Excellence: Top 10 Stories on Lit

As I'm writing this, there are over 100,000 stories on Literotica in over thirty categories. The stories on Lit seem to fit into a bell curve. There are a lot of mediocre stories, a few really bad ones, and a few truly excellent ones. Of course, that's all accounting for taste. No one has the same taste in stories, and while a story might leave one person panting and fanning themselves, it just might leave someone else cold. Still, good writing is undeniable. I have read stories on Literotica that are in categories I would normally not read at all, but if the story was well-written, I found myself drawn in by the writer's skill and ability alone. To me, that is one of the hallmarks of a well-written story.

I have received many requests from readers for "other stories" on the site that are worth reading. Finding the cream of the crop on Literotica isn't as easy as perusing the Toplists. Those might be the most popular stories, but they may not be the best-written. Sometimes popular and excellent come together, and when they do, it's a wonderful thing. Still, too many truly good stories end up buried far down the list and finding them is like finding a needle in a haystack.

The following is a top ten list of my personal favorites on Literotica—those stories that I feel are truly excellent in terms of the writing itself. These aren't necessarily the most popular stories on the site, but of the 100,000 offerings here, I think they stand above the pack. That said, there are only ten slots here, and there are many more stories on Literotica that are at the top of the bell curve. These are just my ten, an admittedly very subjective and personal list, that I'd like to point readers to on the site. (Note: while I do list 10, they aren't in any particular order)

Obstinate Stain by Unsung Muse in Erotic Couplings

This is one of the most sublime pieces I have read on Literotica to date. The characters are beautifully drawn, and the imagery is so rich and exquisite it feels as if every line should be savored. This author knows their craft and manages to keep a tension and suspense that seems impossible in a piece so short. The metaphors are subtle and yet hauntingly effective. This is a masterpiece of erotic fiction.

It begins:

Laura ate pie by the roadside. The flimsy paper plate – balanced precariously between blueberry-smudged knees – threatened to close in on itself, as much from the heat as from weight and wetness.

Damp strands of hair clung to her neck, forehead and face. A rebellious few came unglued and mingled with the pie as she chewed. She made no move to dismiss them, though she felt them chase the berries around her tongue. It made her think of Christmas. Wetting the thread between her lips. Warm smells. Familiar sensations. Stringing cranberries.

She had never strung a cranberry in her life.

Charles stood not more than three feet behind her. She could hear him chewing. His arguably more successful method of supporting the plate on one large callused hand and forking the pie in with the other had less to do with conscious reason than with his chronic practicality.

She ached for his pie to fall – to feel it spill warm and gummy down her bare sodden back. The curious urge sent a hateful sadness through her. Ashamed, she snuffed it.

There is so much, just in this beginning, that offers a promise of more, and it delivers. This one will blow you away.

Je Suis A Tois by Salteena in Mature

If you don't like breastfeeding, this might not be your cup of tea. Still, if you are a lover of language and character, this story might draw you in, as it did me.

It begins:

Imagine munching into a big ripe juicy peach. Sweet-sharp flavour bursts into your mouth. Juices you cannot possibly capture all of flow unchecked down your chin. Hedonism! You take another bite. The juices flow once more, but you ignore them. You take another mouthful and abandon yourself to the pleasure.

They are ripe peaches, all the young mothers wheeling their tiny new infants in their carriages in the summer sunshine.

Most authors can't pull off writing in this tense, but it works beautifully here, and makes for a more present-centered, erotic piece. The main character here is intriguing, even slightly disturbing in his fetish, but it's hard to stop reading as he follows this young mother down the boardwalk and begins his pursuit of her. The language here is rich and there is a soft humor, like a low, throaty chuckle, that pervades this piece. It's a fine piece of work, one that I highly recommend.

