Your erotic stories

From the first second I saw him I knew I wanted him. He had a phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear, eating from a bowl of cereal as he walked around the pool in his backyard. The baggie board-shorts he wore would dip a little with each step revealing the paler skin of his ass and top of his crack. I kept half an eye on him from the concealment of my sunglasses while I worked.

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It's funny how things that are so horrible when you first encounter them become normal and even desirable. Days flowed into weeks since that night when I first developed a taste for blood. God, it was revolting – at first. Then it became bearable. Then I found myself growing restless, fucking whomever Zeph wanted me to fuck, doing whatever he wanted me to do just as long as I got to taste him when it was over. What a horrible addiction – but I needed it. I needed that sweet metallic taste on my lips.

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I was very horny. I don’t know why exactly, it was just one of those days when my cock stayed semi-hard all day long, and my thoughts often would drift into the realm of fantasy and desire. Usually when this happens I find a way to go into the bathroom at work and relieve the pressure, but today I was hustling to get out of work early.

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DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the result of my imagination or are used within a fictitious context. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, places, or incidents is entirely coincidental.

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It all started when I accepted an invitation to go over to my friend Dave's house. Dave was a wealthy guy who lived in a large, almost like a mansion, type of house. I had grown up with Dave but I didn't consider him one of my closest friends or anything. He could be kind of spoiled and arrogant but because he was wealthy, he always had the best toys, parties, etc.

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A memorable episode that happened some years ago, when, as a young man freshly out of university, I had moved into my very first apartment after living in a student dorm for years. It had started as any other Saturday. Since I had moved into this building, a couple of months earlier.

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Down. Down. The subsurface wave of turbulent water the ship created as it tumbled over pushed me down. Deeper and deeper. I flailed about helplessly against the huge powerful weight of it, not even knowing which way was up, and then after what seemed an eternity of struggling, I couldn't hold my breath any longer.

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Radon and Taylor ran, head down, through the thick filthy sleet. The icy rain had started out as clean white snow, but then it was stained by factory smoke and melted by the roads and buildings it passed. By the time snow got to the Bottom Tier, it was filthy mush that was more dangerous then snow.

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Three times a week, I go to a gym after work -- one, to work off stress of the day and two, to keep in shape. One night after work, I stopped by the gym and went through a serious workout. The first half, I worked on the lower part of body and the second half on the upper.

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When I got out of the Army, I went out on a high, so to speak. As a member of a Special Forces team, I enjoyed not only the duty itself--always in the thick of it, behind enemy lines, flying to this hot spot or that revolution--but I was proud of myself. I did my duty, served my country, maybe saved a few lives (by taking out a few terrorists). 

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