The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 84: 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:

Damage. Love. by Rebecca Milton

The First Kiss by Linda Wiggins

The Distraction by Emma Bishop

The Psychology of Getting Along by Jean Mathis

From Escort to More by Evelyn Hunt

Eden's Dilemma by Bonnie Robles

Eden’s Dilemma 2 by Bonnie Robles

Stepping Beyond Phone Sex by Pearl Whitaker

Hotel Courtesy by Inez Eaton

Exhibitionist Show at the Sex Shop by Colleen Poole

Daisy & Dylan: The Lost Years 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: 9781005854256

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 84

11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books for Women

by AmorBooks.com

Copyright 2021 AmorBooks.com

Distributed by Smashwords

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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

Damage. Love.

The First Kiss

The Distraction

The Psychology of Getting Along

From Escort to More

Eden's Dilemma

Eden’s Dilemma 2

Stepping Beyond Phone Sex

Hotel Courtesy

Exhibitionist Show at the Sex Shop

Daisy & Dylan: The Lost Years

Damage. Love.

by

Rebecca Milton

My mother was dying. I remember standing by her bed in the hospital, seeing her face which had grown ashen, thin and bitter, through bleary eyes. I didn’t know exactly what was happening. I didn’t know why she was dying; no one was explaining this to me, I was too young, I only knew that I was never going to see her again. She reached for my father’s hand, grasped it, drew a breath and spoke to him.

I love you, Harold, she said and my father... he nodded. He didn’t say anything at first; he just nodded, accepted the words and nodded. My mother’s eyes got fierce, and I thought for a moment that she was going to make a miraculous recovery, spring from the bed and be fine. She gave my father’s hand a pull, and he almost fell on the bed. She drew a hard breath and spoke again. I love you, Harold, she said again, determined. My father steadied himself and gave her a weak smile.

I love you too, Adele, he said, but even at that young age, I could hear he was lying. My mother must not have heard what I heard or perhaps she chose to ignore the tone, the lie, because she smiled, sighed and then, she slipped away, and that was all. She was done. The doctor, who was standing in the room behind us stepped forward, looked at the screens, touched her throat and then told us she was gone. My father nodded, bowed his head for a second as if in prayer and then said; Where is the cafeteria, I am starving.

The doctor and I exchanged a look. My father then slipped into the bathroom leaving me alone with my mother’s corpse and the doctor for a moment.

He’s most likely in shock, the doctor said to me. I didn’t think he was, but I didn’t say anything. It’s going to be difficult for the two of you now, you will need to rely on each other. He’s going to be very upset. He’s going to be... my father burst from the bathroom whistling and smiling, the doctor stopped talking.

Papers to sign, my father asked the doctor, and they spoke of arrangements and such for a moment and then my father grabbed my hand and we left the room. He was walking with a spring in his step. Forget the cafeteria, my girl, he said to me, let’s go and have ourselves a good meal. So we left the hospital, got in the car and drove to the Red Barn, a restaurant in town that my father loved, and my mother hated. It was a buffet, an all you can eat type thing which my mother said was low class and my father praised because, as he would say to her, Variety is the spice of life. My mother hated it because you basically served yourself. She felt that, if she was going to have a night off from cooking and serving dinner, she wanted someone to bring her dinner to her. She didn’t like getting the tray and going to the stations and getting her food herself.

May as well just stay at home and eat, she would say.

No one’s stopping you, my father would counter.

Funny the things you remember as a kid.

My father and I sat in the Red Barn; he had a plate piled high with chicken wings, his first course he said.

Take your time, Sam, he said to me, calling me the name my mother hated but I liked. I felt Samantha was too formal and mother thought Sam was too tomboyish, We are going to sit here all day and eat our fill. Which is what we did. My father was not a fat man, but he could eat and eat. He was happiest when he was eating. He was animated, talkative, and friendly when he had a plate of food in front of him. Yet, none of the talking or socializing ever interfered with his ability to continue eating right through a conversation. It was impressive. He showed that skill often that day. Friends came by the table and asked about mother, he told them she had passed, held conversations about her last minutes, how hard it had been for her, how she was now in a better place, all the while, ripping apart fried chicken wings, dipping them in various sauces and chomping them down. He even managed to shake the hands of well-wishers without getting them covered in hot sauce or blue cheese or ranch dressing. He was thoughtful that way.

