Your erotic stories

"You should grow that moustache again Burt," Bush said to his friend, his voice full of friendly sarcasm, "They make a nice flavor saver when licking cooze." "You would know Bush," Burt joined in with his friend's banter. Burt smiled as he drove their pick up truck, his mind reminiscing to the origin of his nickname. On a fishing trip once, he skipped shaving for a whole week.

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Working the night shift at a convenience store can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, especially when I get those guys showing up one minute after midnight, telling me their watches say it's 11:58 and they want their fucking beer. Or the welfare breeder chicks with their four kids by different fathers who get their brats to buy ten-cent gumballs with a dollar food stamp, then use the change to buy cheap beer.

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It's ten at night on a Wednesday and the bar is packed. Its ninety five degree tonight so I'm sure that probably has something to do with it. Walking up to the bar I excused myself as I pushed between two people. On the one side is a balding overweight older guy wearing a polyester leisure suit. But on the other side is what I can only say is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

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The education of a young woman.... "No, I've got to finish up my term paper," Christie said in response to her mother asking her about her plans for the night. "Well, in case you do go out, make sure you lock the place up because your father and I won't be back until late," Toni Platte said before leaving her daughter's room. "Okay." "Oh, and your grandfather might stop by." "What?"

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The chains rattled as he moved. He stood, head bowed, muscles tight and quivering with the effort not to resist. He listened to the murmurs around him. His lowered eyes glittered. His lips curled back from his teeth in a silent snarl as his large, powerful hands clenched in fists.

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CHAPTER 1 Caleb Hunter had this recurring thing in his head about returning to the room and the woman sprawled on the bed, covered in sweat after having had sex with him, the moonlight coming in through the window and highlighting her, breeze fluttering the curtains. She'd opened her glistening eyes and coo, "Are you ready to fuck me again darling?"

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So, here's a story you perhaps don't hear every day. It's a true story, but it has a couple of layers, so allow me to explain some of the moving parts. I'll try not to ramble too much so we can get to the juicy stuff. My name is Max and this happened to me. Sometimes I still can't believe how it all played out. I work at a small business in the hospitality industry.

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I guess it was during my senior year in high school that I had begun to look at other girls a little differently in more than a friend sort of way. I still liked guys, and dated quite a bit, but there was always something missing with them, and something inside of me that made me more attracted to girls. Little did I know that a few years later a close relationship with my best friend would turn into something much more than I could have ever hoped for.

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It was 1849 Martha Petersen was just turned 18. She was the only child of Swedish immigrants who were slain by Indians on the trek west. Martha had been raised by the Cooper family, a childless couple on the wagon train that Martha's family had joined for the journey to a new life. Martha was a beautiful natural blonde girl, with blue eyes and stood at 5ft 2in.

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The minute he stepped into the room a slow and aching fear began to spread across his back and settle into his shoulders. In one quick glance he could tell his entrance was a mistake, but it was far too late to turn back. The room was a perfect cube, four rust stained walls, a window covered with a thick layer of dark brown filth, one solitary light bulb hanging from a mass of wires in the center, dangling forebodingly over a plain musty mattress.

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