After reading classics like The Story of O, I’ve tried to make it my mission to write what I think is passable erotica. Erotica for people who have reached an age where they are comfortable with their kinks, who want to be treated well before and after someone chokes them a little, and who don’t need flowery descriptions or goofy plots to ease them into a glorious fuck.
So, I welcome you to X-Art, a series of erotic stories written the way I think erotica should be written. Enjoy.
Andre moved behind me and gently slid my hair to one shoulder, dragging his lips and tongue along my neck. I shivered and thanked him. I’d wanted him since this morning when I’d awoken and felt him feverish and ready against my hip, but denied myself the gift, eager to get home to a man I wasn’t sure was mine anymore.
He knew 18 was old enough. The problem wasn’t with the law. The problem was ethos. I sat on the edge of his desk facing the whiteboard, swinging my grass-stained feet as he spoke to me about the sacred relationship between a teacher and his students.