fiction
Erotic, romantic, and sexy fiction for the Filthy community.
Pornman
Morty loved porn. He was Pornman, after all. Pornman? The man who lived in porn. He literally lived in it as if it was a place. It was in his case. I should first tell you about his superpower. While sexual prowess was part of his aptitude, Pornman didn’t fly or anything like that. But I should start from the beginning. Chronology is never a given unless one makes it flow.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
Staying Inside
The woman I love is not a blond like in the pic above or a redhead or one who dyes her hair blue or purple. The woman I love has short dark brown-auburn hair and I love to stay inside her. It’s always warm and then hot and then warm again. I refuse to explode, so I can remain inside her forever minus an hour during which I could prepare to explode for the last time and be only stopped by death, the hunting ground for every love and life.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
A String Theory
It would be easier to describe string theory, the little that I accept of this doubtful turf, than to tell you about the beginning, and the end for that matter, of the string. I barely noticed it one cloudy October weekend afternoon, dangling unbound in the air a bit closer to the ceiling than the floor. Roughly a foot long, it looked bluish and felt British between my fingers. Pubic hair has a peculiar texture, a strange consistency, so it seems, compared to other types of hair and particularly the locks that cover our heads. I have known British pubes, rough and downy at the same time, like a dying poet, unlike the ordinariness of the French, Korean, Russian, and Spanish, and the pubes of other nationalities in all probability. I pulled on it the way an ill-fated woman first pulls on a penis to assess its solidity before milking it for that nauseating nectar. What can be described as a space in space suddenly opened up and pulled me in much the same way that a mindful ant is sucked in by a mindless anteater. I found myself in a dark coldish cave that meandered to a cool darkish cavern.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
Charlie's One Night Stand
Charlie grimaced as she fought with the bolt the starter motor. Who the hell had done this up? The damn thing was on so tight she wasn’t sure she’d get it off herself, and she hated having to ask for help. It would be easier if she could access it from above, but no, this particular bolt required her on her back beneath the car. She pushed against it with all her strength, only to have the spanner slip out of her hands and clatter to the floor.
By Heather Kinnane5 years ago in Filthy
Rising Action in the Royal Bedroom
Queen Yara lay on a violet velvet fainting couch wearing nothing but silken rope and jewels. Expertly braided glossy fibers accented her teasing navel, lean arms, and ample thighs. She had been playing a delicious game of pretend with her gentleman-in-waiting. Wearing a tiger mask, Manuel prowled around in a golden cage.
By Lola Sense5 years ago in Filthy
