Your erotic stories

"Sweet Cheeks was a name well chosen, I see." "Yes, Mistress, you know this boy well." His voice held that wry tone, that suggested his smart ass nature, a quality that could border on bratty, but nearly always was humerous. The long shadow of the woman in the business suit, fell over the barely clad sunbathing vision, who lay upon his belly, his tanned arms and legs making a subtle X upon the resort's chaise.

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Whenever I need to come, I just have to think back to those busy few days on the set, when both J and V touched my life in a most special way. That had been when I worked in the Industry as a sort of creative script consultant – a job I set up to both enhance the actor’s methoding, and therefore cut down on the studio’s worries. I was a sort of go-between, acting as interface between Director and producers on one side, and of course all the actors on the other.

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Chapter 1 My First Time I was 18 years old that summer. It was a long hot summer and I worked hard. I was staying with my uncle during the week because of a job I had taken in a town about 60 miles from my home. On the weekends I normally went home. One week I decided to stay over and check out the local ladies.

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Once there was a lonely lady. Very lonely. And for far too long a time. Her neighbors were all middle-aged like her. And all were married. But not her; she had no interest in marriage nor in her neighbors' tedious husbands. It was enough to work, to cook and clean for herself. And she could please herself whenever she wanted to, and she wanted to often. But still, now and again, she felt lonely, she felt the desire to have another with whom to share some pleasure.

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On the night my wife Rachel and I first tried out anal sex, I clearly remember thinking to myself, Yes! I'm gonna fuck the shit outa you, no pun intended. It was a warm Saturday night. I remember that because I had to take the trash out after dinner, and as soon as I stepped outside, I was swamped by hungry mosquitoes, the little bastards. Anyway, we were watching a movie together.

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I used to work for the federal government, doing construction and maintenance on radio towers for the Department of Transport. A couple of years ago they privatized the whole section, and I ended up with the choice between working for whoever took it over or taking the work myself. Well, I took it on and now actually do less work for more money.

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After writing my first story, I am now delivering on the follow-up. Actually the reason I wrote my introduction is so people would be able to see how I entered my current lifestyle. After college, I moved to New York City, several hours from my home and quickly became bored with the kinds of lesbian and bi girls I had met.

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Michael Halversun has a hard time recounting his memories, even now that he is safe in the small book laden office of his therapist. The twenty year old is filled with guilt, his voice wavering as he speaks into the tape recorder and his therapist sits across from him, listening to his tale. His upbringing told him that adultery was a great sin, and his masculinity told him that it was his fault. Whether either of those things were true really didn't matter any more to him. Michael had been raped.

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"You've done what, Darling?" asked my best friend Avril in her very English accent. "You heard me, I left Jacques," I replied. "What on earth for?" was her next question. "Because as I told you I have met someone else," I told her again. Avril looked at me and asked, "Who is the lucky man, Darling?"

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It was late afternoon when Lisa pulled her car into a parking space at the Women's Health Services building. It was time again for her to see her gynecologist. She usually got the early morning appointments, but the office had called a few days ago to change hers. They said her usual doctor was out on leave for a few weeks and would she mind taking an appointment with someone else - a Dr. David Johnson. She preferred to see a female doctor, but her pill prescription was running out and she couldn't wait until her usual doctor came back.

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