Roma Victrix - Sex Stories

Roma Victrix

Introduction:

No one seems to be able to scratch the itch. Billions of minds are constantly creating and (mostly) consuming, always searching for that elusive, ineffable feeling. Countless stories contain the seeds of this sinful tree, from incest and adultery to drugs and bondage. Few are willing to admit it, but far fewer have not sought it out on occasion. It seems a part of the human psycheneeds to descend into the depths.

It is as if we know that if wedon'tleave some scraps at that dark altar, the powers will eventually come and take them and more still. They will wrest control from us and drive us into erotic entanglements that would bring indescribable pleasure but then get us permanently cast out of pleasant company, if not society altogether.

Lancelot and Guenevere. Paris and Helen. The Minoan Queen, whose mad lust made the man-eating Monster in the Labyrinth. Something, something, something forbidden fruit. You all know the story; that's why you are reading these words. Youneed to feel the scorpion's sting.

For many, it's not so much erotic fantasy as eroticexorcism. We let the lust flow onto the page and send the beast back into the abyss. That's why I'mcompelledto write. Because if I don't pour these stories out onto paper, I'll be pouring my essence into whichever container would condemn me to the deepest level of hell.

But what happens when the shadows are no longer satisfied with this arrangement? What happens when the deviantdemands more? What ...

... happens when the black seed in the writer's mind decides it wants to stretch beyond the confines of the imagination?

Well, you get a story like this, and if all goes according to plan somewhere in the world, a sexy little seed will be planted in the mind of a specific reader...

Roma Vitrix:

James sat cross-legged on the couch and took in the erotic scene in front of him. Two voluptuous young women were writhing together in erotic bliss, locked in the throws of ecstasy. It was a sensuous ouroboros of dancing tongues, groping fingers, pulsing orifices, and hard raspberry-colored areolas. Toned golden skin gleamed in dancing candlelight.

The first femme fatale was his French Fiancé Marie. Her long, dark curly hair, soft white skin, and long, lithe body made her look every bit the Venus. But the dark aura around her was less innocent and more gypsyesque, from her smoky eye shadow to the black La Perla Garter Belt above her hips. There was something mysterious and inhuman about her, like an Eva Green character. She radiated the presence of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and just how to get it.

Her twenty-five-year-old hourglass body was perfectly proportioned, and every part of her toned marble skin was engorged from the last two hours of passionate sucking and fucking.

Her usually bright pink pussy was as red as a poppy after countless orgasms, and judging by her half-open mouth and her quickening breathing, she was well on the way to another. Every one ...