ChristopherFaust

The Silk Labyrinth- Chapter One. Some observations and suggestions. The premise and content pique interest. Dipping further, the all-consuming vulva is surreal erotic. However, many readers won't get there because of overly long chapters[ get them to 2k max or even shorter] and a cluttered telling, not showing start. What follows are suggestions to hone a great idea into compelling writing and hook and capture a reading base long term. Take it or delete it -your choice. Inkitt is a strange beast. There are always a few readers who will read anything, writing warts and all. But as a writer, maybe you seek the more- I think you do- in your currently over-crafted offering. So 1. use https://phrasefix.com/tools/most-used-word-checker  , which will identify overused words. You used was x80 in chapter one. that x60. just x12.  Was is a sign of telling not showing. Keep it in dialogue, parr it elswhere. Just is a filler word.  2. Use https://kathysteinemann.com/Musings  as the guide to eliminating overused words and cliches.  3. https://onestopforwriters.com/emotion_amplifiers - here is the body language to show not tell.  A rewritten engaging first chapter could look like this : 
Sneaking into his grandfather’s study with a tingle like a wet dream, Mathew’s fingers slid over the leather of the chaise lounge as he could only imagine the touch of a woman’s skin.
“Ah, you rascal, returned for more tales of the Silk Labyrinth,” said his pop, Edward, swirling his tumbler of bourbon, relaxed in his neo-classical armchair.
The study exuded canny knowledge, with rawhide book covers of banned and erotic classics.
The den swooned in decadence. Black velvet tapestries aching with tangled bodies. Dusky artworks seducing the loins: succubi, femme fatales and vampish sirens.
Matty’s eyes tracked, Zeus stroking Leda as a Swan. Hands in his pockets, edging to his groin, a breast swaying, tattooed Salome dancing for the head of St John.
“Sit, you scamp, wandering around past midnight.”
The grandfather drained his glass.
The youth’s fingers skated his jawline.
“Ah, Mathew, youth and the forbidden.”
Edging forward, toes bouncing, “Pop, you always leave your tales of the forbidden bordello at the— at the —”
His throat lost in heavy, dry swallows.
Refilling his tumbler, “The promise of raptures beyond possible gratification.”
Finding his voice, staring at Salome’s nipples, the boy said, “Make me—take me—”
Exhaling, his spread hands slid down his spread thighs.
“Inhale the musk of slick fem -jus, meander the recesses of vampirina’s delicate quivering quims, “and his grandfather’s broad hand slapped the royal oak coffee table.
Matty’s fingers fringed to self-petting.
“Oh, for god’s sake,” passing his grandson a tumbler, “it's after midnight, you are eighteen today — the salacious — yet —”
His bourbon swirled, “The Silk Labyrinth has a price.”
The lad screwed his brow, “Before you always implied, pleasure is a taken. Consequences— be screwed.”
“Ah, youth, kept from satanic truths—”
Finger to his temple, the boy added, “Gold and jewels, you said, open lamia muff and fingers slicking into necromancer balloon knots.”
Eyes, puncturing his grandson’s, like the surreal face in Munch’s The Scream, “These devious sylphs draw human essence from rumpy-pumpy.”
Mathew gulped his whiskey.
“Slower lad, sip, sip, the texture. Ah, that’s how the sirens of carnal satisfaction snitch souls—by the sip.”
The boy’s glass clunked on the oak table; his hands folded over his groin.
“The witches of wantonness are mistresses of the glimpse, the flash of the addictive- netting men in their private kinky predilections.”
The grandfather smacked his lips, “Most men are losers in this devil’s bargain. Believing they possess the vitality to survive the draining of their life essence through their seed.”
Lifting his chin and cutting his glance to his grandfather's lips, the lad said, “I thought in my youth you spun words about myths like Dante. Now I ask, have you sampled the Silk Labyrinth? And how have you retained your elan vital?”
“A grand wizard's stratagems swath to the secrets swirling at the heart of purgatory.”
Hands flapping, knocking his drink, and splatter-smattering the amber alcohol like throat-slashed blood, Matty stated, “No individual has the willpower to balance heaven and hell.”
Grandfather waved his hand in a circle.
“Attend to my narrative and decide what men, gain, lose and become within sex —”   I wish your writing all the best.  If you want genuine inline comments in your story, ask, and I'll provide. If you think- what the hell- delete this.