The Creative Geometry of the Sea By Steffen in Illustrated

It wasn't the illustrations that drew me in, it was the writing. This is a superior piece of erotica, with a main character who is so subtly and yet clearly drawn from the very beginning who embarks on a ménage a trios with a couple from a bar. In another author's hands, this could have been seedy and base. This author's writing elevates the scene, giving it a depth and scope not often seen in erotica. The geological metaphors are beautifully done, and the sex scenes are divine, almost transcendent:

It's almost with a subtlety that borders on the obscure that all of this chaotic energy begins to organize itself into a recognizable shape: a swirling, roaring hurricane with me as the eye. But I'm not that calm mystical center. Instead, I'm both driver and engine and with every moment I gather speed and energy and above all else, power. A power that builds and builds, and oh God, not again, I can't move now but know for certain that, fuck me harder, I don't have to. It's me pulling them, releasing them, over and over I, I want it, oh God give it to me. Yes, I'm... I'm... I'm transported far beyond a place that can be measured in time and distance. Beyond any of the five senses or sensations that form the boundaries of my existence.

What beauty and power lie in these words! This piece walks a fine tightrope, balancing truly breathtaking, eroticism with a situation that in many other pieces could have been "the same old thing." This is, most definitely, not your average story.

Afternoon Footsie by Vincent E in Fetish

This story makes my list because it is willing to be erotic without going into the bounds of unreality, and it does so in a witty, wry voice of a main character that you realize, by the end, has been quite finely drawn. This entire piece takes place in a pool on a sunny afternoon, with two characters and very little other action. Yet, it is engaging, amusing, and enticing throughout. The main character is, well, a character, and even pokes fun at his own situation:

It makes for boring reading now, but please bear with me. I am trying to create the setting. That doesn't happen very much in these stories, and I am trying to raise the bar a little. If you have read this far you might as well stick around. Most of the readers who were hoping that I would walk out with the bottles of water and see Claire in her teensy thong all oiled up and prancing around in a pair of six inch stilettos only to have me jump on her and start fucking her from behind as her triple D size breasts bounced around her chest have already clicked the back button on their browsers in utter frustration that this is not some suck and fuck fable. Besides, her breasts are not size triple D. I don't know what her cup size is exactly.

But I digress. Breast size has nothing to do with this story.

And indeed, it doesn't. It's a sensual, erotic read, with two very real people as its focus that leaves you not quite knowing where you stand, a reflection of the protagonist's own inner turmoil. It's really quite brilliantly told and very enjoyable.

The Lighthouse by Dr_Mabeuse in Romance

Yes, this recently received an award in the Earth Day contest in 2006, but it is an example of excellence and popularity converging. This author has a command of language that is superb and masterful in any story he tells, but in one, he outdoes himself. This story carried me away and left me breathless and changed at the end. The imagery is breathtaking, even when he is describing something seemingly mundane:

It was an amazing sight, almost bacchanalian. Thousands, millions of little fish, a river of glistening silver, spilling out of the hose in a stream of frothing water, bouncing and swimming past Patrick and into the innards of the factory like a river of life. Patrick was bare-chested under the slicker, and beaming with joy as he worked, and the men were all happy and laughing as well, joking and calling out, and Julia realized this was a celebration, an occasion for joy.

This story explores the mystery of the world, the beauty in the ordinary, and celebrates life and the living, even in the midst of death. It is moving, eloquently written and the characters seem to walk off the page and into the world he describes. If you don't like stories that have "affairs" in them, it might not be for you—still, the work itself is compelling, the humanity of these three people profound.

Just an example of the well-drawn characters and beautiful imagery... listen to these words, feel them in your mouth the way that Julia tastes her fish:

"Julia, don't insult me and don't insult my fish. They just gave their all for you. If I'm going to come to your restaurant and eat fried tofu, the least you can do is taste my sardines."

His eyes were gray, the same gray as the ocean when the clouds covered the sun. She remembered from somewhere the superstition that people whose eyes were the color of the sea could see into the depths.

She picked up her fork and tasted the fish.

It was exquisite—fresh and clean and just a bit salty, with the vague coppery taste of the ocean that evaporated on her tongue in a buttery memory—fleeting and evanescent. It yielded to her teeth without complaint, unlike any meat she'd ever eaten, as if eager to be swallowed. She felt like she was eating some memory of the sea."

There are few authors who could convey so much. It is captivating, and sublime. I would recommend everything by this author, but this piece especially.

