Your erotic stories

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Turn. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Turn. Kayden's feet were wearing a path in the floor of her hotel room but she couldn't stop. Conner was going to be there any second. He had already called her a couple of times on his way over to inform her where he was.

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Well it looks like no matter how hard I try I can't stop writing long stories. Oh well...I hope you all enjoy this one. If you like it drop me line and let me know. If enough people like it I'll continue, if not, I'll move on to another story. ENJOY! * The Schaffer family was all smiles on this particular Friday afternoon. They were leaving for their annual summer vacation. Their bags were packed, the SUV loaded, and all that remained was for them to load themselves up. Every year they took a weeklong road trip with no fixed destination.

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Oh, God! I just wanted to hide! I wished with all my heart that the Earth would just open up and swallow me. This must be a dream. How could I have ever gotten myself into a situation like this? Tawdry! Unseemly! Look at them out there. Four young men dressed in their work jeans and boots leaned on their picks and shovels - Boys, really. They were all in their late teens or early twenties. Each was shirtless on this unexpectedly hot and humid day in early September. The sun gleamed off of their youthful sweaty bodies.

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If my husband had told me what it was called there was no way I would have gone; why its called Dogging I have no idea, but having sex with strangers in public is the way he originally put it to me. We were enjoying a nice evening in bed, his fingers working on my pussy and as usual the talk was all about sex and my fantasies.

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Toni came awake slowly. She could hear voices in the distance, and as she opened her eyes, she saw medical equipment and monitors all around the room she was in. Her emerald green eyes darkened as she wondered what she was doing in a hospital. She checked herself over, moving her arms and legs to find nothing broken or wrong except for a slight headache and a little stiffness in her body.

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I wake up late and you have already left for the day. I knew you said you had to work but expected you to at least say good bye before you went. You had asked me months ago to reserve this specific weekend for you and to make sure that I had off Thursday thru Sunday off because you had plans for me.

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"Hi darling! This is Marisa...Marisa; this is my daughter, Zoey." "Hi Marisa. At last, I have the chance to finally meet you. I heard a lot about you!" Zoey cordially shook hand with her father's new girlfriend. Marisa Heart, 39, a doctor and a colleague of her father at St. Gabriel Hospital. They had been dating for the past 4 months. The woman facing her was pretty and petite, Zoey guessed she was about 5 feet 4 inches in height and she had the most appealing laughter. Her father incessantly made jokes at the table and she realized that he was happy to be with this woman.

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Have you ever found yourself in a situation, you knew many would consider wrong? No, I'm not talking murder wrong, so calm down, dear reader. I guess to tell this story right; I have to begin at the beginning of my story. A while back (no, I'm not telling you when, as for all I know, the wrong person or people are reading this) I was helping a friend move into her new place. Now, I know, helping a friend move isn't a bad thing, but it was what happened after that was, well, so to speak. My friend had a nice neighbor, a widowed father with three boys: Bobby -- 20, Dawson -- 18, and Elliot -- 12.

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Her name was Marilyn, she said, as we stood smoking a furtive cigarette outside our respective work-places. She was a large lady, probably 200 pounds and 6 feet tall in her high heels. And while I’m not usually attracted to big woman, there was something about Marilyn that drew me to her. She had a pretty face framed by long, black hair but it was her confident manner, her casual frankness and her easy, infectious laugh I remember most – and to which I responded as I got to know her better.

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The roses are blooming in the rather plain jar on my desk. It's a canning jar, it once held pickles I think, like the jars that used to line the shelves in your kitchen. The florist thinks I'm ridiculous for my regular purchase of three roses, one pale pink, two darker pink, but they remind me so much of you.

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