Dirty Little Lessons (An Erotica Collection)
⚠️ WARNING: This story contains explicit sexual content. If you are under 18 or uncomfortable with steamy, erotic, forbidden, or taboo themes, kindly exit now.
"I'm sorry, but I now have a girlfriend", Eric said.
" Just fuck me tonight Eric, please ", " Just tonight ". I cried.
Lola, a college professor, just got dumped by her no-strings-attached sex buddy, Eric. She's pissed, frustrated, and painfully horny.
Back in her office, she flips lazily through student assignments, the task was simple: *Write a short romance story of your choice.*
But one freshman, Noah, took it way too far. Instead of a harmless love story, he wrote out his filthy, unfiltered fantasy. About her. His professor.
Dive into Noah's bold approach, Professor Lola's burning curiosity, and a collection of sizzling short erotica that push every boundary.
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This book contains a collection of different short erotic stories.
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Chapter 2
I stepped into the classroom, with my usual bold and friendly smile. But this time around, the smile was hiding something. Hiding the fact that a few minutes ago, I had fucked myself hard to the filthy thought of my student.
"Hello, professor Lola", the students chorused.
"Good day, everyone", I replied.
I let the students quiet down with their responses, before asking.
"Who is Noah?"I asked.
All eyes turned to a boy, a fit looking boy. He slowly raised his hand up.
" Here" he said.
" Okay, wait behind after the lesson" I said sharply.
Everyone gave him a questioning look, but he just shrugged.
I went straight into teaching, focusing strictly on the day's lecture, or maybe pretending to focus. Because my mind kept replaying his dirty words and my filthy behavior.
I clenched my thighs softly at the thought.
The class ended, and the students sprawled out with most of them muttering a "Have a nice day, professor".
"And you too", I replied happily, waving at them.
The class room was empty, except for the handsome looking boy- Noah, and myself. We were alone in the class.
He strolled to my desk, casually, looking innocent. But I doubt his innocence.
"You wanted to see me, professor?" he said, his voice low and deliberate.
"Yes," I said sharply. Pulling out his assignment paper from my blazer pocket. I had a little flashback of the words. " Voluptuous tits", " big fat ass".
"We need to talk about what you submitted".
Tilting his head to face me directly, " Oh, was it not satisfactory?" He asked, feigning innocence.
The way he dragged the word made my pussy throb.
"It was inappropriate" I kept my tone calm and professional.
"This was supposed to be a romance assignment, not a pornography".
His lips curved into a slow grin. "It's not pornography if it's a love story, is it? Maybe just a... dirtier kind of love."
My heart skipped. My jaw tightened. "You crossed a line, Noah. Writing something like that, especially using my name-it's unacceptable."
He moved closer, close enough that he was towering over me. Close enough that I could perceive the faint scent of his cologne, sharp and clean. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just..." His gaze locked mine, " I wrote what I wanted".
" What you wanted?" My voice surprisingly low, barely above a whisper.
"Yes". His gaze lowered briefly, deliberately, to my chest before returning back to my face. " Exactly what I wanted".
" This boy is making this difficult, why is he gawking at my boobs?". I thought.
Heat ran through me, my breath hitched. "But, you're my student", I managed.
"And you're my professor", he said smoothly. "That doesn't change what I feel".
My heart hammered. This was dangerous. Very dangerous.
One more step, and I'd lose all control.
I dropped the paper back onto the desk. "This ends here. Do you understand? No more stories like this. No more games".
For a moment, the classroom was silent, pin drop silent. Then Noah leaned forward, resting his hands on my desk. His voice a husky whisper meant for only me.
"Tell me you didn't like it," he dared. "Tell me you didn't read every filthy word I had written, tell me you didn't picture every move".
My mouth opened, then shut. I couldn't. God help me, I couldn't.
His grin spread, triumphant. He straightened, placed his bag strap casually on his shoulder. "That's what I thought".
And then he turned and walked out, leaving me trembling behind my desk, my thighs pressed tightly together.
I sank into my chair, my heart racing. This boy was dangerous, that innocent look I had seen earlier was a façade. He knew the effect he had on me, and he wasn't going to stop.
And worst of all, I wasn't sure I wanted him to stop.
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7.7
In their first year of marriage, Melinda's husband never shared her bed, and the loneliness became a craving.
She understood why after catching him kissing her sister-she was just a stand-in.
When that restless craving finally sharpened into an ailment, she went to the hospital and met a doctor whose steady hands almost unraveled her.
The next day, he showed up as the company's new CEO and made her his assistant.
"Sir, I have a husband. Stop hitting on me." She had tried to resist, but eventually, she still became his girlfriend.
Her ex begged tearfully, "Melinda, let's start over. Don't leave me."
Melinda huffed, "Sorry. I'm not interested in a man who couldn't perform in bed."
9.2
Rebirth with a Twist.
