Erotica Readers & Writers Association
Home | Erotic Books | Authors Resources | Inside The Erotic Mind | Erotica Gallery
Adult Movies | Sex Toys | Erotic Music | Email Discussion List | Links

Story Gallery | Treasure Chest

Erotic Fiction
Queer Fiction
Kinky Erotica
The Softer Side

By Big Ed Magusson
That Moment

By Daddy X
Aftermath, 70's Style
Smoking Section
Newbies and the Rules
Playing With Dolls
Regular Places

By Ian D Smith
A Good Settlement
Anything Evil

By Penelope Lake
It's Too Hot for Yard Work

By R.E. Buckley
Flasher Feast
It's Just a Dream
Ship Breakers
Such Things as Soldiers...
Time Capsule

By Rose B. Thorny
The Reason for the Season
The Shampoo Girl

By Steve Isaak
Flasher Feast
Jailhouse Sleepover

By Valentine Bonnaire
Happiness was his warm gun
Year of the Snake


gem-size erotica sure to tickle your fancy
(2007 - 2008)


Erotic Flash Fiction

The Crystal Girl
by Rose B. Thorny © 2007

Perhaps this time. Perhaps the thousand other times would be sucked into oblivion like so much murky bath water and this time would be real.

His lips fluttered, lit on her eyelids, a butterfly on a warm summer breeze.

She felt hot breath against her cheek, heard urgent, rasping sighs in her ear, inhaled his scent.

He kissed her mouth, explored the moist depths with an insistent tongue. He traced the line of her pulsing throat, the smooth curve of her shoulder, the soft slope of her hip with restless, burning fingers; slid his hand between her legs, caressed the shaven lips.

She was wet, all sensation, all anticipation.

He probed her throbbing, humid, secret space, massaged her to rigid want. He kneaded, stroked, whispered.  He loved.

She clenched, quivered. Prayed, pleaded. This time...this time for certain. Yessssss. Now.

He buried himself in her; stroked her, filled her, and when he erupted inside her, she screamed with him, for hm.

The crystal girl shattered.

She gathered up the pieces of herself, mending once more, with silent tears, all but the lost shard; the one she could never find, the one that would make her real.

Next time.  Perhaps, next time.

by Volponia © 2008

They met at the airport: he, dressed as promised; she, holding a sign that said "Wanted: Tchaikovsky," in honor of his Internet identity. After one brief, assessing hesitation, they embraced.

They rode home in silence, somehow unable to voice the ardor of their e-mail exchanges. But when the apartment door closed, awkwardness fell away, along with their clothes. The long-distance courtship had served as foreplay. She was wet, willing; he was eager and erect.

They tumbled joyfully into bed. With a velvet tongue, he worshipped her. A chain of orgasms shook her, and she felt his grin across her lower lips. When at last he rose and slid into her, it seemed the cosmos rearranged itself in tribute.

With long, graceful thrusts, he set the tempo, his cock stroking against her pubic bone like a bow, drawing from her throat an aria of amazed sobs as he rose from Lento through Andante, then seamlessly to Vivace, a brief pause as he poised above her, and then a joyous climax, announced with an imagined clash of cymbals.

With a sigh, he lowered himself, trembling, into her embrace. At last, she cleared her throat and said, "I'm Susan. You must be Ben."

The Doldrums
by Nan Andrewse © 2008

Sheila met him at a wedding, but even catching the bouquet was no guarantee. Now she inspected the tea leaves as he slept in her bed. Hot. Wet. Forever. Sounded promising.

She woke him with wet lips sliding down his cock. Tad pulled her hips over his mouth. His mustache tickled as his tongue worked on her clit. Sheila laughed as she came.

Three days in bed and she was hooked. On his tongue, on his cock, even on his soft patter in her ear as she drifted off to sleep. Tales of foreign ports and vast oceans. When the time came to leave, he begged her to join him. She looked around her apartment at her meager life and thought of the tea leaves. She packed a bag.

Weeks later, they drifted across the equator, somewhere in the doldrums. They made love on the deck. He whispered stories of Neptune coming out of the sea, when suddenly a rogue wave appeared and swept Tad overboard. Sheila hung on for dear life.

The boat righted, but no mast, no Tad, no radio. Sheila hunkered in the bottom of the hull. Hot, wet, forever. The tea leaves hadn't lied.

Authors live for feedback!
If you enjoyed these Flashers
send your comments to the authors


  E-mail this page

Search ERWA Website:

Copyright 1996 and on, Erotica Readers Association, Inc.
All Rights Reserved World Wide. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form or
medium without express written permission is prohibited.

Dirty Little Religion
by Amanda Earl

Shared Sight
by B.K. Bilicki

I'm not in love
by Beresford

The Dumb Ass
by Daily Hollow

The Passion
by J Pape

by M. Micheal Rakes

Stand and Deliver
by Nan Andrews

Collections by:

Chris Bridges

G. Russell

Helena Settimana

J. Corvo

john e

Laura Thorne

Mike Kimera

Remittance Girl

Richard V Raiment

Rod Harden

Seneca Mayfair

Various Authors I

Various Authors II