We sat at the Red Barn for hours that day, my father transitioning from chicken wings to roast beef, potatoes, and gravy, to Mexican food, to whatever else caught his eye. The Red Barn had quite a variety.

Spice of life, he said to me after he returned to the table with a plate loaded with various salads and sliced ham. I nodded but said nothing. After several hours of him eating, breaking the news to friends, he sat back and sipped a soda, assuring me that we were not done, he was simply taking a break. He smiled, looked around the room like he was the owner of the place and then, he looked at me, really looked at me for the first time that day. You OK, Sam, he asked and I shrugged. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. Kinda rough, huh, he said and I felt... I don’t know. To this day I cannot name the emotion I experienced when my father said that. ‘Kinda rough, huh?’

Momma’s dead, I said to him, reminding him what had happened at the hospital a few hours ago.

That she is, was his reply, that she is. Happens, Sam, happens to us all.

Did you love her, I asked and, he never missed a beat, never paused to think or consider how his answer might affect me.

Not a bit, he said and looked toward the food stations, planning his next plateful. He made his choice and moved to leave, to slide out of the booth and attack the buffet again. Hope that doesn’t disappoint you, Sam, he said as he moved toward the buffet. I sat and thought about that for a long moment. When he came back, a plate of pasta and sauce, meatballs and a smaller plate with bread and butter, I was still thinking about what he said.

You told her you loved her, I said, trying to figure him out. He picked up his fork and spoon, curled some spaghetti around the spoon, making a kind of pasta ball on his fork, stuffed it in his mouth and chewed. His eyes closed, a smile on his face, a small rivulet of red sauce dripping down his chin. After he had swallowed, he opened his eyes, hummed a yum sound and dug in again. Dad, I said and he stopped, his fork, filled with another spaghetti ball, halfway between the plate and his mouth, you said you loved her. He hesitated and then, he stuffed the ball in his mouth and chewed. He chewed slowly. I could see his mind working, trying come up with an answer. When the chewing was done, when he had swallowed, he nodded to me.

Just words, he said and started to curl spaghetti around his fork again, words, Sam. Words your mother needed to hear. She needed to hear them for comfort, for... peace. It did no harm to tell her the words she needed to hear so she could shuffle off with some peace in her heart.

Don’t you think she heard them as a lie? I asked. He pushed the ball of spaghetti into his mouth and chewed slow and wet for a moment.

Well, he said, sipping his Coke, she didn’t seem to notice for the past eleven years, so I’m not sure how she could have today.

The sun was setting when we stepped outside the Red Barn. My father stretched, patted his full stomach and picked his teeth with a wooden toothpick. I stood by his side, looking at the red sun rolling across the tops of the maples at the far end of the parking lot, rolling, sinking, giving way to night.

Big day tomorrow, he said to me, his eyes watching the sunset as well, lots to do, people to see. He reached down to take my hand and walk me to the car. I refused it. He didn’t make a fuss. We drove home in silence. Back home, we sat at the kitchen table, the house felt empty without my mother, but it didn’t feel sad. She had been sick for some time, and the sick had filled every corner of the house. My father dropped a couple of tablets into a glass of water, and the fizz was the loudest thing in the house.

Why did you lie, I asked him after the silence became too much. Why did you lie and stay with her? He thought for a moment.

Well, I have you. I stayed because I have you and... I love you. He smiled.

I’m not buying it, I said to him and went to bed.

***

My father and I lived a fine life together. I was old enough to do things around the house. I had been cooking and cleaning since mother had gotten sick, so not much really changed. He worked, I went to school. We had dinner. On Sundays, we’d see a movie or go to the zoo or the park. We went to the Red Barn more often. Things were fine. About a year after mother had passed, I came down one Sunday morning to find a strange woman sitting at the kitchen table. Strange in the sense that I did not know her, I had never seen her before. Not strange in the Saturday morning Science Fiction channel movie, strange.

Good morning, sweetheart, she said to me. I’m Glenda, and your Daddy’s just run to the store for some eggs, so he’ll be right back. I nodded and poured myself a cup of coffee. Goodness, she said, watching me, aren’t you a little young to be drinking coffee?

