HIGH VOLTAGE SEDUCTION
WARNING: FOR MATURE READERS ONLY!!!
This erotica collection is raw, hot, intense, and packed with deliciously filthy fucktwists that will leave you breathless.
Each story is steamy, gripping, and driven by compelling plots that pull you deep into forbidden desire.
You will find A strict 59-year-old professor bends his tempting student over his desk and growls that she's been a very bad girl.
A college student wakes up sore and dripping in her biggest rival's bed, with no memory of how many times he fucked her senseless.
Her hot stepdad has a secret camera aimed at her bed. When she catches him watching, she doesn't rage - she spreads her legs and gives him the show of his life.
A seductive woman is the only weakness of a ruthless mafia king, and he finally claims her body as his own.
She knows her sister is cheating, so she seduces her husband right in front of her - and her sister can't say a single word.
Piper's rent is overdue. Instead of paying up, she drops to her knees for the landlord while her boyfriend watches.
A spoiled, arrogant rich brat demands a private striptease. The dancer doesn't walk away - she dances for him until he completely loses control.
An assistant's boyfriend has a huge cock, but "Daddy" knows exactly how to ruin her with his tongue. She chooses Daddy.
Best friends make a wicked bet: seduce my dad. She takes the bet... and loses all control the moment he bends her over.
Chloe has been secretly masturbating to her stepbrother's photos, moaning his name as she comes. She can't hide it much longer.
A married gym coach can't stop staring at the sexy teacher. She goes all the way and lets him take her between her thighs.
Her doctor tells her she needs rest... but she's determined to prove she's strong enough to be fucked senseless on his examination table.
Every twisted fantasy and every scorching answer waits inside these pages.
Flip the pages, spread your legs... and get ready to throb.
Chapters
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Chapter 1
Ep 1: Invisible Sparks
Kelly
I slouched in the back row of Professor Wilson's lecture hall, my short skirt riding up just enough to catch the afternoon light filtering through the tall windows. The room hummed with the usual chatter... Girls giggling about frat boys, guys trading notes on weekend parties. College was supposed to be my reset button: the hot girl from high school, still a virgin at twenty-two, finally ready to let loose.
Then *he* walked in.
Professor William Hargrove-tall, broad-shouldered, short dark-and-gray facial hairs that make his strong jawline look even more defined. His button-down stretched tight across his chest, sleeves rolled up, revealing strong, muscular forearms. A bit of a tattoo peeks under his rolled-up sleeve. My panties went damp in a heartbeat.
"Latecomers, find a seat," he barked, voice deep and commanding as his eyes swept the room. When his gaze landed on me...it held. My nipples tightened under my thin crop top. A shiver raced straight down my spine and settled between my thighs. *Look at me, Prof. See what you do to me.*
He launched into quantum physics like it was thunder rolling through the hall. Every time he paced, every time that gravelly voice wrapped around formulas, my thighs clenched harder. I was soaked by the third slide.
"Miss Harper."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "Yes, Professor?"
"Care to explain Faraday's law?"
Shit. I hadn't studied. On purpose. "Uh... something about electromagnetic induction?" I flipped my hair, letting my crop top slip just enough to flash the lace edge of my bra.
One eyebrow lifted. His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smirk. "Close enough for participation credit. Next time, read the chapter." His gaze dropped to my legs for half a second too long before snapping back to the board.
Heat pooled between my thighs. *He noticed.*
I barely heard another word after that. I was too busy doodling *Will Hargrove* in my notebook surrounded by tiny hearts, lost in the fantasy of him bending me over his desk, thick cock stretching my virgin pussy while he growled my name. My clit throbbed. I squeezed my thighs together under the desk, biting my lip so hard it hurt.
Around me, some boys whispered.
"Dude, that prof's ripped. Bet he bangs TAs."
"Check the blonde... she's hot."
I smirked, flipping my hair, but my eyes stayed glued to him. It was question time: hands shot up. Mine stayed down, even though I knew the answer. Let him think I'm clueless. Needy.
After class, I packed slowly, hoping he'd glance my way. Instead, the blond guy from the row ahead... Jake, turned around with a cocky grin. "Kelly, reading group at my place tonight? That skirt is criminal."
I flashed a smile and waved him off. "Maybe next time, Jake." My eyes stayed glued to Professor Will as he snapped his briefcase shut and strode out without a backward look.
That night in my dorm, I pulled up his faculty page. *Dr. William Hargrove, PhD. Divorced. No children.* My fingers dipped under my panties, circling slowly as I imagined his hands on me instead.
"God, notice me," I whispered, arching off the bed, breaths coming fast and shallow until I shattered, his name on my lips.
The next lecture, I bombed the pop quiz on purpose. Scribbled nonsense and handed it in with a wink at the TA. Jake cornered me afterward in the hallway.
"You're killing it in class, Harper, but ditch the nerd shit. Come grind with me at the bar tonight."
