Your erotic stories

Rob Jenkins was taking the garbage to the alley just as the sun came up. The truck came early, and he did not want to miss this collection; his family had a lot of trash. He wanted to put it out the night before, but his mother said no. She was fearful that dogs would knock the container over and spread their garbage around. There were rats in the alley, and she did not want to provide any food for them.

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Denise Hallowell was brushing her long brunette hair in the front hallway mirror. Her friend Jessie was chastising her as they looked at each other in the reflective glass. "Denise, you are such a bitch!" Jess Crawford, Denise's best friend, shook her head disapprovingly. "You know your dad's still hurting. Why do you say things like that?" "It wasn't so bad, Jess." In a backhanded sort of way, Denise agreed with Jess. "But just the thought of that cu... bitch! She fuckin pisses me off.

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He sat in his favorite chair, on the back deck, enjoying the afternoon sun. He was feeling sorry for himself remembering old times with his ex-wife. Their union had not been the most exciting life experience. He, was however, looking forward to his ritual afternoon pleasure. He was on his fourth or maybe fifth beer when she finally made her appearance, his next-door neighbor who on any bright sunny afternoon made her ablutions to the sun god wearing nothing but a skimpy two-piece bathing suit. She was too young for him to guess her age, but he took a stab at it noting the maturity of her curves the width of her gorgeous hips and guessed between twenty-eight and thirty-five.

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It wasn't that I didn't like my dad, it was just that I thought he was kind of a buffoon. A buffoon that had got real lucky, but he was the kind of guy who never realized it was luck that got him to where he was. It was Dad's good fortune to be at the right place at the right time and by a series of coincidences end up married to a woman who was far superior to him in just about every way.

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Her name is Donna, and she's a co-worker of mine who I got to know very well over the course of about a year. While I admit that the initial attraction was physical, when you get to be middle aged, there has to be more than that in order to keep your interest. Fortunately for me, Ross Browning, there was more.

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I'm Anna, a small-town-librarian, who loves to fly, but I wasn't always so brave about it. In fact, not too long ago, I began all of my flights with a death-grip on the armrests, praying my head off. This irrational fear led to a bit of fun with George, and several months later...a LOT of fun with Sean. It all started, one quiet afternoon at the library, which is when I usually do a little personal research on the Internet.

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Mary woke early the next day, a night of restless dreams tormenting her. It had been the ultimate test of her self-control not to take Mark back to bed, instead of them both clearing the debris from her divorce party. Even now, almost a whole day later, there was a warm ache between her thighs and she could feel herself becoming moist at the thought of his trim body. He had revelled in her body, pleasuring and being pleasured by her, even though she was old enough to be his mother.

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Ellie Carson was a fifty six year old woman who owned the neighborhood flower shop, or as she was fond of saying, the shop owned her. It was all she had to show for a lifetime devoted to a husband who had left her years ago, and she kept opening the door everyday out of habit pretty much because she had no place else to go.

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PRELUDE Louise Connor took me by the hand and led me over the doorway with the mistletoe hanging overhead. She took me in her arms and kissed me driving her tongue deep into my mouth. Then she released the lip lock on me and dropped to her knees in front of me. I remained still as Louise unbuckled my belt and unfastened my trousers. She took her time and then lowered them down past my knees. I could feel my cock rising to the occasion and my boxer shorts tented in evidence of my excitement.

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Damian paused at the edge of their territory and took a quick survey of the area. The conditions were right for the kind of prey he was after. The lighting was dim; the music gave a feeling of class. There were drinks being sold but nobody was uncultured enough to be drinking beer. A slower detailed look revealed that while there was a group of four sitting around a table lightly chattering most of the crowd was sitting alone or in pairs and all of the singles had roving eyes. It was time to throw out a little bait and see what happened.

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