Your erotic stories

Doctor Charlotte Preston sat in her dark grey wingback chair and quietly tapped her pen against her folio papers as her client rattled on about his latest setbacks, as he saw them. She had been trying to concentrate all day with little success, Jackson was coming in for his appointment right after lunch and she could barely contain herself.

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"Mom! Pete! I'm home!" Alyssa called as she entered her childhood home. Having moved out 2 years prior when she had just turned 18, she had developed a greater appreciation for home and family. She stomped her feet on the welcome mat in the foyer to dislodge any excess snow she had gathered on her boots walking from her car to the front door. Hanging her winter coat on the coat tree in the corner, she took a moment to close her eyes and breathe deep the familiar smells of home. The warm, comforting scents of the wood burning fireplace and a hint of her mother's apple pie greeted her.

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It wasn't until Wednesday that I felt like I was no longer walking bowl legged. On the past Saturday I was a target for over one hundred men as the ejaculated on my head. My entire head had been wrapped in one of those cones a vet uses to keep a dog from biting itself. Towards the end of the evening I was made to drink almost a gallon of cold wet slimy cum.

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I was half way through my daily grind at work's gym, when Jen walked in. For the last few months, Jen and I had been gym buddies, an arrangement that worked well for both of us. Jen had always struggled sticking to a regular routine, her various vices always too big a temptation when it came time to make a choice. I, however, generally found that, once I decided to get back in shape, I did it. Regardless of how much it loathed me to slug it out on the human hamster wheels.

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I knew I was taking a huge risk. To change the game at this late date was to risk ruining a very adequate relationship. But, I knew I deserved more than adequate. I wanted so much more. I suppose a little background is in order. I am 43 years old, working in an office, I have a "boyfriend" that I see three to four times a week.

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Alyssa woke with a start and clutched the covers around her. Gazing around the room, she quickly relaxed, although the erotic dream she had experienced left her groin hot and pulsing with wetness. She shivered slightly and turned on her side, facing the softly snoring lump in the covers that was her boyfriend. She stared at his steadily breathing form for several seconds, wondering if she should wake him for a little midnight rendezvous.

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This incident from my young life would never have happened if it hadn't been for my best friend Barbara's cousin Nicole. Nicole had visited Barbara before, and I had met her a couple of times before that summer after Barbara and I graduated from high school. Barbara and I often slept over at each others' houses, so it was not surprising that Barbara told me to come and sleep over on the Saturday night when her cousin was there.

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"You're on your way home, Sir? Now?" "I am." Hal bit his bottom lip. Shoot, shoot, shoot. He hadn't planned anything for dinner. "How long until you get here?" Mac drove one-handed down their street, other hand holding his cell. "Actually, I'm about to pull in the drive."

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I had been watching my mother's friend, Mrs. Ashlock, for many years. She was about forty-five with a face pretty enough for a movie star and a slender but voluptuous body that was the envy of her friends. I was what they call "sexually precocious," I guess. Women's bodies became an object of vague, unfocused but intense desire at about the age of seven. Photos in popular magazines such as hosiery and swimsuit ads drew my interest and caused an unidentified but pleasurable stirring in my chest. Janet Ashlock, however was real flesh and blood and was often in our home or we in hers.

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The club is crowded tonight, and hot. The press of bodies, half-naked and gleaming, is a feast. The warm brush of flesh against flesh is a fever. Bodies clashing and rubbing become a furnace fueling my desire. As I make my way to the bar, threading carefully through the throng, my hand touches a shoulder here, a well-muscled chest there, my bottom brushing against the crotch of someone behind me as I squeeze through a small corridor.

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