His hand brushed my hip, warm and insistent. I felt the familiar pull... and shoved it down.
"Tempting," I said, eyes already on the real prize, "but I'm good."
A week later our grades were posted. I had an F. Bold red letters next to my name.
My roommate Mia gasped. "Kelly, what the hell? You're acing everything else!"
I shrugged, pulse racing with excitement. "Guess I need tutoring."
My laptop dinged. New email. Professor Will.
*Miss Harper, your performance is concerning. See me in office hours Monday at 4 PM. We need to discuss your... potential.*
I squealed, spinning around the room like an idiot.
Mia stared. "How are you this excited about failing?"
"I failed on purpose," I purred. "Just to get his attention."
Her mouth dropped open in a perfect O.
I laughed. "You look ridiculous."
"I'm not saying a word," she muttered, turning back to her laptop.
Monday I showed up in my tightest jeans, the ones that hugged my ass like a second skin and a low-cut blouse that left nothing to the imagination. His office smelled like fresh coffee and old books. He sat behind the desk, sleeves rolled up, those veined forearms on full display.
"Close the door, Kelly." His voice low, commanding.
I did, then perched on the chair opposite, crossing my legs slowly so the denim pulled tight.
"Your quiz was a disaster," he said, leaning forward. "What's going on?"
I bit my lip and shifted so my blouse gaped just right. "I... got distracted. Life stuff." *All you.*
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "You're smarter than this, Kelly. Top of the roster in gen chem. If you fail, it tanks your GPA."
Heat flushed my cheeks. "What if I need extra help? Private sessions?"
My foot brushed his under the desk-totally accidental, of course.
He pulled back, jaw tight. "Office hours are public. We'll do reviews three times a week after class." His gaze flicked to my lips, then away fast.
*Got you.*
"Whatever you say, Prof." I stood, leaning over to grab my bag so my ass was right there. His sharp inhale told me everything.
"Miss Harper..."
"Kelly," I purred, turning at the door.
"Focus." But his eyes burned.
"Maybe the only thing distracting me... is you, Prof Will." I flashed a smile and walked out, hips swaying.
That night Jake texted: *Heard you bombed the quiz. Come over. I'll make you forget.*
I typed back *Soon*, then reached for my vibrator instead. I pictured Professor Hargrove pinning me down, thick veined cock nudging my entrance while his mouth sucked marks into my neck.
"Prof Will... fuck me..." I moaned, fingers flying over my clit until I came, thighs shaking, soaking the sheets.
Mia walked in right as I was wiping myself clean with a tissue. "Holy fuck, Kelly!"
I grinned. "What? A girl has needs."
"Get yourself a boyfriend already."
"No. All I want is Prof Will. That fire. That body. He's so my type."
"He's *fifty-nine*," she reminded me.
"That just makes it hotter." I shrugged.
"Jesus, you're unbelievable."
"Ever had a real crush?" I asked.
She crossed her arms. "What's that got to do with your obsession?"
"Shut up." I laughed, cheeks burning. "He's divorced. Prime daddy material."
Mia rolled her eyes. "Virgin alert. You'd combust on contact."
Wednesday: First private session as in an empty classroom. He drew diagrams on the board, chalk dust on his strong fingers. I sat close enough that my thigh pressed against his.
"Like this?" I leaned in, breath warm on his neck.
"Precisely." His voice had gone gravelly. When our hands brushed, as he reached for the marker, electricity shot straight to my core. My nipples peaked hard under my tank top.
"Good girl," he muttered, then froze. Cleared his throat. "Good progress."
By session three, it was pure torture. His cologne wrapped around me every time he moved. I "dropped" my pen, bending slow so my ass was practically in his face. A low, animal growl rumbled behind me.
I straightened, catching his stare locked on my thighs, lips parted.
"Kelly." Warning thick in his voice. But his pants were clearly tented.
"Oops." I licked my lips. Our eyes locked. The air felt thick enough to choke on.
"Enough for today." He turned away fast, adjusting himself discreetly.
My little game was finally working.
Final exam week. I half-assed the review-just enough to scrape by and still failed. He stumbled over his words when he handed back the papers, hands shaky.
"Stay after class. See me in my office."
I walked in soaked from the rain, hair dripping, and blouse clinging to my curves. The door shut behind me. No desk between us this time. He paced, tie loose, jaw clenched.
"You failed. Intentionally?"
My pulse thundered. "Maybe I like the attention."
"This isn't a game, Kelly."
"I know, Professor... but I'd be glad if you played me."
He stopped pacing. "Your scores. What's the real issue?"
"Wet dreams?" I teased, swinging my wet hair so droplets trailed down my cleavage.
A rough laugh escaped him, eyes darkening. "Focus, Miss Harper. Or you will fail."
"I'll try harder," I whispered, stepping close and placing my hand on his arm. His muscles jumped under my palm like it had been shocked.