Union Station by Maiyeko in Gay Male

This isn't a category I read, normally, but this is one of those stories that simply insists that you finish, and it is the language that makes it so compelling. The writing isn't just writing—it transports you. It's seamless, effortless, a thing of sublime beauty.

It begins:

"I remember the sound of luggage rolling across concrete as he turned. The ripple he made in time frozen on my brain, the image of his sway. I stole that parting glance and tasted the air through which he had passed, brushing against me a sweet memory. He said something, or hinted at something perhaps but only to my eyes. It was understood, the secret that can be bought between men. In the past it went unnoticed by most, but things are a bit different now. A moment cannot be held at leisure. It cannot be savored that way. The ring on his finger said leave it, but the glint in his eye begged and beckoned."

It goes on to tell the story of two men in a train station bathroom, a quickie encounter that in another writer's hands could have been raunchy. Instead, the language lifts this piece up to another level, its imagery lending depth and heat while not falling into the usual trappings of erotica. There is something very masculine and raw about it where boundaries are drawn and how men negotiate their territory with one another. It's quite primal, and this author is a force to be reckoned with.

Will by BlackShanglan in Nonhuman

This piece not only received an "E" (Editor's Choice) but also a "W" (winner in a contest) and is another example of popular and excellent merging together. The story begins with an inner dialogue of sorts and proceeds to action, but the characterization is so well-done that it's (spoiler coming!) quite some time before you realize the protagonist is a horse, even though it sits quite solidly in the "non-human" category! This is just one way the author begins his metaphor about the nature of humans and animals and their perceived differences.

This is above everything a love story, and it suspends your disbelief in places it would seem just impossible to do so. It's long (nine Lit pages) but you don't realize it, because the words simply flow from this talented writer's pen, and you are transported into his world:

"Only this, Shanglan," he whispered, stroking my neck slowly with his hand. I had not guessed how it would take me, to return to the mark of my servitude now that he knew what I was. I felt a hot humiliation as I took the guise of a slave again. There. With him. But his eyes were deep with his promise, and as they met mine he kissed my nose softly. "Only this. And only if you will."

I looked away. The nearness of him, the scent of his breath, the brush of his beard on my muzzle – all of these worked a power that left me helpless. I closed my eyes, and when he put his hands to my head I pressed my muzzle to his chest and leaned there, feeling him strong and close before me, breathing him in with his touch upon me. When at last his hands closed gently in my mane, I stooped down and let him mount.

He settled upon me warm and heavy, legs pressing my sides, hands on my mane and neck. It woke something in me, something deep, primal, and unanswerable. Down in the depths of what I was, below even the fear of his rule, was this – a memory. Man and horse. Then he stooped to touch his lips to my neck, and it was good.

It was a long moment before I could shake off the tremor of my limbs. I stood there with him upon me, my heart and mind so deep in his sensation that I hardly saw the wood before me. At last I half-mastered myself, though shivering still, and took to the path in a trot. The day was warm and sweet, and in the deep green shade of the summer noon I ran joyous. The light was fine and golden, and with Will close upon my back I felt a soar like a swallow's, with his hands soft upon my neck and his body all along mine.

I don't know many writers who could pull off such a tale, but it is a brilliant gem on Literotica, and I hope you look it up!

The Horn by Colleen Thomas in Mind Control

Colleen Thomas was a prolific and amazing writer, and I wanted to honor her by mentioning one of my all-time favorites. I never read this category—just never! But if it had Colleen's name on it, I read it. That alone is a testament to her talent. This story is so rich in historical detail and information, and as with all her work, is clearly so very well-researched, but it never sounds like an infomercial, not once.

"Look, I know you're a little nutty about music and stuff, but you can't even play the trumpet. Five hundred bucks is a hell of a lot of partying you're going to miss out on."

Kerri looked up from her prize and shook her head. Sash was a great friend, but she was definitely a here and now kind of girl. To her it was just a horn, but to Kerri it was history. It had significance to her, not unlike that of a gun owned by Cole Younger or Al Capone did to a gun collector. It was far more than just an antique horn, because Sam Gatwin had once played it.

