out, something he was interested in, she agreed. He volunteered to do the dishes while she got ready. She suggested that they leave the dishes and both hopped into the shower together. He really wanted to see this movie, didn’t think it would be out that long, knew he wouldn’t get a chance to see it when he got home. She stood in the kitchen, watching him begin to clean up, wondering what was wrong. She asked, he assured her nothing was wrong. He just wanted to see the movie.

      The movie was dull to her, some political saga. The theater was virtually empty, only an older couple sitting down front. She ran her hand up his leg, slipped it between his legs and took hold, gently, of his cock. He smiled. She started to unzip his pants. She had enjoyed one afternoon, they had been in a similarly empty theater and she had moved the box of popcorn aside, pulled his cock out, stroked him until he had gotten hard and then, she leaned over and slowly sucked him off while the movie had played. He loved it, he had cum in her mouth so hard, so much, it turned her on.

      That night they had gone home and they were barely in the door when he pushed her against a wall, bent her over and fucked her from behind, hard, fast. It was animal and she loved it. Now, as she tried to unzip his pants, get him hard, get him interested, he stopped her hand, held it, like a date in high school, leaned into her and told her that he was really into the movie.

      She backed off, sank back in her seat, pouted a little in the darkness. Watched the rest of the movie, her attention half on the screen, half on the memory of sucking his cock in the darkened theater. She found herself getting very excited, very wet. Perhaps they could go straight home after the movie and he would take her. Not so much. He had a new restaurant he wanted to try. One he had read about. So they went there.

      He drank much tequila, saying he felt like he had been wound up tight all week, he needed to unwind. He was so happy he was there with her. It was fine, a good meal, good drinks and yet, there seemed to be something behind his drinking. Something more than just unwinding. He was drinking with purpose. Drinking with gusto, ordering another cocktail before the one in front of him was even gone. She sipped her wine and watched him.

      How is your wife, she asked and he gave a vague answer. Almost dismissive. Fine, the usual, you know, she is what she is. His answer not being what his answers usually were; thoughtful and truthful. She let it drop.

      Back at her place, he was too drunk, he claimed, when she tried to take his

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