Your erotic stories

Kim couldn’t believe she was doing this. Her heart was racing fast. She was tempted to go back downstairs and lock the back door, and curtail the fantasy for now. Despite her trepidation, she had done everything as planned – leaving the back door closed, but unlocked. She had left the back porch light off, and the backyard gate slightly ajar. It had all been arranged as they agreed upon. Every detail. But now...she was having second thoughts as fear griped her.

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I've always been a bit of an exhibitionist. The thought of someone getting turned on by watching me excites me to no end. I like the idea of someone stroking themselves after having caught a glimpse of me. That being said, until a few days ago, I had never really considered how dangerous it was. The desire blinded me to all the risks.

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The bedroom was filled with the constant yet broken sounds of bed springs squeaking under the rhythmic thrusts of a man into his woman. But it wasn't the bed making the noise; it was Cindy who groaned intermittently with sharp, feminine 'coos' and 'ahhs' that were neither exaggerated nor too quiet to discern. Matching her steady pattern of moans and no doubt causing them was the driving of Carl's rigid seven inches into that sweet spot between Cindy's thighs.

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Chapter one She stood there gazing at the waters. The sea calm the waves rich and the beauty of it mesmerizing. Sabrina hunter was a rare beauty, jet black long wavy hair, wide grey eyes, lips made for kissing and a body to make men weep. Hey eyes filled with tears as she remembered the events of the past 24 hrs. For the day before her father, had passed away leaving her alone.

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Chapter 2: Slut Mother I came home a little after one in the morning. I was partially tipsy and not in the best of moods as I made my way up the stairs. I suppose the fault is mine. I did not marry because I was in love but because Richard was filthy rich. My parents spoilt me and in Richard I saw a means of continuing this high standard. Admittedly, I have everything I ever wanted with the exception of two children that I did not. Don and Cindy are a by-product of my marriage; I do not hate them but simply tolerate them. At least we were well off enough to afford a nanny and therefore I did not have to soil my hands or spend too much time with them.

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Lewis Shanklin was frustrated. It had been a year since his wife walked out on him and he hadn't had good sex since. He hadn't exactly had good sex with his ex-wife, but at least it was a regular supply of pussy without having to go through the charade of wining and dining a woman who might or might not put out. And his situation was worse still. He was in his mid-40s now and he wasn't as fit as he'd been in his 20's.

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It was a sunny Saturday afternoon and I was at home doing nothing, and doing it quite well. I was sitting back on the couch, idling watching the TV, and enjoying a quiet beer. That's when Cathy showed up. Cathy is a friend of my daughter, Christy. They've been best friends for years and are always hanging out together.

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It had been so long since I had seen you. I had convinced myself I had moved on; gotten past the addiction that was you. At first, I had lain awake, night after night, a hot ache between my legs, longing for you to be there, to feel your touch, to feel you possess me; but over time, the feelings faded to memories and I took a new lover, someone less exciting, but also less demanding. I convinced myself I was fine, I didn’t need your particular brand of fun. How wrong I was.

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The cabbie looked at me knowingly as I handed over his fare. I just smirked in return. He knew what a girl dressed like I was , what I was after and so did I. I was dressed like a dirty, fucking slut for good reason -- I was a dirty, fucking slut. I had come to this shattering realisation in the twelve months since my eighteenth birthday party (sucking off four different guys as a present to yourself can bring that realisation you know) and ever since I had realised how badly I craved first sex and then as kinky and as filthy sex as could be imagined.

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My name is Jack and I live in a small town called Petersville. Petersville oozes respectability on the surface, mostly white in its population make-up and all very much middle class and well to do but if the truth be known it is a little town with a lot of dirty secrets, and even more dirty linen that is kept hidden from the outside world and its prying eyes.

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