Your erotic stories

I don't remember my first months at the convent. They say it was trauma amnesia. I was 7 years old when I was left there after my parents were killed in a car accident. I can not complain about the life I had there. It was better then an orphanage. The sisters taught me everything that a girl should know. Cooking, cleaning, and traditional education. I grew up knowing I was loved. It was my eighteenth birthday when Mother Superior sat me down to explain that it was time for me to leave.

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She first saw him working outside. She wasn't sure what he was doing, but it appeared he was checking some wires that connected to the back of the house. From a distance, she could see he wore a uniform of standard-issue work pants and a clean, collared shirt. His back was turned to her, giving her a nice view, and when he leaned down she scolded herself for letting her eyes travel downward. Brushing aside her wanton thoughts as the distractions to which she had only recently grown accustomed, she decided to ask him what he was doing, since it was her house he was kneeling behind.

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I can still remember the first time I asked her if I could do it. I had always had a fascination for tasting my own semen, you see. My wife Megan had indulged me certain levels of satisfaction in this matter but refused to let me give her oral after sex. She said it was "gross".

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The following story depicts plenty of male and female bisexuality, plus several fetishes such as anal, spitting, cum swapping and smoking. If you are offended by the notion of sexual acts between two men please don't read this story. This chapter has been revised and expanded. More chapters will follow soon.

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It was Friday afternoon. I sat at my desk staring at my computer screen, trying very, very hard to concentrate on the report I was supposed to be writing. Half past three. Time had slowed almost to a halt; every passing second seemed to take an age. But then I realised there were only two and a half hours to go - and all of a sudden time was going way, way faster than I could cope with.

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My name is Lisa. Stupid way to start out a story, isn't it? Oh well, this is hard for me. So bear with me. I come from a typical family, I have a typical job, I have had typical boyfriends, and whatever other uses of the word typical there are, they apply to me. Your average girl.

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I slid off my heavy backpack in the shade of a stand of Lodgepole Pine. It was 1980, the summer after I graduated from college. I had put life on hold to hike the Colorado Trail. I had no attachments, no appointments to keep, no place I had to be but on the trail and in the moment.

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We have a really nice girl friend, named Donna, who lives near us. She is a bit shy, but she likes to do stuff with us, including sex, now and then. One of the things she really likes, is going to the beach, so we take her with us whenever we go. For being a 40 year old woman, she looks pretty hot in a bathing suit, although she does not think so.

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It was her all right, definitely Kimberley Williams, the same cheeky confidence that she managed to exude even when standing perkily at a bus stop. I'd had the dubious pleasure of being responsible for Kimberley's education regarding twentieth century history. A subject that the pretty, but insolent sixteen year old couldn't have cared less about. She didn't really care for Archduke Ferdinand being assassinated in Sarajevo, or for the whys, wherefores or reasons for the rise of Adolf Hitler.

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Jane's annual trip visiting US clients was nearing its end and the novelty of travel was wearing off. She was alone on the trip, it had been successful and she had made some new sales and visited some of her existing customers but she tired easily of the nights alone in hotels. Room service or restaurant? Watch TV or read her book? Usually one hotel was much the same as another and mostly they weren't too comfortable for a lone female traveller.

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