Easily Aroused ~ erotic fiction by an oversexed Englishman

Sensual erotica written for discerning women

Easily Aroused ~ erotic fiction by an oversexed Englishman - Sensual erotica written for discerning women


More than a year since they last met, since they last fucked. Four hundred days of drought, of carnal famine. Both of them are ravenous, driven to the edge of delirium by months of teasing, by all the succulent possibilities of future flesh. He feels drunk with the prospect of all they might do together, and is sure from the careful words she shares with him that she feels the same.

And then, two weeks before they are due to meet, she messages him out of the blue:

“Would you be disappointed if I said I just want naked, raw, animal, sweaty, thrilling, tear-off-clothes-and-go-at-it sex? I don’t want nice, mannered, measured, thinking or thoughtful. I want to fuck, desperately and wildly. I don’t want to think anymore. I just want to DO.”

How could he be disappointed? He’s being offered a ringside glimpse inside the crater of Vesuvius as she erupts, as she detonates. And yet, deep inside him, something feels crestfallen, thwarted, as the more imaginative possibilities of their encounter dwindle back into the recesses of his imagination.

He replies immediately. “Of course not.”

He types it with a clear conscience, because the thought of her volcanic passions unleashed upon him still makes him hard in moments.

* * * * * * *

They meet under the statue of the lovers at St Pancreas.

“Corny,” she drawls, smiling, as she walks towards him, her coltish gait calm, confident.

“I’ve always wanted to do it,” he answers. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get a chance.”

He leads her toward the station’s exit. She raises a quizzical eyebrow as they pass the escalator down to the Northern Line. “Feeling claustrophobic today, are we?”

He ignores the gentle jibe.

They step out onto the busy street. She takes a step towards the taxi rank, but he takes her hand in his and draws her in the opposite direction.

“Now you’ve got me really perplexed.”

He pulls the key fob out of his pocket and presses the door release button. The BMW at the kerbside flashes its indicators.

“We *are* going to the hotel?”

He smiles. “Eventually.”

“Eventually.” She says the word as though she’s trying it on for size. “I see. And are you planning on telling me where we’re going to first?”

He opens the heavy driver’s door. “Have you something against surprises?”

“That depends on who’s doing the surprising.”

* * * * * * *

He drives east along Euston Road, paralleling the river. The noon sun blazes off to their right, but the climate control keeps the interior comfortable. At the A10, he heads north for around five miles, then indicates right and drives through the middle of an expanse of reservoirs.

“I’m lost,” she says.

“Good.” The note of satisfaction in his answer is evident. She knows the city so much better than he does, so this reverse is a victory of sorts for him. She smiles to herself. She knows that by the end of their time together, she’ll have regained her authority.

He takes another right, then another, so that their course is reversed, only now with the reservoirs all to their right. He follows the narrow road for around a mile. She spies the grassland and the trees ahead, and suspects where they are headed. Her pulse quickens.

He pulls the car off into the trees and presses the button on the dash to silence the engine. She lets the window down a few inches. The warm air outside invades at once. There is noise all around, but it is distant, as though they’ve found an oasis of peace in the midst of the chaos. A train hurtles by, close enough for her to feel the vibrations. She wonders whether it’s travelling into the city. Are there people like her onboard, headed towards some secret assignation? Silently, she wishes them well.

“Time to get out,” he tells her.


He doesn’t say anything in response. He opens the door, climbs out and lets the door shut again with a thunk. She gets out and closes the door behind herself. The sun beats down through the gaps in the trees, dappling her skin with its flickering heat. The shadows of leaves sway across her body like the caresses of ghosts. She closes her eyes and breathes in.

He comes up behind her, scoops her long mane to one side and presses his lips to the nape of her slender neck. She shivers. It seems like eons since she was touched sensually, sexually, by anyone but herself. She keeps her eyes closed and lifts her face to the warmth overhead as his kisses move down the side of her neck towards her shoulder. She can feel his erection pressing against her buttocks, and she moves against it, welcoming its unyielding declaration of her desirability.

