Erotica by Shannon

The shop smelled of Nag Champa—her favorite incense. The moment she stepped inside, the familiar scent wrapped around her like a soft shawl, instantly soothing the ache she hadn't realized she was still carrying. It had only been a few weeks since the breakup, but the memory was still sharp. She'd planned a surprise—fresh sheets, a new down comforter, a quiet gesture of love. No occasion, just a moment to make him feel cherished. She hadn't seen any cars in the driveway and assumed he was at work. There was no need to circle around back; the front was clear. She let herself in, the house silent, just as she expected. But upstairs, behind the bedroom door, everything changed. She didn't scream. Didn't cry. Just stood there, frozen, as the scene unfolded—her boyfriend tangled in bed with his best friend's wife. The sheets and comforter slipped from her hands, forgotten. She turned and walked out, her heart hollowed by betrayal. Since then, she'd returned only ...

The Orgasm You Have When You’re Alone—But Aren’t A few days ago, I experienced something rare. R brought me to an orgasm I’ve only ever known in solitude. The kind that arrives when I’m alone, unobserved, and completely unguarded. But this time, I wasn’t alone—and that changed everything. We walked across his land, the sun casting long shadows over the Bluestem. He moved the heavy fence to the middle pasture and waited for me. When his hand slipped into mine, it carried the energy of a slow Sunday morning—unhurried, present, and full of possibility. He glanced at me with a flicker of mischief in his deep blue eyes and murmured, “Gun shack?” My body responded before my mind could catch up. I traced the inside of his palm with my fingers, letting him feel where I already was. He tightened his grip slightly, his restraint palpable, and picked up the pace toward his tin-roofed retreat. Inside, the world fell away. R stripped quickly, shedding his smooth exterior. I undressed slowly, teasin...

Charcoal Rain The rain poured steadily, blurring the world beyond my windshield. With traffic stalled and nowhere to go, my thoughts slipped into a memory—one shaped by thunder, charcoal, and the heat of a shared moment. The hum of idling engines faded as my mind wandered. I was no longer in my car—I was back beneath the tree, rain cascading like a curtain around us. He traced charcoal across my skin, each stroke a silent vow. The storm watched as we surrendered to something primal, something sacred. I clung to the rough bark, my breath shallow, my body painted in streaks of ash and longing. He pressed close, his warmth anchoring me against the storm. His hands explored with reverence and hunger, and though the mosquitoes swarmed, I barely noticed. I was too consumed by the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing that mattered. His voice was low, gravelly, threading through the rain like a secret meant only for me. I whispered back, my words trembling with desire and anticipation...

🌵 Coyote Rock: Where Desire Rides 🌵 He’d passed Coyote Rock a hundred times before, its jagged silhouette just another landmark in the desert’s endless sprawl. But today, it pulsed with memory—raw, electric, unforgettable. A week ago, everything changed. The moment he turned off the trail, the scent of sunbaked earth mingled with the memory of her—S.L.—and the way she’d looked at him that day. Mischief in her eyes, sunlight dancing across her bare skin, she was wild and free, like the desert wind itself. He remembered the way she moved, fluid and fearless, climbing the rock with a playful smirk and a challenge in her voice. Mount me, she’d said, her voice low, sultry, commanding. It wasn’t just lust—it was something deeper. Primal. A call to surrender. He’d tried to keep control, but she unraveled him with every glance, every whispered word. Her body had welcomed him with warmth and softness, and he’d lost himself in the rhythm of their connection, the way she opened to him, the wa...