Your erotic stories

"No! Fuck you! I'm not doing it, and you can't make me!" I could hear the girl next door screaming at her parents again, and I knew that this time, it was about me, or rather, the deal that I had offered her parents. Amber was 18, very beautiful, a bit thin for my tastes, but a raging bitch and brat. An only child, she basically got what she wanted, and when she didn't, she yelled and screamed.

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My name is Tom Green. I'm 49 years old, an even six feet tall, weigh just over 14 stones (or about 200 pounds) which is mostly still muscle I'm pleased to say! I also have greying dark hair and dark brown, almost black eyes which, I've been told, twinkle quite nicely when I'm in a good mood -- which is most of the time these days.

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My best friend Nick had gotten me a job with him working at a local, Mom and Pop Grocery store. It was small, but then again, so was the town. One of those places with a population that hadn't as yet reached a thousand, though there was hope of that happening sometime during the year. I had just turned 18, and didn't as yet own my own car. Which was one of the reasons I had taken on a near full-time job while still attending school.

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I sat in the huge meeting hall of the San Diego Convention Center waiting for the keynote speaker to begin his insightful, though most likely useless, remarks. The hospital I worked for had sent me on an all expenses paid vacation from the drudgery of the nine to five office grind in hopes I'd pick up some gems on how to improve the bottom line. Such gems hardly ever come from keynote speakers. If gems are to be found, it will be in the working sessions later -- keynote addresses are about as useful and practical as your commencement speaker's advice to your class when you graduated.

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"Thanks so much for the ride Sonny. I can't believe I left my cell phone home." Leah Danvers said to the young man as she opened the back door and led him into the kitchen. "Don't mention it Mrs. Danvers. I was coming by anyway to see if Mike wanted to shoot some hoops." He replied, looking around the spacious kitchen. He moved to stand behind her, leaning his jean clad hips on the kitchen's island.

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My name is Linda Prince. At the time of writing I am forty one years of age but the events I shall relate to you began their course six years ago. I am, or was, the wife of Jeff Prince, CEO of a government department and, as I was to discover, philanderer extraordinary. I have a daughter, Lisa, who was aged fourteen when the events began. After her birth Jeff announced that we didn’t need “any more bloody kids”, and marched off to join the vasectomy brigade without any discussion between us.

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It was quiet time at the hospice. The old man was sitting all by himself, wondering if he would still be alive tomorrow. He wasn't worried, just wondering. He presumed he was alone because he couldn't see. His eyesight had completely given out a couple days earlier. Only one ear still worked. He might have been able to walk, but he couldn't see where he was going and didn't care. Doctors could have patched him enough to keep him breathing, but he refused to return to the hospital again, and left orders he was not to be given any extraordinary treatment to extend his life, not even resuscitated.

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It was late in the summer, and I’d been working construction along the LeHigh River, not far from Fontana Dam. A former teacher, I had become used to the cycle of nine months of inside work and three outdoors. This year, my marriage was suffering a bit more than usual as I’d taken a job that separated me from my wife and family but brought in the income needed to support them. I lived on the per diem, stayed in company housing, and sent my salary home.

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I am Anna, a 24-year-old suburban librarian. I have blue eyes and one of those innocent faces, with an easy smile. My hair is long and red; I usually curl and then pile it up for a professional look at work. The rest of the time I love to feel it on my back and shoulders. I have to dress conservatively for the job, low heels naturally, with a skirt and silk blouse -- nothing too showy.

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Adam had just turned eighteen and was infatuated with his best friend's mom. For the last year, while all his high school friends had been comparing notes on the girls in their different classes, Adam had said nothing and fantasized about Mrs. Ford. This wasn't surprising as Lauren Ford was a beautiful woman. She was not very tall, about five feet five, with long blonde hair that she often wore in a pony tail. Adam thought she was incredibly sexy.

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