Guilt claws at her, trying to shred her mood. She turns away from it, banishes it from her mind. She doesn’t want to die regretting that she didn’t have more sex, and she knows that she is well behind the curve when it comes to averages.

Fuck guilt, she thinks. You had your chances.

So she grinds her buttocks slowly against his loins as he kisses her, already plump between her thighs and aching to feel him invading her succulence. His hands find hers, and then he slides his upwards, inch by inch, his palms against her arms, the tips of his fingers drawing parallel tracks along the flanks of her trembling belly. His fingers slip onto the slopes of her breasts and she shudders again as he homes in on the taut nipples through her dress and her bra, making her gasp aloud for the first time. He cups the fullness of her flesh, moulds it to his soft-but-firm grasp, uses it to draw her more firmly against his hardness.

He presses his mouth to her ear. “I’m going to undress you now,” he breathes. “I’m going to strip you naked. Right here.” His warm breath makes her shudder exquisitely, but not as much as his words, as the daring promise they carry.

His fingers move to the back of her dress. He draws the zip downwards with a confident hand, and then he is brushing the dress from her shoulders, allowing the material to fall down her long, pale body. He doesn’t move to pick the dress up, doesn’t guide her to step out of the pool of discarded material. Instead, his hands move to the clasp that fastens her brassiere. He flicks it open and eases the straps over her shoulders, catching the bra before it falls to the ground, dropping it at the bottom of the car’s windscreen. He cups her bare breasts, filling his hands with her, brushing his palms across the proud nipples until she groans with the teasing pleasure of his caresses.

He crouches behind her, kissing his way down the centre of her spine. He pauses in the small of her back, and she feels his tongue for the first time, lapping at the flat expanse.

“You taste of salt,” he tells her in his deep voice. “Salt and desire.”

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her panties and draws them down her long legs. He guides them to the floor, then silently coaxes her to step out of them. She stands trembling. She’s never felt so naked in her life.

“Turn around,” he says. “I want to look at you.”

She turns slowly, her face a mixture of disquiet and desire.

“What if someone comes?” she whispers.

“What indeed?” He smiles with such lecherous confidence, she can’t help but wonder if he’s secretly hoping that will happen. The double meaning of her question only comes to her later, when they’re driving back towards the sprawling city, her cunt plump and full of his come.

He looks her nude pallor up and down, the sweep of his gaze somehow making her feel even more naked. Then he steps forward, slips his hand behind her neck, brings her mouth to his. Their kiss burns from inception, their lips melding hungrily, effortlessly, as though it were only four hundred minutes since they last did this, four hundred seconds. His hands rise to her breasts again, and he takes the hard nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling them with just enough force to make her knees quiver on the edge of buckling. He understands the hardwiring between her nipples and her cunt very well, and he exploits it ruthlessly.

Now he presses her back until the cool metal of the BMW’s wing halts her progress. He slips his hands behind her thighs, then lifts her onto the edge of the bonnet. The car’s suspension creaks a little as it sinks. The sound brings her back to where they are. The noise of traffic all around them, close but distant. Somewhere, children are yelling. She imagines a family coming upon them, the parents’ horror, the children’s’ bewildered fascination. She should come to her senses, stop him, demand he take her back to the hotel where they can fuck in blissful seclusion and anonymity. She says nothing, in part because she is afraid of ruining the mood … but mostly because, right now, fucking in their hotel room would seem paltry by comparison.

Heart thudding, breathing fast and shallow, she watches him descend her body until his mouth is poised before her sex. She trembles with expectation, in anticipation of the delectable sensations that are about to possess her, overwhelm her. Her lover parts her thighs, and he looks up into her eyes for what feels like forever before he dips his head. His tongue lashes across her clitoris like the slowest and softest of whips, and she cries out before she can stop herself. He tracks down through her cleft, his tongue greedily pressing into the moistness, until her finds the entrance to her quim. He scarcely pauses before he plunges it inside her, as though he means to fuck her with his tongue. She grasps his head in both hands and presses him against her.

