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 5
Kelly
"Girl, you need to be strong. Maybe he's just not ready... or he's scared of hurting you."
Mia's voice was soft in the dark, her hand rubbing slow circles on my back as I cried into my pillow.
I let out a bitter laugh. "What kind of man turns down a wet pussy when it's literally in his grip?"
Mia snorted, then burst out laughing. "Right? Unless... you think he's gay?"
We both collapsed into helpless giggles, the kind that only come when your heart is breaking and you're trying not to scream.
"Seriously, Kelly," she said, wiping her eyes, "you're overthinking this. You have no idea how many guys on this campus want you."
"You mean Jake?" I asked, remembering the way he'd looked at me the last time we met.
"Mmm... yeah." Mia purred the word like she was tasting it.
"I turned him down," I said, flipping my hair back.
"You what?" Mia sat up, eyes wide. "Kelly, Jake is the hottest guy in your class-and he's loaded. What the hell?"
"Yeah... so?" I shrugged.
"Jesus, bitch. If I had a body like yours, I would've rode that dude a long time ago. Anything over that cock-teasing professor of yours."
"Prof Will's dick is actually huge," I muttered. "Thick and..."
"Eww, stop!" Mia cut me off, covering her ears. "I do not need those visuals."
My phone lit up on the nightstand. Jake's name flashed across the screen.
Speak of the devil, I answered.
"Yo, shawty."
"What do you want, Jake?"
"There's a party at my place tonight. Come drown your sorrows with me."
I could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
"Sure," I purred. "Get dressed, Mia. We're going out."
Jake's house pulsed with heavy bass. Red cups littered every surface, bodies grinding against each other in the dim light. I slammed back two tequila shots, letting the burn settle in my chest. My dress was already riding scandalously high on my thighs.
Jake found me on the dance floor, pressing up behind me with a grin. His hands gripped my hips as he ground against my ass, his hard cock unmistakable through his jeans.
I moaned softly, rolling my body against him, but my mind screamed one name: *Will*.
He pulled me into a dark corner, mouth crashing onto mine-rough, eager, nothing like the controlled fire I craved. His hands squeezed my breasts, fingers clumsy as they slipped into my panties.
"Fuck, you're so wet," he groaned against my lips.
"I'm yours tonight," I whispered, tipsy and aching.
"Finally," Jake breathed, kissing down my neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. "My room's upstairs."
"Lead the way."
His bedroom smelled like musk, cheap cologne, and stale beer. Posters covered the walls, empty cans scattered in the corner. He pushed me onto the mattress and stripped my dress off in seconds. I stood there naked, breasts bouncing, thong yanked to the side as his hands slid between my thighs.
"You're soaked already."
*Not for you.*
Jake's scent surrounded me, but it was Will's face that burned behind my eyes-his rejection playing on repeat. *Not like that, Kelly. I can't be your first.*
Jake's cock pressed against my entrance. His cock average, nothing like the thick monster I'd felt through Will's pants. He fumbled with a condom, then pushed in with one impatient thrust.
I gasped as the sharp burn tore through me. Virginity gone. Just like that.
"You're a virgin?" His eyes widened.
"Not anymore," I whispered.
He groaned and started pounding, hips slamming into mine, the bedframe banging against the wall. His cock stretched me, hitting deep with every thrust, balls slapping wetly against my ass.
"Fuck, you're tight," he grunted, sweat dripping onto my breasts as he pinned my wrists above my head.
Pleasure built fast despite everything. I wrapped my legs around his waist, heels digging into his back. "Harder," I demanded, nails raking down his shoulders. "Make me scream."
Jake obliged, fucking me relentlessly, one hand dropping to rub circles over my clit. Orgasm hit me like lightning... walls clenching, body arching as I cried out. He followed right after, groaning loudly as he spilled into the condom.
We lay tangled and panting. "Best pussy I've ever had," he mumbled, kissing my neck sloppily.
I forced a giggle, but guilt twisted in my gut. Will would hate this.
Later, I texted Will: *Tutoring tomorrow? I learned my lesson.*
No reply.
But I knew he'd seen the photos Jake posted of me laughing, drunk, and marked. *The campus party slut.*
The next morning, the campus buzzed with students rushing to class. I spotted Professor Wilson first leaning against a tree, coffee in hand, eyes locked on me like twin lasers.
Heat flooded my cheeks. He knew.
Jake's arm slung possessively around my shoulders as we walked past. "Hey, Prof! Kelly's my girl now. Tutoring really paid off, huh?" Jake smirked, completely oblivious.
Will's jaw tightened. His gaze dropped to the fresh hickey blooming on my neck... Jake's mark.
"Careful, Jake," he said, voice dangerously low. "Some lessons bite back."
His eyes burned with raw possession. My pussy clenched hard under my skirt, thighs growing slick. He turned away sharply, fists clenched at his sides.
*WILL*
Kelly's laugh rang across the grass bright, but fake. She sat with that meathead Jake, his arm draped possessively over her shoulder, hand sliding down to squeeze her thigh.
My cock twitched at the memory of her taste. *Idiot,* I cursed myself, nearly crushing the coffee cup in my grip.
I'd pushed her away to protect her. But seeing her marked by him? Rage burned hot in my chest.
By afternoon lecture, the air crackled with tension. She sat in the front row, legs crossed tightly, blouse dipping low enough to tease. My eyes kept drifting to her parted lips, and the soft swell of her cleavage.
"Friction generates heat," I said, voice rougher than intended, the chalk snapping in my fingers. *Our* friction.
After class, she lingered, packing slowly. When the last student left, I rounded the desk and loomed over her.
"Jake? Really?" Jealousy bled into every word as I braced my hands on either side of her, caging her in.
"He's good," she purred, breath catching as my thigh nudged between hers. "Makes me come hard."
My blood boiled.
"Meet me in my office. Four o'clock. We need to discuss your grade... and the tutoring sessions you've missed. Twice."
My office door opened at exactly 4:00 p.m. Jake hovered outside like a guard dog. "Make it quick," he snapped before the door clicked shut behind her.
Kelly leaned against my desk, tits straining against her blouse. "I missed your hands," she whispered, biting her lip.
"You reek of him," I growled, stepping closer.
She arched into me, nipples hard under the thin fabric. "Jealous? Then fuck me. Claim what's yours."
"I don't like sharing, and he's marked you already."
She leaned forward, pushing her breasts closer. "Then punish me, Professor."
"Watch it, Kelly."
But my cock was already rock-hard, tenting my pants. She uncrossed her legs, sliding her foot up my calf. Her hands nudged my inner thigh, then pressed firmly against my bulge.
I groaned, grabbing her them and yanking her against my throbbing cock. "Bad girl."
She rubbed me slowly while our eyes locked.
Tension snapped.
I gripped her chin hard, thumb brushing her lower lip, and shoved her panties aside. Two fingers plunged deep into her dripping cunt. She gasped, grinding desperately against my hand as I finger-fucked her against the desk, swallowing her moans with a brutal kiss.
Her pussy gripped me like wet silk-hot, greedy, perfect. Jake's laugh filtered through the door. I yanked my fingers out, her whine desperate and furious.
"Go back to him," I rasped, stepping away even as it tore me apart.
She glared, lips swollen, skirt rumpled. "Fuck you."
The door slammed behind her.
Alone, I punched the desk, regret choking me. She was destroying me.
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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."