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.
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Chapter 3
Kelly
I deliberately missed his classes the whole week to make sure he noticed my absence and get hard for me the next time he saw me.
I plotted for the next session: shorter skirt, no panties, "study break" massage.
Next Tuesday arrived fast. I buzzed at Prof Will's apartment door in a high school girl short pink skirt, no panties, and a tank top that made my nipples visible. My pussy clenched from just pressing the button, remembering his office bulge grinding against me last week... leaking for me. *He's gonna crack tonight.*
The door swung open, and there he was: shirt unbuttoned at the collar, showing that sexy chest hair. His eyes raked me head to toe, jaw clenching. "Kelly. Come in."
I walked past, brushing his crotch "accidentally." He hissed, slammed the door. Textbooks waited on the kitchen island.
"Beer?" he offered, voice rough, popping the cap and handing it over. Our fingers tangled... I licked the rim slowly, holding his stare.
"Thanks, Prof. For... tutoring."
We settled at his kitchen island, laptops open to equations. "Faraday's law," he started, leaning close, breathing hot on my neck. Our arms kept brushing, sending sparks through my body.
I fumbled the formula on purpose. "Like this?" My foot grazed his calf under the table.
He stiffened, thigh muscle flexing against my ankle. "No. Watch." His hand covered mine on the mouse, guiding it. My pussy clenched, wetness trickling down my thigh.
"Do you understand how it works now?" His eyes locked on mine, hungrier.
"Somehow," I whispered, arching so my top strained over my tits. His free hand gripped the counter, cock tenting his slacks.
I adjusted, my skirt rode up, exposing full thighs. His jaw clenched, gaze darkening as he stepped back, clearing his throat.
"Solve this equation." He pointed to the board he'd set up, chalk in hand.
I stood, hips brushing his as I passed. "I use this formula right?" My voice purred, chalk scratching slowly while I arched my back, ass curving toward him.
"There's an error." His hand covered mine on the board, guiding it. Rough palm, electric touch. My pussy clenched, wetness trickling down my thigh. He lingered, breath ragged against my ear. "You're... distracting."
"Exactly what I want." I turned, my lips a few inches from his, breasts heaving. His eyes dropped to my hard nipples poking the fabric.
He pulled away quickly, running a hand through his hair, erection tenting obviously. "I'll grab water," he rasped, turning to the fridge. I watched his back tense, imagining tearing that shirt off.
He walked back, handed me a bottle. "Why fail, Kelly? You're smart."
"Wanted your eyes on me." I gulped down, leaning on the counter.
His free hand flexed, veins bulging. "Dangerous game." He stepped closer, towering, thumb brushing my exposed collarbone. My skin burned from his touch. "I notice you now. You have my attention."
"Then teach me everything." My hand grazed his belt, feeling him twitch.
He froze, pupils blown, then gripped my wrist... firm, hot. "Not yet. Back to work." His voice cracked, body screaming otherwise.
By 9 PM, formulas blurred. I "dropped" my pen, bending slowly, ass up in the air, the skirt hiked to flash my bare cheeks, no panties. He groaned low. "Kelly..."
I straightened, facing him. Inches apart. "Help me study harder, Prof?" My hand trailed his chest.
He grabbed my wrist, pulse racing under my fingers. "This ends now... or we cross a line." But he didn't let go. His other hand cupped my jaw, thumb brushing my lip. Our breath mingled, heavy.
"Fuck the line," I breathed, rising on toes.
I kissed him, he kissed back- hungry, devouring. Tongue invaded, hands pressing me against his hard body, cock grinding my belly. I moaned into him, nails digging his back.
"That's enough." He said as he broke away from the kiss. "For now," he added, on second thought.
We returned to the table, tension thick in the air. Every glance, every accidental touch, his foot hooking mine under the table... built the fire. By 10 PM, my panties were drenched, his jeans strained.
"Fuck," he muttered, chair scraping as he stood up. I straightened, turning to find him right behind me, hands fisting at his sides. "You're killing me, Harper."
"Good." I rose up, stepped closer till my tits brushed his chest, nipples diamond-hard. "I want you hard for me." My hand fumbled his zipper. He held my wrist, but didn't pull away, pressed it there. Pulse racing under my fingers.
"This is wrong," he rasped, but his free hand cupped my ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise. I moaned, grinding against his thigh, wetness smearing his jeans.
"Tell me to stop." He growled.
I didn't dare say a word.
His mouth crashed down again, hot, demanding, tongue fucking mine. I melted into his arms, nails raking his back, tasting whiskey and need. He lifted me onto the island, textbooks scattering to the floor. He raised my top up to my chest, my tits spilled free; he groaned, sucking a nipple deep, teeth grazing. "So fucking perfect," he growled, hand diving between my thighs, fingers circling my clit through soaked folds.
"Yes, Prof! Touch me!" I bucked, slick coating his palm as he plunged two fingers inside, curling, hitting my *g-spot heaven*. My walls clenched, orgasm building fast.
But he froze, pulling back, eyes tormented. "Shit... I can't. You're my student."
I whimpered, chasing his hand. "Please... I need your cock."
He stepped away, panting, adjusting his raging hard-on. "Study. Then you leave."
But as I gathered my shit, legs shaky, he pressed against my back at the door... dick nestling my ass crack. "Next week. Behave."
I smirked, lips swollen. "Next Tuesday?" I walked out, thighs slick, his growl followed me down the hall. I grinned into the night air, pussy throbbing. *Game on.*
I ran into the last person I wanted to see back in the dorm.
Jake.
He cornered me in the parking lot. "Kelly! Saw you vanish early. Are you Prof's pet now?" His hand snaked around my waist.
I slapped them off. "Are you stalking me now?
"Hell no. Just looking for a chance to show you what a real man looks like, not some old dick."
I laughed, pushing him off... mind on Will. "You think you can bag me?"
"Something tells me I can."
I snorted. "In your dreams."
"Whatever, don't come running when he breaks you."
I raised my brows."Fuck you." I mumbled the words and stormed off.
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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."