The horn was unspectacular in most ways. An old Constellation model in nickel silver. The silver had tarnished and the green felt of the case was threadbare. There were two spare mouthpieces, but she had no idea if those were original or something added by a dealer in years past in order to sell the instrument. She had read many of the first hand accounts of how Sam played and of the instrument's purported special powers.

She credited those to clever PR on Sam's part and to "respectable" men looking for an explanation for seemingly "respectable" women taking up with a vagabond Jazz musician. She pursed her lips and gave an experimental buzz and then tried the trumpet. She was by no means a player, but she satisfied herself it was a standard Bb.

"Stop it!" Sash shouted, clamping her hands over her ears.

"What?"

"If you're going to make those awful noises, at least let me get out of the room," she replied, hurrying upstairs.

Kerri laughed and began the long, slow, tedious process of polishing the horn up. Some of the tarnish came away with a little elbow grease, but a strange, kind of veined pattern remained despite all the effort she expended. It looked almost like a network of capillaries just under someone's skin. Kerri resisted the temptation to take an abrasive to it. She hadn't spent months of research and five hundred bucks to damage it. The tarnish was odd, not something she had ever seen or read about, but she wasn't really an expert in old horns. She decided to take it to Dr. Pitt-Martin.

I can almost hear the horn, feel it in my hands, with the vivid pictures that she paints on the page. This beginning leads to quite a wild ride, with a unique and original premise that goes way beyond the ordinary. Colleen was truly an extraordinary writer, and this one in particular "tooted my horn."

Raison d'Etre by CharleyH in Non-Erotic

This is an incredibly dark piece of work, and truly not non-erotic, although the eroticism that takes place is not intended to titillate. This author paints pictures with words and metaphor that are so deep and profound that it's often difficult to even look at them. They are breathtaking and beautiful at the same time they are disturbing and dark. It is a very fine and difficult line to walk, but this writer makes it look effortless:

Jason sits on a white plastic patio chair, and spreads his feet out on a black side table. The leaves on the trees in front of the house brush in the breeze, and the sun, not yet visible, begins to unfold its arms into the sky with a wash of pink, purple and blue.

Within minutes four or five flies enter the bedroom and circle the bare light bulb on the ceiling. They do this every morning when Jason opens the door.

He stares at them as they move round and round, endlessly, ceaselessly as he sips his coffee and lights a cigarette. Jason is mesmerized by their relentlessness to keep their path, to keep their pace. They remind him of his own relentlessness to keep his promises to Monique. He is hypnotized by their flight, noticing that they don't circle the light, but fly jaggedly in lines forming boxes, pentagons and figure eights. The flies never land and never rest.

When he finishes his coffee, Jason steps inside the room, grabs a towel off the computer chair and tries to fan the flies out the door. He can't kill them. For a moment, they disappear and then they return to the same spot around the light fixture, to the same patterns of boxes and figures. Again he raises the towel and in a gush of wind, sweeps it through the air and through their path. But within minutes they return again. He stares at them for a few seconds, admiring their determination, then he puts the towel down, returning to the bed. Returning to Monique.

Not many authors can do what is done here in this short piece, and by the end, you are staggered by not only the events, but the talent that brought you there.

Painting a Nude: The Undressing in Erotic Couplings by Neonlyte

This author is another painter of words, and it's no mistake that this story is about painting. This isn't your usual erotic effort. It can seem and feel very disjointed in the reading, a little uncomfortable, until you realize that the protagonist is experiencing those very things, as well. This is a journey, if you are willing to take it, walking step by step with the main character as they are revealed.

It begins:

An artist, intensely focused, shy yet piercing eyes that blink, like an owls, slowly and deliberately as if posting colour, texture, shadow and shape to memory. Slightly dowdy in cloth, and quite possibly hygiene, hair lank, a certain pervading aroma; tardiness of appearance disguises an aggressive business manner, working time, a rate per hour, a work schedule, are negotiated and concluded without so much as a 'good evening'. The brisk manner may be shyness, or a flaw in social skills, an anxiety to commence, or just a game. The artist prowls like a caged animal.