The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 70: 11 Erotica Books

By AmorBooks.com

This is a massive collection of 11 Erotic Books for Women, an ultimate package consisting of 11 tremendously popular Erotic Short Stories for Women, by 11 different authors.

All of the 11 chosen books are exclusive to this specific collection, so even if you've purchased other volumes of ”The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection” you can rest assured that you will receive no duplicates between collections.

These are the 11 included books in this collection:

The Cowboy vs. The Food Bar by Rebecca Milton

Comfort in Close Quarters by Jean Mathis

What Friends Will Reveal by Janet Bryant

A Night to Remember by Paula Frost

Compulsive Fantasies by Blanche Wheeler

Tom, Harry, or Dick by Nicole Bright

The Babysitter’s Seduction by Evelyn Hunt

Andi’s Anticipation by Diana Vega

The Bachelorette Party by Pearl Whitaker

Finding Mr. Right by Linda Wiggins

The Lute Player by Odette Haynes

Whether you prefer romantic erotica, light erotica, or really hardcore stories you will surely be satisfied as this collection is a mix of the best of the best across many different erotica genres.

Simply put: If you have even the slightest interest in reading great Erotica specifically written for women readers, you are going to LOVE this collection!

Warning: These stories are intended for adult readers 18 years of age or older. They contain explicit language and graphic sexual content.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AmorBooks.com
• Release date: Jan 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005242220

AmorBooks.com

AmorBooks.com publishes sizzling erotica and romance stories that pack a punch.With over 40 authors under our umbrella it doesn't matter if you prefer cosy romance stories, light erotica, or really hardcore stories - you are bound to find something you like.

Book preview

The Ultimate

Erotic Short Story Collection 70

11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books for Women

by AmorBooks.com

Copyright 2021 AmorBooks.com

Distributed by Smashwords

Free Gifts

As a Special Gift for acquiring this collection you are entitled to another 10 Free Bestseller Romance and Erotica Books worth $34 PLUS incredible weekly deals on new books and collections! Do as over 12,700 people before you and grab it all — FREE for a limited time only!

http://www.AmorBooks.com

or simply

AmorBooks.com

Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and is intended for those over the age of 18 only.

***

Table of Contents

The Cowboy vs. The Food Bar

Comfort in Close Quarters

What Friends Will Reveal

A Night to Remember

Compulsive Fantasies

Tom, Harry, or Dick

The Babysitter’s Seduction

Andi’s Anticipation

The Bachelorette Party

Finding Mr. Right

The Lute Player

The Cowboy vs. the Food Bar

by

Rebecca Milton

I believed this would be my life. At some point I had this vision of stepping off the train in a new town, getting a room over a drug store, working as a waitress in some mom and pop diner. Then, drinking in a local bar, writing songs on my guitar, meeting a kind, hot, young cowboy and becoming a country music star. Pulled from anonymity by some A&R guy after he sees me do a set at the bar. Music, poetry, spun to harmony on six strings. Money and fame but never losing sight of my roots. A grounded, wonderful woman that you’d have no problem chatting about Bundt cake recipes with when you bumped into me at the Piggly-Wiggly.

Then, you’d tell your friends how cool I was, how nice, how approachable. You’d show the picture of us on your phone and have a brush with fame story. So many would because I would be that kind of star. I would have that kind of life.

But, I didn’t. Have that kind of life, that is. I had a life, but... not that kind.

My life was a 30-year-old, unmarried, dental hygienist. I had a fine studio apartment, good friends and I did play guitar. But, not for anyone. Not in bars. Not for cowboys. Not for an A&R man. Just for me. Alone. In my apartment every night and only for someone if I was a little drunk.

That was my life. I had a boyfriend. That was good. Not having a boyfriend would have made things almost unbearable. No worries there... I had a boyfriend. He was.... Well, he was... fine. Yes, yes, that’s the word. Fine.

The thing is, I know Cosmo says we women need to be responsible for our own orgasm but shouldn’t the guy you’re dating have a hand in it as well? No pun intended. I mean if you tell him, share the things that you like, want, need with him, shouldn’t he, you know, throw in a little help in that area? I thought so, but Alan, the nice man I was dating, didn’t seem to be interested in being a team player.

Maybe he just wasn’t capable of following directions. But it wasn’t really broken so, I didn’t really spend too much time trying to fix it. I wasn’t unhappy. I wasn’t deliriously happy either but none of my friends was so, it was OK. Those crazy happy people seemed to exist only in beer commercials or romance novels. I had a life, I had a boyfriend, I was... happy.

***

I think we should break up, Alan said to me, almost the instant we slipped into the booth at the Sizzler, this just doesn’t seem to be working.

My jaw dropped to the table and the waitress approached. I’m going to have the special sirloin and the endless food bar, he said to her. She looked at me and I was unable to speak. She’ll have the same, Alan said and the waitress left. Well, let’s hit that food bar, he said and left me alone in the booth.

I watched him as he walked away. The room was spinning and I felt like I was watching a movie. A terrible, painful, extremely confusing foreign film about someone who looked exactly like me, whose life was suddenly crashing down around her. I was too stunned to move. After what felt like hours, Alan returned to the table. He had a huge, overflowing plate of a variety of salads, a plate full of chicken wings and onion rings. He put the plates down.