I just don’t feel like myself ‘til I’ve had that first cup of coffee, I said to her and she looked shocked. Before she launched into a lecture on being a kid and what was right and wrong, my father came in. He put the groceries on the counter, and I made breakfast. She asked a few times if I needed help. My father assured her I was fine, and he suggested they go upstairs and wash up quickly. She giggled, and they disappeared up the stairs.

All clean, I said when they came back about twenty minutes later. We ate breakfast; she couldn’t stop telling me how good everything was, what a great little cook I was and how I would make some lucky man a fine wife someday. I smiled and nodded. Played the dutiful daughter.

Glenda became a fixture in the kitchen for some time.

I’m sorry about your, momma, she said to me one morning. I was making breakfast, she was drinking coffee and my father was upstairs showering. I don’t want you to think I am trying to take her place. I’m just... well, your Daddy and I, we have a fine time. He’s very special, and I think since your momma passed, he needs some company.

That’s very kind of you, I said, flipping pancakes on the griddle.

Oh, she said, it’s not kindness, believe me, your Daddy... he loves me. I turned from the stove and looked at her.

He does? I said, surprised. I saw my father step into the room behind her, but she didn’t notice. He told you that he said he loved you? I pressed her. She smiled and looked into her coffee.

He sure did, she said, a few nights ago, he looked right in my eyes and he said those magic words, I love you. She sighed, and I looked past her to my father. He gave me a sheepish smile, shrugged, and I just shook my head. He bounced into the room, sidestepping the moment we just shared.

Something smells good, he said, kissed her and poured himself a cup of coffee.

This one, Glenda said, pointing to me, she’s a keeper.

She sure is, my father said and ruffled my hair, love her to pieces. I looked at him, and his smile dropped away.

Thanks, Daddy,’ I said, put pancakes on a platter and moved the platter to the table, Let's eat." Glenda dug in; my father stayed, leaning against the counter, his eyes misty for a moment. I put pancakes on a plate for him and placed them at his spot on the table. I looked at him; our eyes met, and I could see so much in his. Shame, sorrow, a disquiet that I would never forget.

I’m sorry, he mouthed and I shrugged. When I turned from him, I saw Glenda was watching us. She missed it, however. She saw a father and daughter having a lovely moment. She saw a father that loved his daughter. She saw a man that had confessed his love for her, and she was happy to be in love, loved and surrounded by love. She sighed, reached out and squeezed my hand.

Eat up, I said, pancakes are better when they’re still hot. She turned to my father and smiled.

She’s a keeper for sure, she said and he sat down at the table, forcing a smile, buttering his pancakes and being that guy who was in love with that girl.

That was how I learned about love.

***

Why? I asked Kevin. I was still in bed, naked, spent from a roaring orgasm and hours of mind blowing sex. I was sated, sweating, feeling that blissful, semi out of body experience. He was the cause of the bliss. He was kneeling beside the bed, a small, black, velvet, box in his hand. The ring the box held was lovely, tasteful, and something any woman would be happy to receive. I would have been happy to receive it … if I was another woman.

Because, Sam, he said, thinking that would be answer enough.

You want to marry me... because, I said, getting up and looking for my panties. He followed me, holding the ring out like it was leading him, like it was magnetized to my body. I found my panties, put them on and searched for my bra. He kept following. Kept the ring in front of himself. I found the bra and the rest of my clothes and headed toward the bathroom to dress.

Stop, he shouted and I did. He got close, knelt down again, holding the box up to me. I want to marry you because I love you.

***

Kevin and I broke up, I said to Gina the moment her ass hit the chair at the bar later that evening. Her eyes got full, and she started to cry. She leaned across the table and took me into an awkward, uncomfortable hug. I allowed it for a minute and then had to break it. All right, all right now, I said, patting her back, prying her arms off me and pushing her back to her seat. I’m fine, it’s fine, all is fine, I said. Her eyes stayed moist; she kept a hand on my hand, and her kind heart kept singing out to me.

I am so, so, so sorry, Sam. I reached in my purse and got her a tissue. She took it and let the tears flood out. I sat quietly and let her have her emotional burst. When she finally calmed down, we ordered margaritas. What happened honey, tell me, she said and held my hand again, unless it’s too painful. I patted her hand and then removed it from my hand. I liked Gina, she was my