Your erotic stories

I suppose you could say it was my own fault. I was on holiday and I suppose I let my hair down a bit. You know how it is. School's over for the year. You're eighteen and away from home. Nothing to do but have a good time. And that's what I was doing. That's all. I wasn't doing anything wrong. Not really. On this particular day I'd hired a moped and gone for a drive. I was just another teenager buzzing around on this little bike. It was fun.

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I had been reveling in Talia Dean's need for me. She came, practically on her knees, to get me to give it up to her. Considering I was a scrawny 150-pound nobody, it was nice. Here she was, the star quarterback's girlfriend in my room almost every night telling me how much she needed me and how much she appreciated me slipping it to her on the side.

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His dark, glittering eyes surveyed the room, flicking from body to body, his lips curled in a snarl of disgust. It had been a bitch of a day, and all he wanted now was a quick drink, a hot fuck and a few hours of sleep, preferably in that order. Too bad the only things out on a Saturday night were the college teenyboppers. With a snort he reminded himself that while they might look good, they generally didn't know shit about how to really please a man, how to take a good hard fucking and make him come back for more.

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It's been a sizzling hot day, and I was looking forward to an air conditioned couple of hours at the movies, but it's cranked up way too high and I'm freezing in here. I've got on the sun dress I wore at the park, and sandals...and goose bumps. I have to go get my sweater out of the car. There's a side exit to the parking lot. I explain to the doorman that I'll be back shortly.

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When I was in my early twenties and living in my own place my younger brother took it into his head to move in with me for a while. This had its pluses and its minuses. On the plus side he was good company and could help pay the rent and utilities. On the minus side he was a bit of a slob who took up my space. I liked being on my own.

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I like gardening. It's a relaxing hobby and I happen to have the knack of making plants grow. Give my brother and me two identical plants and what happens? He carefully plants his one, adds the right fertilizer, tends it carefully, watches over it like a mother with her baby, right up to the time it dies on him. Me, I slap my plant down into the soil and jump back to give it room to grow. A natural talent and a green thumb, I assure my brother. Pure arsed luck, he tells me.

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My name is Dennis Calvin, and the story I am about to tell is true. This is the story of the best summer of my life. I've never told anyone before. I am 19 years old now, but the story began last year when I turned 18. My birthday had been celebrated in late May, and shortly after that Val arrived for the summer. She was the daughter of my mother's best friend from college. She was also 18 and wanted to spend the summer in California before going off to college.

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Kari and I had always been a pain in the ass to each other and after our folks died in a car wreck things just got worse. I was nineteen when she got married to Don and kicked me off of the estate and I ended up in a shitty little apartment in the bad part of town. I managed for a year and then the company I worked for went into Chapter 7 and that was that.

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Everyone who knows Ellie, knows that she is a really nice girl. Born and raised in a small Midwestern town by strict and very religious parents, Ellie was the perfect daughter. She was a shy, polite, and religious girl who caused absolutely no problems for her parents. Ellie went to a small private high school and then to a small fundamentalist college where she met her future husband, Tim.

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Paterson trained the gun firmly on her as she did as she was told. She tied her husband's wrists behind his back, then bound his ankles together, then knotted the two ropes together, leaving him virtually immobile on the bed in his striped pyjamas. Paterson had a minor twinge of conscience - after all, he must be nearer seventy than sixty, and lame, to boot - but, he had been a soldier all his life and, even in the British Army, you don't make brigadier just by going to the right school or joining the right clubs.

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