Your erotic stories

Years ago Denver had retired from a career enlistment in the military and at the age of 50 decided to settle into a quiet rural area where he had been raised as a child. A few years had passed and although he dated he was still lonely at nights. His days in the military had always had a strict itinerary and structure, and he had never formed a serious bond with any one woman because he knew that any day he could be called to a different base or front to serve. Although those days were long gone now he wished he had payed more attention and sowed a few oats that had found root and given him an offspring.

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The mountain road was badly rutted, the snow in thick banks at the side. Jack peered through the screen, barely kept clear of snow by the windscreen wipers, blessing the fact that he was driving a four-wheel-drive vehicle. The Jeep wasn't new, but it was in good condition and well maintained. Maybe coming up to the cabin for the holiday wasn't such a good idea after all. He told himself not to worry.

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“I’m going to try out some new techniques on you today,” Vicki said. Vicki had been Seth’s masseuse for nearly a year now, and every month or so, Seth would strip, lay out on Vicki’s massage table, and let the 40-something masseuse work her magic. Seth had learned to trust Vicki over the course of those visits, and he had never been disappointed by her work. If she wanted to develop her technique even further—well, he felt he was in for a real treat!

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One must love road trips. I know I do. Fate also has the most amazing way of showing you that even though you have it all figured out, there are certain things which can occur that are beyond even your wildest fantasy. I was driving down the road, coming home from a particularly horrible day at work. In the hazy mist of a cruel evening, something jumped in front of my Accord. I swerved to avoid it, which luckily I did, but managed to hit something else that was in the road.

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It was a beautiful warm sunny day -- well, hot actually -- though the stiff on-shore breeze blowing up from the south made the heat tolerable. Otherwise, it was a perfect day for sailing. I sat at the wheel of my sailboat, named Felicity, which my wife, Karen, always insisted on calling a "yacht" because it was just over thirty feet in length. Karen wasn't on board with me. At the last minute on Friday, her boss had asked Karen to fly to Boston for a crucial project and he needed Karen to meet with the proposal team early Sunday -- today -- so she'd flown out last evening.

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Nikki loved her job at the diner, although the pay was light and the hours heavy. She knew most of her customers by name, and counted most of them as friends. She also knew that their off-color comments, while generally sexual in nature, were delivered with no offense intended. Her breasts were a modest b-cup, and she often wished they were larger, but her ass made up the difference. It was an ass that men's dreams were made of.

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For those of you who haven't yet run across it, there is a web page whose name shall remain anonymous which advertises itself with this logo (which I've paraphrased to maintain the anonymity): "Where Models meet Photographers". So, basically, the web site is patronized by gorgeous models, the lucky bastards that photograph them, and lurkers. I haven't modeled since baby pictures at Sears, I don't own a camera that's not a disposable, so that puts me squarely in the 'lurker' category. Hey, it's a hobby.

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Edwin was definitely not the sort of guy I fell for. Not even close. I fell for wild boys who partied hard. Boys in black leather jackets with lots of tattoos and rings in their noses. The bad boys, the loud boys, the boys who knew where to find the best parties on Friday and Saturday nights. I knew they were trashy and rude, but I liked it. I couldn't help myself.

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It was a cold, damp, gray Monday in the middle of November and Dan was doing what he usually does, driving from one city to the next in his Midwest sales territory. He had left his home in the Chicago suburbs that morning, made a stop in Rantoul, Illinois, and now was on the back roads traveling to Lafayette, Indiana. He liked traveling the back roads whenever he could, as he felt interstate driving was boring.

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Life in rural upstate New York, circa 1972. Justin Anderson was on the verge of cumming, and at that moment in time life could not be better for the teenager. He had just graduated from high school and was going off to college in a few weeks. His girlfriend, Becky Biondi, was on her knees in front of him, sucking away on his cock. They had planned on fucking, but Justin had accidentally torn the condom while putting it on - his last one - so Becky was taking care of him as best she could.

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