Your erotic stories

There had been a few responses to my ad before D's, but there was something about each -- something impersonal and a bit too eager -- that had made me wary about responding to any of them. And then came D's reply. There was something trustworthy in his tone. Patient. Not trying to rush things, but from the start, determined to be sure that I was myself comfortable following through with what I had proposed.

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Sarina was the short one with the long black hair and vinyl minidress, with awesome cleavage I kept staring at, deep-set eyes made deeper with dark shadow, and full lips that parted in the middle even when her mouth was closed. Angel was the tall, slender one with blonde hair in pigtails and faux schoolgirl outfit with plaid pleated miniskirt and thigh-high white stockings.

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It had taken a long time to find the perfect donor but the hunt is finished at last. Now all that needs to be done is the extraction. The subject's essence is necessary to complete the brew that I need for my survival as a witch. I will continue to have an empty feeling inside of me until I can be one with the donor, so this process must happen soon. I can feel my powers fade as time goes by. It has taken months of careful planning to get this far and nothing can get in my way.

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Anne was the typical all-American girl. She was smart with a sassy attitude. Her mother had raised to be a career driven woman, and she became just that. It wasn't long until she moved off to San Francisco in pursuit of a good education.

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It was one of those hot summer days in New York State, and after a long cold winter this was a day that I described as a "Three H" day; Hazy, Hot, and it made me oh so Horny. You could say I am a fairly domesticated suburban type guy; I have a lovely wife, Liz, two kids, a decent house, and a 9 to 5 job. I would say I live a fairly safe life by most people's standards but hey, I like it that way.

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“Damnit!” Catherine exclaimed as the wrench slipped and her knuckles scraped violently across the faucet handles. She dropped the heavy silver tool into the sink with a loud clang as she recoiled. Her hand drew up, curled and hiding the hurt. With the other she gently eased open her fingers. She stared down at the torn flesh across her knuckles and brought them to her lips.

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It was the thing she had for swoopy haired boys, Gwen decided, that made it so difficult for her to dislike Julian Swanson. And she really wanted to dislike him. Why? The reasons were many. His laziness, his money and the spoiled churlish attitude he wore with pride—fostered by his fawning mother— were at the top of the list.

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"This has been way too easy," I think to myself as I pause to take in the scene before me. My petite young nurse/radiologist is bent over in front of me, stark naked, her upper chest and the side of her head resting on the examination table, her arms at her sides and her little hands spreading her ass cheeks, eagerly waiting for me to impale her tight little anal canal on my rigid nine inch cock.

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I have this reoccurring fantasy that I dare not tell anyone who actually knows me. I identify as a bisexual woman, but I much prefer women over men. One thing that REALLY turns me on about men however, is them watching me and them masturbating.

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"Kathryn?" I heard her sigh. "Yes Mike, it's me. Kevin is fading, he may not last the day. Will you come?" "I'll call back just as soon as I can confirm my flight. Hold on." Kathryn was his old personal assistant, but was more than that. She was more like the mother he never got to have. While most walked around him fearfully, she chided him for scaring the employees.

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