Your erotic stories

I am the world’s greatest gigolo. Well, at least I was the world’s greatest gigolo. My clientele were usually wealthy women with husbands who rarely spent two seconds at home, much less tended to the raging sexual desires of their wives.

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I was working from home today, when the doorbell rang. It was Gary, my son's friend from the local community college they both attended. "Hi Gary, Bobby's not home right now, but I expect him shortly," I said. "You are welcome to wait for him." "I think I will do that Mr. Thomas, thanks," Gary replied to me.

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I was getting ready for a trip to Washington on business, for work when Bill, a guy I didn't like at all, said at coffee, "If you are in D.C. you have got to go to the Iron Rod." "The what?" I asked, barely listening since all the guy did was bullshit. "The Iron Rod is the best pick-up bar in Washington. You are literally guaranteed to get fucked," he explained.

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There I was stretched out naked on my bed, fisting the bone again. My boyfriend Andy had taken a job and moved to Rome so we decided that rather than keep something going we should just break up. We'd been together for a while and I wasn't in the mood yet to start seeing other men. But I'd been horny as hell. So, for now, I was again testing the proposition that at times a man's fist could be his best friend.

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CHAPTER ONE

Phillip Wynne stared down at the letter in his hands and tried his best to feel something. Rage, anguish, anything at all.

There was supposed to be grief when someone died, tears and heartfelt eulogies, the cutting pain of loss. Instead, he felt... nothing. Just numbness, an absolute void of emotion. 

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Getting out of his car, Mark turned to look at his sister, Katie, shaking his head. Once more she had talked him into another crazy idea and he couldn't quite figure out how she'd done it. Ever since they had been young children, his twin had the uncanny ability to bat her eyes at him and get him to do her biding. He contemplated getting back into his car and going back home, but his sister stopped him before he'd completed the thought.

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"There, is that better?" Peitr whispered into my ear. "Uhh. Yes, yes. That feels great," I answered, and my words turned into a soft moan. "Yes, I can feel it in your body. You are a lot looser now. You are moving with me more smoothly. Is it because of the release of guilt?"

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Kyle Bryce turned off the shower in the cheap motel room his new benefactor had gotten for them to stay in, and the teen had to admit that after a couple of days on the road it felt good to be fresh again. The shower was Mr. Wilbur's idea, although Kyle was going to take advantage of the facility anyway, because the way this cross-country trip was going he had no idea when he could take another shower.

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It was time, once again, for my annual physical with "Doctor Bob", as I called him. A genuinely nice guy who was always easy to talk to, but I nevertheless felt nervous about the questions I needed to ask. Given that I told him all about the unusual sex life that my wife and I share...I certainly had no reason to be shy about anything.

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Phil came into the sauna as I hoped he would. He came up to the top tier and sat below me where I was lying on my back, just a white towel around me, the leg toward the wall bent, foot flat on the wooden slats of the bench, with the other leg straight. He sat close enough to me that the roughness of his towel brushed the toes of my stretched foot. I had started hardening up just in anticipation that he'd come. It had been him who had said "See you in the sauna" and had given me "that" look. And I continued to engorge now that he was here.

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