Be right back, he said and returned to the endless food bar. Again, in slow motion. He returned with a bowl of soup. They have the clam chowder you love, better get some while it’s still hot and fresh.

He sat down, tucked his napkin into his collar like a bib, something I had asked him not to do, but he continued to do and started attacking his chicken wings. He paid no attention to me. This wasn’t anything new, when Alan ate, he ate and focused on nothing but the food. At one point, when I had cooked for him the first time, I found this charming. He was so taken by my cooking that he didn’t want to split his focus. It was charming then. It was fucking annoying right now.

Why, Alan, I asked him.

Because a lot of people like this chowder, he said, looking at me, his face stained with wing sauce, you need to get some before it’s gone."

No, Alan, I said, trying to keep my cool, I’m not talking about the soup... I’m talking about us. Why are we breaking up?

Oh, he said and put the half masticated wing down. He wiped his face with a napkin and then balled it up and tossed it aside. To be honest you just don’t... do it for me, you know?

No, I don’t know, do what for you?

You don’t turn me on, he said, picking up a fresh wing. It’s OK, I’m not mad, I still think we can be friends. I just need a woman that is more... experienced, better in bed... More willing. You’re a little inhibited and, honestly, I just don’t have an interest in teaching you. He put the wing in his mouth and pulled out a bone stripped of meat, like a cartoon glutton. Get something to eat, kiddo.

Dazed, I got out of the booth and walked to the endless food bar. I stood in front of the bar and did nothing. People were piling up behind me. They started pushing by me, getting salad and rolls, wings, potato skins. I was pushed backward, a few feet away and the crowd just flowed on past me. I was lost. Suddenly I started moving, not really in control of what I was doing or where I was going.

I went to the counter and asked the little blonde girl if I could have a very large bowl, I told her I wanted to bring a salad for the family to the table. She handed me a giant mixing bowl. I went back to the food bar and filled a bowl with clam chowder. Then, I walked outside, opened the driver’s door on Alan’s car and dumped the soup all over the seat, the dash and the steering wheel. I went back inside. I returned to the food bar and filled a bowl with pudding. I went back to the table and sat down.

Where’d you go, Alan asked, is that pudding?

Nowhere,’ I said automatically, yes, pudding, I got pudding."

Big bowl, you going to share?

Of course, I said, stood up and dumped the entire bowl of pudding over his head. He was shocked, struck dumb, sitting there in the booth, pudding running down his shoulders, over his chest, covering his body.

Have pudding, I said. I picked up my purse and walked away. I got to the middle of the room, people were looking at Alan, watching me, snickering, whispering, I didn’t care. I stopped, looked at Alan and pointed at him.

Alan Fendale, I said very loudly, and everyone in the place went silent and listened. Without a doubt, you are the worst lover I have ever had in my thirty years on this planet. Not only is your penis small, you completely lack any skill with it. It is akin to being penetrated by a paraplegic eel. I have spent more money on batteries for my vibrator in the two years that we have been dating than I did my entire time in college. You are a terrible, terrible person.

I turned and walked toward the door. The room was still silent. I stopped again and turned to him. Also, I said, I want my fucking popcorn popper back you selfish wad of shit. Then, I walked out into the night.

***

I say you dodged a bullet, Craig, my very best friend in the world, said to me as he passed me a bottle of tequila. What would have life been like if you just... married Alan?

Batteries, the food bar and... I said, taking a swig, I guess that’s about it.

We were sitting with our feet dangling in his pool. I had walked to his house and knocked on the door. He was the only person in the world that I knew I could do that with if I was ever in need. I was in need. I had called him on my way over and when I got there, he had tequila, salt, limes all set to go.

He told me the guest room was made up, I was going to stay, no arguing about it. I didn’t argue, I didn’t want to be alone. I put on a pair of his pajamas and we set to drinking. It was like a replayed scene from some TV series—girl gets dumped by a man she shouldn’t have wasted her time with anyway, and then she seeks solace in a bottle of booze and wisdom from her best gay friend. That was me. That was us. I was... typical. Maybe Alan was right.

Maybe Alan was right, I said to Craig, maybe I don’t do it... Maybe I am boring... He passed me the bottle.

Not tonight, you’re not boring, he’s not right, none of that tonight. Look, Alan... My phone rang, cutting Craig off.

It’s Alan, I said and answered, hello? I could barely understand him he was screaming so loud. I held the phone away from my ear because it was hurting to have all his screaming streaming directly into my ear. He was using language I had never heard come out of him before. It was shocking.

What’s he so mad about? Craig said, looking a little frightened.

I poured a huge bowl of clam chowder all over the interior of his car. Craig started laughing uncontrollably. This, of course, combined with the tequila, made me start to laugh. I tried to suppress it, but, the image of Alan opening the car door and seeing the new chowder interior set me off. Alan was screaming, Craig was falling into the pool laughing, I was trying to suppress it but failing miserably, it was insane.

