Your erotic stories

"Oh fuck," I cried. My index and middle fingers plunged in and out of my pussy as my thumb worked my clit. My hips bucked. I could feel my orgasm building. I thrust my fingers, deeper into my sopping cunt. I moaned with pleasure. Finally the dam burst, my body became rigid and my cum soaked my fingers.

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I stood in formation in the hot, stuffy gymnasium: at ease, but hard as hell. The third local official of the day was basically reiterating everything the previous two had said: how proud everyone was of us, that we'd done good work, etcetera, etcetera. I knew I shouldn't feel so fucking ready to get the fuck out of there, but I'd just spent the last thirteen months, seven weeks and four days, thousands and thousands of miles away from the woman of my dreams.

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Jen burst into Christina's room without a least bit of forewarning or hesitation. The ice princess was lying on her stomach on her overly stuffed frilly bed staring at an art history textbook with a blue highlighter between her French manicured fingers.

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Sitting on the bed, half aroused and anticipating the arrival of my lover, I heard a small knock on the hotel room door. I rose to answer it and my arousal increased at the sight of my beautiful girlfriend looking seductively at me. As our eyes met, I reached for her and drew her inside, closing the door behind her.

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When my step-daughter said she was coming home from college to visit, we were pleased of course and somehow not surprised when she said she was bringing a guy who was “just a friend”. She has something of a naïve belief that guys just want to be friends with her, but of course it always turns into something else. She truly seems to have no clue that she’s way too hot for guys to be “just friends” with. For my part, of course I couldn’t resist giving her a hard time about it.

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He sat in a dimly lit café absentmindedly picking at the dirt under his nails. It was 4:21, thirty-nine minutes before she was supposed to be there. They agreed to meet for an early dinner, nothing too formal. They would talk for a bit and see how things went. Sex was implied but not required. Sex was not a virgin topic for them.

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I was old enough to know better. Clever enough to know better. Responsible enough to know better. I should have been able to do the right thing, the only thing. This story recounts events beginning in the summer of 1994, not really that long ago, but an age before mp3 players and before mobile telephones really became popular.

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Chapter I It’s one of those beautiful days that only occur in California. It’s fall and San Francisco is particularly beautiful. I’ve only just arrived in this city from the Midwest. I came for, of all reasons, I met a married woman on the Internet. She’s young, early 30/s, blonde, attractive (36C-26-34) and really likes old black men. Funny how I wound up here, an old white guy, also married, traveling 2000 miles for this meeting. I must be crazy…but then again this one may well be worth it.

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I remember when I was twenty-seven and sleeping with a thirty-eight year old she seemed such an older woman. My friends were impressed and a bit curious. She really did seem, not old, but older than me, different. I was curious about her body and enjoyed fucking her. She, it seemed, enjoyed her ’toy boy’. Now, years later, I find the tables turned and a woman of twenty-seven hardening my forty-two year old cock. Again my friends are impressed and curious and I’m very interested in her hard little body.

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"You mean," Dakota asked, "you just parade in front of those guys, and then you pick one, and then you ... you FUCK him? And you've never met him before?" "I can't help it," Mary Jane replied, shrugging her shoulders and looking a little bit embarrassed at her friend's reaction.

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