fiction
Erotic, romantic, and sexy fiction for the Filthy community.
Lover's Crest: Part Three
It was taking everything I had to keep myself from pinning Kris to the magnificent bed and possessing every curve and hidden place. I took my time making love to her mouth with mine, kissing her face, resting my own in her fragrant hair. My kisses extended down her left arm to her hand, and I placed her hand over my heart, which was beating hard, just for her.
By LP Steinbeck7 years ago in Filthy
Lover's Crest: Part Two
Tears. Smiles. Laughter. Kris couldn't keep from spilling her joy after I revealed that not only was she welcome to come be at Lover's Crest during the renovations, and have her own art room, but that the large room in which we stood was for us to share. She gazed longingly at the bed fit for royalty, at least the royalty of the Oregon coast.
By LP Steinbeck7 years ago in Filthy
Another Way of Looking at Flesh
She looks down at her book; the movement of the train is making the words jolt sideways in a hypnotic dance. She likes it, it stops her thinking and the book is just a prop anyhow. It’s the last train to her apartment, the latest she can take and she has chosen it especially. The carriage is empty, this is the hollowness she seeks, the roar of the train as it rushes down the tunnel, like blood through a vein, life, time, the future moving forward. This is the obliteration she needs in this moment. She looks down at her hands. One rests palm up between the pages, along the spine of the cheap paperback. The other, fingers curled, holds open the page. An hour ago these fingers were inside a man trying to stem an internal hemorrhage, a calculated gamble her other colleagues had refused. The gamble had failed. The patient had died before gaining consciousness.
By tobsha Learner7 years ago in Filthy
Someone's Watching
Do you ever get that feeling that you're being watched? My name is Lita and that's my gut instinct when my boyfriend Cody and I visit a popular ski resort every year. You would think the thought of being peeked on would deter us from going back but it actually does the opposite and excites us, that's why we always return.
By Whowoulda Thought7 years ago in Filthy
The Touch
I touched him. I have no idea what had come over me, but for some inexplicable reason, my hand moved from my lap and touched his leg. It was a gentle, caressing thing. It was much more forward than I would ever be under normal circumstances, to be sure. I wasn't ever that forward, physical, or direct. Never comfortable with being touchy. But then, there was something about him. Something that made these delicious and awkward moments sexy.
By Cixtian Trybe7 years ago in Filthy
Bring Up the Steam
This NSFWerotic, steampunk short story is set in an alternate history, Victorian-era Britain. The sky boiled dark and liquescent, quite at odds with the gnawing anticipation that Lady Lynnea Atherton felt as her carriage drew to a stop in front of the immense building that crouched at the end of Greystock Street. Her driver and attendant, Reginald Lysle, bounced down, and offered her a hand down to the granite sett.
By Diana Aalto7 years ago in Filthy
The Dancer
Maria was a dancer, well that's what she called herself. Others may have used different titles like stripper or pole dancer but Maria preferred just "dancer." For four nights a week she would dance upon stage for gaze of men she despised. Men in suits who had more money than charm. Men who would for a few hours prefer to sit and stare at her writhing torso than spend time with their wives. What made it so ironic was she was extremely good at it. Yes she was great looking and yes she could move but it was more than that. Not just the "tits and ass" but the look! A smile, pout, glance, sometimes a sneer could capture a man's fantasy and send him reaching for his wallet in that vainglorious hope of something more but the most they ever got was a bold unabashed stare as they stuffed notes into her minuscule underwear. Then up and strutting across the stage, all eyes following her every move. Every touch she made upon her breasts, every toss of the head. Each and everyone of them wishing it was their hands caressing, their fingers running up and down her thighs, their tongue on her lips. Then she would glance in their direction and each and everyone of them thought that she danced just for them.
By kelvin matchett7 years ago in Filthy
A Stripper's Move
I really understood the quote, "You're in the right place at the right time" when I came across Oliver Stone, a thirty year old stripper living in Miami. He makes his living dancing in the two popular night clubs down on the main drag and he isn't scared to talk about it from what I can tell.
By Whowoulda Thought7 years ago in Filthy