“Fuck! Fuck!” she half-whispers, half-cries. Thoughts of discovery are gone. If someone did find them right now, she would ignore them until their curiosity was sufficiently outraged. They could call the fucking police if they wanted to. She wouldn’t give a damn. She would stay right here until they snapped the handcuffs over her wrists.

Fuck the world.

He licks back along her cleft until his lips and his tongue find her clitoris once more. He suckles upon it softly, drumming the tip of his tongue against the bud until the exquisite sensations building within her explode. She bucks against his mouth, lost in the eddies of her orgasm. Her mouth opens to cry out, but she has no idea how much sound she spills.

She wants to collapse back across the bonnet, to luxuriate in her climax. Instead, she feels him drawing her forward, turning her round. His hands find her shoulders, press her down until her breasts are pressed against the metal. His hands are on her buttocks, and she feels them opening her, then the unmistakable smoothness of his glans raking its way through the lips of her sex. She’s still coming when he thrusts himself inside her, and the delicious violence of his invasion plunges her into another orgasm.

Now his powerful hands are at her waist, and he is pistoning himself into her, pulling her back to meet each savage thrust. His cock is hard and merciless in the pursuit of its own desire; hers seems almost incidental. Yet she is happy to be used. Every nerve ending in her body thrums with electricity. He is fucking her back to life.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he tells her gutturally. She knows how much it arouses him to do so, to mark her flesh with his seed; to claim her, if only temporarily. She doesn’t come with him: that would be too much to expect. But as his flesh slows within hers, she rubs the side of her face against the smooth metal contentedly: there is so much more for her to look forward to before it comes time for them to part again.

* * * * * * *

He watches raptly as she dresses. She moves with such languid grace. He wishes he could record it better somehow. Memories alone are too ephemeral.

“Allow me,” he says, opening the car door for her. She slips inside as elegantly as she re-clothed herself. He gets in and starts the engine.

“I would have laughed if it hadn’t started,” she says.

“I wouldn’t.”

He turns the car around and drives out the way they came. Three hundred yards up the road, they see a family – man, woman, two children and a chocolate Labrador – walking towards where they’d parked. She half-laughs, half-snorts.

“Timing’s everything,” she says, giggling like a teenager.

They cross back between the reservoirs and turn left towards the city. Back on Euston Road, the traffic slows them to a crawl.

“So what inspired you to drive me out there?” she asks.

“You said you wanted something raw and animal. Nothing mannered or thoughtful. I figured outdoors was a better place than an expensive hotel room for that sort of sex.”

She draws the tips of her manicured nails along the top of his thigh. “You thought right.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

She turns in her seat to face him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “So what are hotel rooms better for?”

He looks straight ahead, his mouth curling upwards. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”


My apologies to all my readers for the recent disappearance of ‘Easily Aroused’ from the Interweb, due largely to circumstances out of my control. My webhosts of the past few years decided that I was in breach of their Accept Usage Policies for:

  1. Excessive traffic
  2. Hosting images

and abruptly suspended the site. Things weren’t helped by the company’s steadfast refusal to even allow me access to my backups, which left me facing the possibility of having to resurrect things from cached versions of the site stored elsewhere around the web. Fortunately, after two weeks of simply ignoring all of my many requests, a more reasonable person at the company finally forwarded me a link that allowed me to download my data.

I’ve encountered a few teething problems in bringing the site back to life, but everything appears to be working normally now. If you do encounter any issues, I’d apprectiate it if you pointed them out to me.

Sorry again.



Erotic-DreamsDo you ever let your thoughts stray to me? In the daytime, when you find yourself alone and your mind unoccupied? In the nighttime, when the soft shadows fall across your bed, across your languid, supine form?

Are there nights when I slip into dreams that have no business being?

Confess: are you tempted to caress yourself in those moments – public, private – when I find a way to invade your thoughts? Do you ever yield to that temptation?

Do you?

What are you wearing right now? Tell me

In my mind, it’s something black, lacy, feminine. You always look delectable in the decadent rays of my imagination. Wicked and wanton. A gloriously mouth-watering creation lifted from the pages of Chandler, Spillane, Hammett. A salicious siren, whose song no man can resist.

