
Apparently, there are different types of erotica, which I’m sometimes reminded of by other authors. There is romantic erotica which covers the naughty bits with long flowery prose. “He thrust his tumescent love sword into my pink flower pedals, covered in dew.”
WTF? Does anyone really talk like that?
“Jamming his massive, rock hard cock into my quivering engorged cunt felt like shoving a cattle prod into my pussy as my brain exploded from the orgasm!”
Then there is the story which teases you up until the final paragraph when we find that they really did it after you’ve read page after page of buildup.
“Blah, blah, blah, ripping her clothes off he defiled her virginity as the sun slowly sunk in the west.”
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