Your erotic stories

Even today anal is still a bit of a taboo, more with the older generations then the younger but most girls will simply say "No" to anal and that'll be that, which is a great shame as I think anal is probably the pinnacle of all sexual acts and a sign that a couple love each other enough to do it correctly.

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I stormed out the door, but before I slammed it I said "You can just stay in the room and pout if you want to. We paid all the money to come to this ocean-front resort, and I am going to the beach!" Lisa is my gay girlfriend, and she has been acting bitchy lately. I have about had enough. She is 22 which is technically an adult, but she can be very childish. I am ten years her senior, but before you accuse me of robbing the cradle let me point out that she seduced me.

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My back was killing me by two o'clock. At eighteen I'm in good shape but, Damn! My sister has a lot of crap! Some how it's become my job to move it all. My dad would help, but at sixty his back doesn't need the strain. And he's working on the family barbecue grill.

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All he could think about was her ass. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out, and her pussy had provided him more pleasure than most men could only dream about in a lifetime. But he couldn't stop thinking about her asshole, that sweetly puckered opening, so tightly closed, so vulnerable. What was wrong with him?

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I was around thirty-eight at the time. I'd been off work for a few weeks after I'd broken my arm on the boats...at least that's what I'd told the doctor. Once I got the sling off, he told me to do some light exercise to help fix the break, and he suggested I go to the Y in town and do a couple of lengths of the pool a day. I'm a big guy anyway, and I've never had much need of exercise, but it certainly sounded like a change from looking for jobs and watching the tube all day.

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She had been sitting outside for about thirty minutes, waiting for him to come home from work, and watching the clouds build up to the northwest of them. There was a distant rumble of thunder and a few brief glimpses of lightening. And then she heard the siren go off on the golf course behind the house and knew that the storm was headed their way.

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As I woke up, slowly feeling my senses come back to me, a slight fuzzy light hitting my eyes, a slow ringing in my ears, a bit of a parched throat, I tried to get a sense of my bearings. I hate mornings like this. So discombobulated in those first few moments, needing to piece together the details of last night. Clearly I had had to much to drink, clearly I was a bit hungover.

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I burst through the door to the apartment. I had left work the moment I received the text from my girlfriend: "Come home for lunch and help me try out my new toy." Now, I was home, hard as a rock and ready to help. "I'm in here." The sound of Sandy's voice comes from the bedroom. I bolt down the hall of our small, one-bedroom apartment, and am immediately struck by the sight awaiting me.

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CHAPTER ONE. My names is Ken Johnson I divorced my wife Greta two years ago after discovering what many of my close friends had all known for months that she was having an affair with her tennis coach. Divorcing Greta was a long drawn out affair contested by her fortunately we had no children so the financial settlement was not crippling. I got to keep the former matrimonial home and Greta had to go back into employment which must have come as a huge shock to her.

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It's a scene that won't soon be forgotten. Through the trees and looking out through the mountain peaks is a glorious sunset. Their faces turn a beautiful shade of orange and pink as the sunset reflects on them. The sun shines through the clouds sending rays of light bursting into the sky above them. The Aspens have turned lovely shades of yellow and orange. They provide a beautiful complement to the shades of the sky.

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