He stepped back, breath hitching. "I'll tutor you. One last time." It was a request.
"Yes, Sir."
My pussy soaked through my panties instantly
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7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.
9.1
Waking up with a cold, scaly hand wrapped around my throat wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was realizing I'd transmigrated into the body of Terra Mason—the most despised woman in the entire Enclave. She drugged high-level beast-men and forced them into life-binding bio-contracts. She locked an aquatic warrior in a dry basement until his organs failed. She treated the most lethal males in the city like broken toys.
Zev, the Level 6 serpent who's currently choking me, would rather blow up his own heart than spend another day as my slave. His affection metric? Negative ninety. His trust? Zero.
Then my system activates: the Kore AI. It gives me exactly 500 credits, a medical nano-gel, and a recipe for neutralizing the radioactive poison in mutant meat. Real food. In this world, that's worth more than gold.
I save Rhys, the dying aquatic male everyone left for dead. I season a slab of purple mutant steak until Sam, a battle-scarred grizzly shifter, groans at the taste—and his trust points finally tick above zero. When my backstabbing ex-best friend tries to steal my males and destroy me, I don't scream or throw a tantrum like the old Terra. I dismantle her with the truth.
But earning their trust means more than grilling meat. A scorpion swarm ambushes us at midnight. Sam throws himself between me and a stinger the size of my arm. As he stands over the corpse, fur receding from his claws, he stares at me and whispers, "You were testing me."
Yes. I was. Because in this world, the weak don't survive. And I refuse to be weak again.
Four beast-men. Four contracts. One system. And a whole lot of steak. Let this dystopian wasteland know—I'm not the monster they remember. I'm worse. I'm the one who's going to feed them until they'd kill for me.
9.3
She sells flowers. He spills blood. And he will stop at nothing to make her his. Elena Rossi has always lived quietly among roses and lilies, dreaming of love as gentle as the petals she arranges. She thought she found it in Daniel, the man she planned to marry. Until her wedding day when a dangerous stranger walked into the church and shattered everything. Adrian Volkov is a king in the underworld, a man feared for his ruthlessness and power. But to him, Elena is not just a prize. She is an obsession. A storm he cannot live without. And he will burn the world and anyone in it, to claim her. Torn from the life she knew, Elena resists him, manipulates him, and even runs from him. But Adrian is relentless. His love is dark, his touch both punishing and tender, and his obsession inescapable. When betrayal and bloodshed close in, Elena must face the truth: She doesn't just fear him. She doesn't just hate him. She loves him. Petals and Blood is a haunting, passionate tale of obsession, betrayal, and the dangerous kind of love that blooms in shadows.
8.8
I am the best esports jungler in the league, but I've been hiding a severe wrist injury just to keep my team alive in the semifinals.
Right in the middle of the crucial tie-breaker game, our mid-laner deliberately walked into the enemy team and died without casting a single defensive spell.
He was match-fixing for offshore betting sites, throwing away our entire season for a massive payout.
Because of his betrayal, we had to sub in two terrified rookies, and we were absolutely slaughtered. The stadium crowd booed us out of the arena. The internet exploded with pure vitriol, trending hashtags calling me a washed-up fraud who hid on the bench to save my own stats. The media demanded I retire immediately. My physical therapist gave me a grim ultimatum: my shredded nerves only allow me four hours of playtime a day before my right hand completely locks up.
I destroyed my own body for this team, only to be sold out by a coward and crucified by the very fans I bled for. Why should my legacy end in total disgrace because of someone else's greed?
I refuse to step down. I forced the traitor out, ignored management's safe roster choices, and locked my eyes on the most toxic, universally hated streamer on the platform.
"He's a walking PR nightmare," my coach warned.
I don't care. He is an arrogant, unhinged killer in the game, and I am going to make him mine.
7.4
I thought my life was over when my sister died, leaving me to raise her two babies in a world that wanted to swallow us whole. Then I made the mistake of a lifetime: I left a bold, humiliating voicemail for the one man I should have feared most.
Anton Oryolov.
The ruthless king of the Oryolov Bratva. A billionaire monster who rules the city with ice in his veins and blood on his hands.
I expected him to fire me. I expected him to destroy me. Instead, he gave me a choice that felt like a death sentence: sign a contract and become his.
The rules were simple. I belong to him. I live in his shadows. In exchange, he protects the children. But as the doors of his mansion locked behind me, I realized the "forced proximity" wasn't just a business arrangement. It was a cage.
He thinks he can use me as a pawn in his dark mafia games. He thinks the children are just leverage to keep me in line. But he's starting to look at me with a hunger that isn't in the contract, and I'm seeing a man beneath the monster that I never expected to find.
In the Cruel Paradise of the Bratva, loyalty is a lie and love is a weakness. Our deal is signed in ink, but it's going to end in blood.
He owns my signature. He owns my safety. Now, he wants my soul.
7.1
For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."