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
Share
Chapter 4
Kelly
Thursday classes dragged, my thong soaked through lectures, I kept stealing glances at his bulge when he thought no one watched.
After classes, I followed him to his office. "Prof? Quick question?"
He nodded curtly, the office door shutting us in again. "What?"
I leaned over his desk, cleavage on full display.
"This."
I popped a button on my blouse, lace bra peeking.
Adam's apple bobbed. "Kelly..."
"Missed you." I rounded the desk, dropping to my knees between his legs. His zipper went down. *holy fuck*, 9 inches of thick, veined perfection sprang free, pre-cum beading the tip. "Let me taste you, please."
He gripped my hair, hips jerked. "No shit, yes."
I swallowed him deep, throat relaxing, tongue swirling the ridge. He fucked my mouth slow at first, groans echoing, balls tightening. We heard voices in the hall... he froze, shoving me under the desk.
Dean knocked. "Will? We have a board meeting, are you coming?"
"In a minute," he called, voice strained... my mouth on his balls, sucking softly. Dean left; he yanked me up, bending me over his desk, spanking my ass red. "Bad girl." He groaned.
"Fuck your bad girl," I begged.
Another slap, his palm stung delicious. I went under the desk again, he brought my head back to his cock, I sucked on hard, balls deep, wet. He came. I milked every drop, grinning up.
His phone rang...department head. He answered, thrusting shallow, emptying himself in my mouth, muffling my moans with his tie. "Yes... handling it."
He pulled out. "Out," he ordered, zipping up. But his hand lingered on my cheek.
Tuesday night, none of us could concentrate, I was acting like I understood an equation when he snatched my ankle, grip firm, thumb stroking my skin. "Keep your mind focused." But his free hand brushed my knee, sliding higher, his touch igniting fire within me. My breath hitched when he grazed my wetness...no panties, surprise.
"Jesus, Kelly. You're soaked."
Heat pooled between my thighs as his fingers lingered on my wet pussy, scraping my inner thigh like sandpaper on silk. I gasped sharp, nipples stabbing my dress begging for teeth on them.
"Prof... Wilson," I purred his name like a dirty secret, spreading my legs another inch wider, pussy drenched and clinging. His eyes went feral, thumb pressing firm right against my pussy. Electric jolts shot up my spine... fuck, I was dripping down my thighs.
"This isn't tutoring," he rasped, voice gravel and velvet, but he didn't pull back. No, his other hand dropped to his lap under the table, stroking that massive bulge tenting his pants.
I could see the outline straining the zipper like it wanted to burst free. My virgin pussy clenched empty, aching to feel it split me.
"Tell me to stop then," I challenged, rocking slowly into his hand, grinding my slick folds over his fingers. The friction made my clit throb, breaths coming in pants. He groaned low, primal, the sound vibrating straight to my core.
"Fuck, Kelly. You're killing me." He rose up, hauled me up by the waist, mouth crashing down on mine, this time brutal, starving. His tongue thrust deep, claiming every inch. Hands everywhere: one palming my heavy tits, fingers pinching my nipples hard enough to make me arch and moan into his kiss; the other gripping my ass, yanking me flush against him. His cock was a hard rod against my belly, so thick it made my head spin.
I ground my pussy on his muscled thigh, dress hiking up to my waist, lace scraping denim.
"Feel how wet you make me?" I whispered against his lips, nipping his bottom one. His grip tightened, fingers digging bruises I'd finger myself to later.
"Every night I rub my clit thinking of this-your hands, your mouth, that huge dick ruining me."
He growled, spinning me to face the island counter, bending me over it. Cool granite kissed my tits as he shoved my dress higher, exposing my ass.
"Jesus, Kelly," he breathed, palms kneading my ass cheeks, spreading them. A finger traced my soaked slit through panties, dipping just inside-teasing my virgin hole.
"So tight and wet." He praised me.
"For you." I grabbed his wrist. "More... please."
Two fingers now, pumping slow, thumb on my clit. I bucked, moaning loud, tits bouncing. His mouth claimed my neck, sucking down. "Tight little pussy... how are you this wet?" His cock ground against my leg, leaking at the tip.
"I'm a virgin," I gasped, clenching around him. His eyes snapped wide-shock, hunger.
He stepped back, fingers glistening. "Fuck. No. I CAN'T." He stumbled away, running hands through his hair, erection throbbing untouched.
"Will, wait..." But the door to what I guessed was his bedroom slammed. I followed, pushing in. Dim light glowing, a kingsize bed with rumpled sheets sat the middle. He stripped his shirt, backing me. He had a tattoo of a lightning bolt across his shoulder blade. Muscles rippled as he paced.
"Don't. You're untouched. I won't be your first mistake." Voice raw, but he turned, the bulge in his pants still obvious.
I dropped to my knees, crawling close, and kept my hands on his thighs. "Teach me. Please, use me." I unzipped him slowly. Saliva flooded my mouth at the sight of his thick cock.
"Kelly..." He cupped my face, thumb on my lip. I sucked it, then licked his tip, tasting salt. Moan tore from him as I took half down my throat, gagging sweet. Hands in my hair, guiding gently at first, then thrusting.
"Good girl... fuck, your mouth." Hips snapped forward, balls slapping my chin. I hummed, fingers rubbing my clit, I was close.
He pulled out suddenly, grunting. "Stop. I won't do that to you. You deserve better." He pushed me back softly, zipped up, eyes tortured. "Leave. Before I ruin you Kelly."
He looked away, tucking himself in, reality crashed. Tears pricked my eyes, rejection stung worse than fire. I fled, dress disheveled, pussy aching empty. In the elevator, fingers finished what he started, coming hard on visions of his cock. But hurt bloomed. Fine. If he won't, someone will.
You may also like
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."