Alan, I said into the phone, I understand you’re upset, I understand that must have been shocking but please, please stop yelling and talk to me. I waited, he calmed down a bit. He stopped yelling.

You poured clam chowder all over the interior of my car, he said, angry but at a more respectable decibel level. I just opened the door and found it.

That didn’t make sense, I thought. I walked here to Craig’s place, I had been drinking, I had changed into pajamas, been here for about forty-five, minutes, plus the twenty minute walk... He just found it.

I don’t understand Alan, what do you mean you just found it, I did it over an hour ago. There was silence. I looked at Craig, he shrugged. Alan?

I... just left the Sizzler right now.

You stayed and ate after I left, after the scene I made? I shouted at him this time.

Of course I did, it’s the food bar, and you know I love the food bar. I looked at Craig.

Food bar, I said.

Ah, Craig said. Feeling boring, feeling like Alan’s right? he asked.

No... Strangely, I’m not.

Alan, listen to me, I spoke evenly, calmly into the phone, I am truly sorry about the clam chowder, but, it’s an easy fix.

Oh really, and what do you suggest I do?

I suggest, you go back inside, get a large bowl, fill it with those little oyster crackers and dump them all over the interior of your car. Then, go fuck yourself. I hung up the phone. Craig applauded, we drank for a while and then, I went to bed. As I lay in bed, I replayed the entire night. Slowly, I became quite proud of myself, quite happy with my actions and quite pleased that the relationship with Alan was over. I slept well.

***

The week went by slowly, work was fine, and Craig checked in on me a couple of times. I found that I missed Alan a little but only in a very superficial, I wish I had someone to go to a movie with, sort of way. I didn’t miss him specifically as much as I missed having that companion.

Craig was great and I loved him dearly but, the connection with a boyfriend, even a crappy boyfriend, was different. But, I had no desire to call him or see him, which was good. On Friday night, I left work and didn’t feel like going directly home. I also didn’t feel like calling anyone, making any big plans. I wanted to be out, but wanted to be alone. I wandered around the downtown area, something I rarely did much. The air was cool and pleasant, the night felt full of energy. People out in packs and couples, it was a good feeling. I walked to the downtown market on Bale Street where there were shops and bars and restaurants. Since it was Friday, it was bustling.

I walked into The Fiddler’s Elbow, an Irish Pub I used to go to all the time but stopped because Alan didn’t like it. He had a fear of leprechauns. Go figure. I got a pint of bitters and went out onto the patio to drink and watch the world go by. I found a table near the street, sat down and sipped my beer. I listened to bits of conversation, watched people as they passed and then, over all the voices, cars and sounds of the night I heard a guitar.

I looked across the courtyard that filled the area between the shops and bars and I saw a man, in the middle, a man sitting on a stool, playing guitar. He was singing, a small crowd had gathered, his guitar case was open in front of him. Typical busker situation. I couldn’t hear him too well, but his guitar was piercing the night sounds and it was beautiful. I listened for a while as the bar patio began to fill up. The other three chairs at my table had been borrowed by people, my pint was gone so I decided to leave.

I walked out and headed to the busker. He was tuning his guitar, watching people walk by, greeting them, smiling. He looked to be about 35, a little grizzled, rough, hair buzz cut to his scalp. He was dressed very well, smart jacket, shirt and thin scarf. He had a very appealing manner about him, an ease as the people moved by. He seemed comfortable on his stool in the middle of the moving masses. He saw me and smiled. His eyes were a crystal blue that almost glowed with light.

How are you tonight, he said to me, having a good evening?

Quiet, I said, stepping closer, kind of uneventful. I am not shy but, normally I wouldn’t talk so easily to someone this way. After all, he was center stage and anyone talking to him was on his stage. But, I didn’t mind.

Uneventful can be nice, he said, strumming his guitar, especially if the days before having had too many events, if you know what I mean. He laughed and started to play a song. People stopped. He had an incredible voice, it drew you in and wrapped you up in warmth. The song was funny, about a breakup, of all things. It had a sad undertone, but he didn’t allow that to take over. In the end, it was hopeful. He played another and another. People joined the crowd gathered, but no one left. After the three songs, he stopped.

All right, he said. I appreciate you listening, and I’ll stop there because I know you all have places to go but you’re just too damn polite to walk away while I’m howling. The crowd laughed. Many of them stepped up and dropped money in his case. They thanked him, praised him and he was gracious with them. Finally, all were gone and I was alone with him.

You have the most wonderful voice, I said to him. He nodded his head in a sort of bow.

That’s very kind of you, thank you. He strummed his guitar again, watching people pass. Then he started talking to me. I wait, he said, I wait between... I don’t know...sets I guess you’d call them. Most guys, they get the crowd and try to keep them as long as possible. Not me. He strummed gently. I know people are out, having fun and they don’t have time to stop for the whole concert or whatever. If they stay for two songs, three tops... I’m happy with that.

I didn’t want to leave and I hoped he would play some more. So, I waited, watched him watch the world, strum softly. Now and then, he’d look at me and smile. Finally, he started to play a little louder, people stopped, gathered, waited. He said hello, asked them questions about themselves. It was all so easy and friendly. He didn’t feel