Fawn Jones doesn't get a chance to resolve the issues with her marriage. No, she gets murdered in her own bathtub. Drowned by the husband she hated after he had moved his mistress into their bed, Fawn's last lucid thought is a promise before death. "I will not stay weak. I will make you pay. If not in this life, then the next." Then she wakes up. Different room. Different body. Different life. Cassandra Huntington – rich, infamous, beautiful in a way Fawn never had been. Cassie had been in a coma for six months after a car crash. Her billionaire husband, Blake, had just signed the paperwork to turn off her life support when she suddenly started breathing on her own. Now everyone thinks Fawn is Cassandra. The media calls it a miracle. Blake calls it complicated. The woman wearing his wife's face is softer, sharper, funnier... and so tempting he hates himself for wanting her. Fawn calls it an opportunity for revenge. Her killers are still out there. Her old body is in the ground under a lie. And the only weapons she has now are Cassandra's money, Cassandra's reputation... and Cassandra's husband. So, she plays the role. Learns to walk in six-inch heels. Smiles for the cameras. Seduces a man who once couldn't stand his wife and now can't seem to stay away from her. While she quietly buys into the company that ruined her old life. While she gets close enough to the man who killed her to watch him crack. They drowned the wrong woman. Now she's awake. And she's not done.
7.4
"I wanted to ruin her. Instead, I craved her."
Revenge was all Clemente Cassano ever lived for. The son of Sicily's most feared mafia leader, he swore to destroy the man who betrayed his family. His plan was simple-break the daughter, Vivian Gustavo, and watch her father burn.
But Vivian wasn't fragile. She was fire-untouchable, ruthless, intoxicating. And the deeper Santiago pulled her into his darkness, the more he realized she wasn't his enemy... she was his weakness.
8.0
I sat at a table for two in the center of Le Coucou, clutching a gift box that had cost me two months of savings. It was our three-year anniversary, and I was waiting for Gavin to finally ask the big question.
But when the heavy oak doors opened, Gavin didn't walk toward me with a ring. He walked in with a polished blonde heiress tucked under his arm, her hand resting protectively over a small baby bump.
"This is Tiffany Stone. My fiancée," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He didn't apologize for being late or for the three years we'd spent together. Instead, he pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and slid a ten-thousand-dollar check across the white tablecloth.
"Consider it severance for your time," he added, as Tiffany mocked my cheap drugstore dress. "Don't contact me again. Tiffany doesn't need the stress." I was the entertainment for the entire restaurant—the pathetic girl dumped for a better model. By the time I walked out into the rain, I had lost my boyfriend, my home, and the funding for my secret medical research project.
I was an orphan with no safety net, facing an eviction notice and a ruined career. I had given Gavin everything, and he had discarded me like a broken tool. The injustice burned in my chest, a hot, sharp rage that replaced my tears.
Desperate and freezing, I ducked into a coffee shop where I met Colton Bentley, a reclusive billionaire in a wheelchair. After I defended him from a cruel date, he offered me a contract: a marriage of convenience and a seven-figure payment to act as his shield. I signed the papers that night, ready to use his wealth to rebuild my life. But as I watched my new husband navigate his penthouse, I noticed his "paralyzed" legs tense with a strength that shouldn't exist.
8.8
After three years together, the man who had once promised to marry me, Babur Caldwell, threw me out the moment he got into Redmont University.
"Valeria, a pretty little fool who only knows how to dress up, how could you ever be worthy of someone like me, a future elite of Gilded Row?"
Later, when I, Valerie Quinn, became the Financial Queen admired by thousands, he knelt in front of me, sobbing, begging for another chance.
Holding the bouquet Kearney Smith had sent me, I answered in the same tone he had once used. "Sorry, Babur, someone as short-sighted as you isn't worthy of an elite like me."
8.0
I spent ten years as the ward of Kason Oneal, the ruthless Underboss of the city's most dangerous crime family. He saved me when I was a child, raised me, and made me believe I was his queen.
But the moment his ex-girlfriend, Dalia, returned, the illusion shattered.
Kason demanded I return the jade pendant—the one he had hand-carved for my sixteenth birthday—just so he could hang it around Dalia's neck. To him, I was suddenly nothing more than a placeholder who had kept his bed warm.
The cruelty didn't stop there. He stood by and watched as Dalia shredded my clothes with scissors, laughing at my tears.
When I collapsed on the floor in agony from acute appendicitis, Kason didn't call an ambulance. Instead, he dragged me to a shady clinic, accusing me of faking a pregnancy to trap him. He ordered the doctor to "terminate it" while I was dying of sepsis on the table.
He called me trash. He called me property. He stripped away every ounce of dignity I had left, all to please a woman who was lying to his face.
I realized then that the hero who saved me when I was ten was dead. I was done begging for scraps of affection from a monster.
Trembling, I walked to the phone and dialed the number of the one man Kason feared most—his sworn enemy, Hadley Payne.
"Tell him yes," I whispered into the receiver. "I accept the arrangement. I will marry him."
Kason thought he could break me. Instead, he was about to watch his "property" become the Queen of the rival family.