When I’m there with you, whether it’s in a quiet office or a secluded bedroom, do I possess the power to make you yearn? Does my phantom’s presence leave you aching to be touched, to be consumed, to be filled? Have I dampened your panties with unrequited lust at so vast a distance?

Tell me: are they damp now? Press them against yourself, then. Tease yourself through them. Thrill to the sensation of the soft fabric rubbing against your sex.

I want those panties, just as they are now. Damp from being pressed against your cunt; fragrant from your arousal.

Would you like me to lick them, now, while you’re still wearing them? To lick you through them, to taste you through them? To feel my lips against yours, separated by only a few millimetres of fabric? And once they are sodden and can contain no more of your lust, to have me hook my fingers beneath the edge of one leg and draw them aside, revealing your cunt to my gaze … feeling my warm breath on your bared sex, knowing that I can see every last secret?

And then to feel my mouth on you, my tongue in you. Tasting you. Drinking you.

I think you’d like that. I think that you’d push back against my mouth, that you’d gasp and moan and cry out, over and over, as my mouth explored you, as I pressed my thumb against your anus, as I licked your clitoris, as I fucked your cunt with my tongue.

I want to do that.

Oh, to have your juices flooding my nose and mouth. To be afforded the chance to explore every last nerve ending you possess.

And what do you want? To feel me stroke the backs of your thighs with my fingertips as I lift your legs into the air, exposing you so utterly? To feel the tip of my tongue tracing a teasing path around the edges of your plump sex? To feel my thumb brushing your clit as my fingers sink inside you, as my tongue dances over the forbidden tightness of your rosebud?

Do you dream of me making your nerves jangle in that way?

Are you aroused now? Are you wet? Do you ache to be fucked, to take my cock deep inside you?

I need that. To be within your flesh. To feel how wonderfully wet you are, to have you sheath my cock in the liquidity of your lust. To have you tell me what you want to feel, what you need to feel. To hear how badly you want to come, that you have to come or you’ll go mad.

I so want to fuck you. To press your nakedness back against the warmth of an immense bed, to hold your wrists above your head and trap them against the mattress, to open you with my free hand and guide my cock between your labia, and then thrust it slowly but powerfully inside you. To tell you to open your thighs wider, to allow me further inside you. To tell you to lift your legs, to wrap your thighs around me, to bind me to you, to draw me deeper inside you, until there’s nowhere left for me to go.

I want you to tell me everything you need, even if you don’t utter a single word.

So tell me one last thing: where are your thoughts now?


undressingHe told her that he would choose the dress for her to wear at her husband’s gala evening. He selects one in black; strapless, full length, and with a daring slit up the front of her right leg that does not stop until it reaches past the middle of her thigh. He has no doubt that adorning her statuesque curves it will bring her a good deal of attention, something he has divined that she craves, that she needs. His one concern is that some of the male guests will be capable only of engaging in conversation with her cleavage. He reassures himself that there should be a handful of men who know how to look at a woman like men, and not sniggering adolescents. If there are not, he hopes she will feel sufficiently self-assured to cup their chins in her hand, brushing her long, red nails against their cheeks as she lifts their eyes back to hers.

He places his handwritten note atop the black silk before he seals the dress within its elegant box.

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Clothed Male, Naked Female“Stop,” she pants against the side of my mouth. “You have to stop. We have to stop. This is insane.”

She’s right; it is insane. Everything within me tells me that: my intellect and my instinct, my brain and my balls. Every internal warning bell I possess clangs as fast and as hard as the beating of my heart against the inside of my ribs.

And yet.

And yet.

I ignore her words and kiss her again. This time my hand slides from her hip to the firm swell of her left breast. She arches herself into my grasp, even as she tries to draw away from me. My other hand is flat against the small of her back, holding her against me, pulling her loins to mine. I know that she can feel how hard I am. Am I making her wet? Has she fantasised about my cock the way I’ve fantasised about her cunt? Has she dreamed of what I would feel like in her hand, between her breasts, against the cheeks of her arse? Has she touched herself as she conjured what it would be like to feel my hardness entering her, piercing the sanctity of her veiled flesh?

