Your erotic stories

Maria stood before her son's bedroom door. She held her fist up, ready to knock. She paused, a tiny twinge of guilt crossing her mind. For the last two months, she had spent every Sunday morning draining Matthew's balls, helping him to relieve his raging eighteen-year-old's erection so that he could go to Mass with her. At first, handjobs had been enough. But for the last month, it had taken blowjobs to get him to cum. She hoped they would still suffice.

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"Will is OOT. Wnt to cum 2 house 4 lunch?" When I saw the text, my heart started to race. Katie was a colleague of mine at work. She was gorgeous - long, honey blond hair framing a face that combined sultry and mischievous to devastating effect. She was funny, with the same sort of snarky sense of humor I had. We had met when we were thrown together on a project and a fast friendship had developed between us.

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"How do you know her?" I asked Sara. "I've known her for a while. We play backgammon. She's fun. You'll like her," she said. Sara was one of my best friends. We'd known each other for years online and had become like sisters. In the years to come, we would meet and her husband would become one of my best friends also.

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The weather warmed with the oncoming spring. Steve worked as an instructor at a small flight school. He used to be a good instructor, but took a hiatus and only recently returned to the profession. He could make the technical sound simple, was patient and rarely got ruffled. Now he had a steady schedule of students, enjoyed himself, and found the process as fulfilling as ever. The pay was lousy, but the rewards made up for it.

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Bethany Paige had beautiful huge round wine glasses. They were fish bowls with stems. Not only were they enormous, but there were so many of them. There had to be twenty-five people stuffed into her Williamsburg loft and every guest held one of these goblets. Plus there were a few dozen more perfectly arranged in a square on the butcher block topped island in her kitchen.

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She knew she shouldn't be out. It was late, nearly midnight already. The full moon glowed high in the sky, illuminating the path in front of her in the hazy shades of silver and blue~fae light she'd always heard it called. She sighed and moved gracefully along the path. She knew it so well now, traveled it as often as she could, as often as nature allowed.

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I roll over lazily, aroused by my dreams after collapsing into bed completely horny but equally tired the night before. I set my eyes on you, still sleeping but just beginning to stir. My heart starts to beat a little faster at the thought of feeling your bare skin, smooth and tan. As I caress your beautifully defined shoulders they boast of the diligence you give your morning swims.

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To bow. To worship. To breed. These are the notes of his symphony, his soul's hunger. 

His eyes dart from body to body, evaluating, finding nothing of either sustenance or substance. 

In his emptiness, I sense his desperation for my religion. He seeks a fane with an altar of leather and chains. Here is not that temple. 

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I am wearing no knickers and a blue miniskirt that displays my slender, tanned legs. I sit on the motorbike and feel the vibration of the engine run through me. The photographer tells me to hold still while she takes the pictures. It's hard not to wriggle. She runs off a few shots and stops. I puff out my cheeks and lean back to take the pressure off. My nipples are hard and straining at my tight, white t-shirt.

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This an absolutely true story, although the names have been altered, and obviously I cannot vouch for the actual words used in the conversations – but the gist of them is more or less true, and certainly the events are as I remember them to this day. Apart, that is, from the scene in the restaurant with Zena where I exaggerated her mode of dress, but not too much. She really did buy a new mini-dress for the occasion.

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