The Erotic Notebooks by Yasmine Millett

Originally written as a form of amorous confession to a new lover, The Erotic Notebooks appears now in print as a collection of fifteen beautifully crafted stories recalling the erotic evolution of a young woman seeking to free herself from the restricted codes of behaviour imposed upon us by society, and to explore in real life all of those desires that had previously existed for her only in fantasy.

From Paris to Venice and the south of Spain, the narrator treats readers to a decadent recounting of experiments in exhibitionism, voyeurism, assignations with strangers, BDSM, and all manner of other ecstatic encounters with a wide variety of exotic men and women, and, through all, of sensuous, unbridled passions and pleasures.

Category: Erotica Tags: BDSM, erotica, ffm, lesbian, MMF erotica, straight, voyeur, Yasmine Millett

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About the author:

Yasmine Millett is a British-born author. Her debut collection of stories, "The Erotic Notebooks", was first published in January 2023. Having grown up in rural Somerset, Yasmine spent time in London, Paris, Venice and Milan before finally settling in Granada, Spain. Each of these places has had a special influence on her writing, and form the settings of many of her stories. Her works are strongly influenced by those of Nin, Proust, Arsan, and Maupassant.

Here is a short sample from the book:

A FIRST EXPERIMENT WITH EXHIBITIONISM (An Extract From 'The Erotic Notebooks' By Yasmine Millett

After the night in which I had watched my neighbour, I became strangely obsessed with the desire to have others watch me. I went to the beach one day, alone, leaving my boyfriend to work in the city in the grey bank in which he had found a job. There on the beach, with the sun glittering on the water, and the sand warm even through my sandals, I walked along the shoreline until I found a slight hillock which could be seen for some distance on either side, and there I stopped and spread my towel. It was the hour for lunch and there were few people in sight, but, a little way from me, a group of young men and women lay together out on the sand. Most were looking down toward the water, there were two, however, a man and a woman, lying on their fronts, whose gaze, I thought, might well flicker now and then to my hillock. Placing my bag on the towel, I began, slowly, tantalisingly, I hoped, to undress. First I took off my shirt, unbuttoning it unhurriedly, button by button, allowing it to billow open in the light breeze, to reveal my body beneath. When it was fully undone, I let it drop and shook back my hair so that it no longer trailed across my breasts. Then I stripped off my shorts with what I imagined to be equally languid, sensuous movements, before stretching my arms high above my head as though to ease the tension of my body, though really to draw attention to my bare stomach and thighs. I turned my back on the group, doing so in a way that I hoped looked natural and not like the pirouette of a stripper, and when I was facing away from them, I bent double to undo the straps of my sandals and let them slide from my feet. Were they watching me, that man and woman? I wondered. Had they noticed me? Were they excited by what they saw; by the curve of my buttocks facing toward them, covered only by the thin strip of cloth of my bikini bottoms. Did the man feel a hardening of his penis? Did the woman look with disgust at my display, or with a faint tremor of arousal? Slowly I stood once more, and in one last gesture, a gesture of courage that I had previously not known myself to possess, I reached behind me and undid the strap of my bikini top and slipped it off, feeling the warm sea air play across my nipples as I did so. Then I turned to face the group, remaining upright for a moment only, giving anyone who wanted to look, a clear view of my naked breasts. Then finally I sank to my knees and stretched myself out on the towel.
The moment had been too brief for me to see whether the group had been watching. Yet I felt as though it had. I felt as though I could sense eyes running across my body and the feeling excited me. Between my legs I could feel a growing heat, accompanied by the faintest tremor of arousal. This was what life was supposed to be, I thought, full of strange, previously unknown thrills, and unfamiliar pleasures. It was supposed to be always new; new and a little dangerous. After a few minutes of lying there, however, to have simply given a glimpse of my body to those who might be watching did not seem enough. It had not satisfied me completely. I raised my head and looked at the group. The man and woman were looking at me, and talking animatedly; arguing it seemed to me. And another of the group, another man, had placed himself beside them and was looking at me too. I lay back and smiled. I had the audience I had been craving; a group who, though they might not admit it, could not help but look at me, just as I had been unable to resist looking at the gentleman in the flat next to mine. The feeling was spectacularly decadent and risqué. I do not recall anything quite like it. Even the gaze of a man about to make love to me, running over my naked body had never made me feel so wonderfully sexual or alive. I reached for my bag, and took from it a bottle of suntan lotion, then, raising the bottle above me, I squeezed a gentle trickle out over my thighs and stomach, before dripping a few final drops on first one breast and then the other. Then I placed the bottle down and began slowly to rub the cream into my skin, lovingly, caressingly, massaging it into my thighs and stomach first, and then raising myself a little on one elbow whilst keeping my face turned from the group and kneading the rest of the cream into my breasts. The sensation was wonderful. The touch of my hands on my naked skin. The cool, sweet smelling cream. The light breeze. And most of all the feeling of the eyes of those strangers on me, drinking me in. My nipples hardened and became sensitive, and between my legs, I felt that sweet ache, that throb of pleasure. Did I dare do more? I asked myself. Or should I simply leave it at that? But why should I? Why not draw from this moment, every ounce of pleasure it had to give. Lying back I eased my bikini bottoms over my hips and down my legs and finally kicked them off completely. Then I took more cream and dripped it, one drop at a time, onto my Mount Venus and the lips of my swollen sex. It felt heavenly; cold and light, but refreshing in the heat, and most of all sensual; exciting. Spreading my legs slightly, hoping that from where they lay my watchers would be able to make out the shaven lips of my pussy, opening slightly in arousal, I began to rub the cream into my sex. At first, I rubbed it only into my mound and into the soft skin around my lips but then I began to rub it into the lips themselves, squeezing them gently together, massaging them, opening them. A feeling of ecstasy flooded through me in waves. My finger brushed my clitoris, which throbbed beneath my touch. Then I began to play with myself, forgetting even to pretend that I was applying sunscreen. Gently, very slowly at first, I rubbed my hand in circles over my whole sex. Then, as my pleasure rose, I began to focus only on my clit. Faster and faster my fingers ran, their touch light and sensitive, yet dominating my whole body with the waves of bliss they created. With my other hand I began to pinch my nipples, to squeeze my breasts. I heard soft moans escape my lips, and then my fingers were moving frantically, driving pulses of ecstasy through every inch of my body. Finally, so suddenly almost that it took me by surprise, I was coming in a long, trembling, storming orgasm that seemed to go on and on and on. I cried out and clamped my hand over my sex as if to control it, to hold back the last cascading waves of pleasure. Yet I could not hold them back and instead felt them rush through me and over me and inside of me and I fell back onto the towel with my eyes closed, trembling and shaking, and every thought gone from my mind.
When I awoke, the sun was low in the sky and the group was gone. My skin felt tingly to the touch where a faint sunburn had spread over it. Yet I felt, at the same time, wonderfully free and alive and happy. Had the group still been there, I think I would have pleasured myself again, but they were gone and so instead I stood up and dressed and carried my bag back to the station to get the bus back into the city, thinking all the time of how it must have been for them to watch me, of what they must have thought and felt and desired, arousing myself anew with the simple imagining of their arousal. When I got home, I mentioned nothing of the incident to my boyfriend, but when I made love to him that night I felt myself doing so with a newly woken passion.