Does the prospect of such ultimate betrayal appal and arouse her in equivalent measure, as it does me?

Yet at this moment in time, my excitement outweighs my guilt by a magnitude of ten, a thousand, a million, and the sweet emotion surpasses the bitter exponentially with each passing second. For now, guilt is just another word in the lexicon of my given language. Later, it will consume me, sear me, rend me from three hundred and sixty degrees. For the moment, it is the bleating of a newborn lamb in a hurricane.

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The Falls

Waterfall SexHe’d asked her what she wanted for her anniversary. She was touched he had bothered to enquire, but still annoyed that he felt the need to ask. After so much time, she longed for him to be able to read her, to pluck the fervid desires from her mind and make them flesh.

In her free time, she found a measure of solace in written erotica, in allowing herself to be drawn along by the lustful prose of others. She loved to feel her senses coming alive as her eyes flowed over the lines of text, her nerves tingling with the intensity of imagined lovemaking.

She was a woman who yearned for adventure, for a wonderfully dramatic rending of normality’s mundane cloak. She wanted to feel breathless with passion, to feel her heart pounding with wanton excitement. She wanted to be consumed with desire.

She came home one brilliant afternoon and found him sitting at her laptop. She tried to recall if she’d wiped the browser’s history record after her last session online. She didn’t fully understand why she felt the compulsion to cover her tracks. After all, she was an adult, and her tastes were confined to the more literary aspects of the erotica genre. Even so, she still felt compelled to keep her predilections to herself.

“Hello,” she said to him from the doorway.

He turned around quickly, but she couldn’t tell from his face if it was a guilty reaction or simply one of pleasant surprise.

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Sound and Fury

His heart quickens when he sees her email waiting for him, the familiar paperclip beside the subject line signifying the presence of an attachment.

He knows exactly what to expect.

He goes to his desk, opens the left-hand draw and pulls out the pouch containing his B&W headphones. He plugs them into the top of the tablet, positions the headphones’ soft leather pads over his ears and settles himself in his high-backed chair. The attachment has finished downloading. Before he presses play, he switches both of his phones to silent.

“I want to come for you,” her voice says to him in the empty office. “I want to come for you.”

He hears birds singing, cars passing by outside her apartment. She tells him how her mind has become a blur, a giddy kaleidoscope of all the ways she craves to pleasure him, to taste him, to fuck him. He nods without realising that he is doing so, as her words, her promises, echo in his brain. They tease his expectations ever upwards, play his nerve endings like a harpist dexterously picking out the most beguiling of melodies. Already, he is rapt, enthralled, lost.

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Trumpet Blowing

For those new readers who’ve found their way here thanks to Rory’s Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2013, I thought I’d take the opportunity for some shameless self-pluggery.

Though there’s already plenty of erotic fiction for you to read in the Archives, there’s a good deal more that’s now only available to purchase through the folks at Lulu.com.

For instance, Compulsive Ardour contains the very earliest of my work, which once formed the basis for my online archives. Similarly, Zealous Kisses contains the remainder of my old archives. To mark my fifth anniversary of publishing erotic fiction online, I decided to issue a special hardcover edition, [five], which contains the vast majority of Compulsive Ardour and Zealous Kisses. Though this will likely sound immodest, please don’t take ‘early work‘ as being shorthand for ‘crap‘. There’s some good stuff in those volumes.

Then there’s Concupiscent, a collection of ten standalone stories of erotica, and Five Sips of Darkness, which features a quintet of erotic tales that feature some of the darker aspects of sexuality. With the exception of The Ultimate taken from Concupsicent, the work in those books has never featured on the blog.

Nor have the Pulp Sex stories, erotica inspired by the intense covers of American pulp sex novels from the 1950s and 1960s. The first – The Third Lust – tells the tale of Jennifer, a new arrival in tranquil suburbia, and Gina, the woman who has all, and wants more. The second is Love Me Wild, the story of a high-flying architect, his dissatisfied wife, and their sultry new neighbour Marcia, whose desire for pleasure respects no boundaries.

The Pulp Sex titles are only avaialble as e-books, and [five] is only available in hardback; all of the remaining titles are available in either paperback or electronic formats, as you prefer.

You can peruse the whole of my store at Lulu.com right here.

I hope you find something to tempt you.

Top 100 Sex Blogs of 2013….

Each year since 2009, I’ve been fortunate enough to find myself on the Top 100 Sex Blogs list put together by the extremely dedicated Rori of ‘Between The Sheets’. This year, I’ve been similarly fortunate – to have been included by Rori, and to have been nominated by some of my readers in the first place. My sincere thanks to you all.

Rori’s top ten is below. You can view the entire top 100 here.

1. Lady Pandorah from Lady Pandorah’s Sanctuary @ladypandorah
2. Jerome from Let’s Talk About Sex @NotJeromeStuart
3. EA from Easily Aroused @EasilyAroused
4. Anna Sansom from The Lady Garden Project @ladygarden69
5. Violet Blue from Tiny Nibbles @violetblue
6. Dick and Jane from Dick-n-Jane
7. Kara from Kara Sutra Reviews @Kara_Sutra
8. Lauralyn from Big Ugly Pix
9. Remittance Girl from Remittance Girl @remittancegirl
10. Dorothy Black from The Dot Spot @dorothyblack


CHOPSTICKS“Tell me exactly what you want,” he says to her.

The Chinese waiter has carried away the remnants of their meal, the coffee has been served, and a small wooden bowl containing steaming, lemon-scented towels has been placed between them. It is the perfect moment to learn what she desires of him, what she expects of their encounter.

The woman regards him coyly across the rim of her cup, her lips still sealed for the moment. Her expression – a concoction of lust and doubt and shame – is little different to that of any woman with whom he’s dined for the first time. She knows exactly why she has come here today, and yet there is something in his question that compels her to respond as though sex was the very last thing on either of their minds. With most of the women he meets, he finds it endearing: watching the familiar hesitance as the guilt crashes over them, knowing that their uncertainty will melt away completely the instant that he kisses them, cups their breasts in his steady hands, fits the firmness of his loins against the softness of theirs. It is simply part of the dance, a component of this debauched ritual that gives him life.

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bound-and-claspedShe pulls onto the driveway at 6.00pm, as she has more or less every working day for the last six years. Even with the Volvo’s air conditioning turned up to maximum, the heat pawed at her skin during the drive home. Opening the car door is like stepping into an oven.

The house is quiet, cool compared to outside.

“Hello?” she calls. There’s no answer. John’s car is parked in the driveway as well. She wonders if he’s gone for a run, perhaps a ride on his bike.

She walks into the kitchen, drops her bag onto the farmhouse table that takes up most of the floor. The big station clock that he bought for her at some auction ticks solemnly as she opens the refrigerator and takes out a carton of mango juice. She half-fills a wide tumbler and then greedily swallows the chilled, slightly viscous liquid. As she closes the refrigerator, she sees the note, written in John’s looping hand.

In the garage.

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cuckoldHe watches them from within a vortex of flaming jealousy and treacherous arousal.

The voyeur’s profiled subjects are both naked, both facing the wall off to his left. Her left leg is raised, her tiptoed foot resting upon one edge of the bed. Her exposed vulva – rendered bare and smooth especially for the occasion – pouts expectantly; a wanton orchid that no longer cares from where its nourishment comes. All that matters now is that it needs.

The voyeur’s desire has wrought this: propelled this woman to the point of betrayal, to where he ceases to have any say in what happens next. The atoms have been excited, their reaction made self-sustaining. The boulder has been tipped from the edge of the precipice. It teeters, about to surrender inexorably to gravity, careering onwards, downwards, accelerated by forces beyond anyone’s control.

The knowledge turns the tainted knife in his guts, makes his hard cock throb unrepentantly.

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