Your erotic stories

I snapped out of my fog just as Nicole stopped talking. She had gotten into a story about some boy she met last summer, and, quite frankly, I couldn't have cared less. Her voice was so sexy though, I didn't mind the droning on. "Uh...mmm" My standard reply. I had been staring at her mouth. Heat prickled up to my face.

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I was down the back of my section getting stuck into the overgrown mass of weeds there with a view to turning it into a vegetable wonderland. Right now the weeds with their long intertwined root systems were winning hands down. However I persevered in the hot sun until I had to stop and take a drink of water from the sipper bottle I had left in the shade. Lukewarm.

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It wasn't until Wednesday that I felt like I was no longer walking bowl legged. On the past Saturday I was a target for over one hundred men as the ejaculated on my head. My entire head had been wrapped in one of those cones a vet uses to keep a dog from biting itself. Towards the end of the evening I was made to drink almost a gallon of cold wet slimy cum.

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Karla didn't seem to be avoiding Professor Daren exactly, it was just that the pretty redhead wasn't dressing as slutty as usual. Maybe he'd finally beaten the last of her teasing ways out of her the last time she'd come to him after class… but he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.

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The wife was gone to her sister's for the weekend. I got up late and was shaving in the bathroom mirror when I noticed a reflection in the closet mirrored door. Someone was looking in my bedroom window. I couldn't make out who it was. I only saw the shape of the head. I continued to shave and moved into a different position so I could have a better view. It was a guy. He didn't move. He just stood still and peeked through the blinds.

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I am a burglar by trade. It's not a bad job. You pick your hours, working as little or as much as you like. No boss to tell you what to do and, as long as your careful, no hassles. Mind you, I have more sense than to put down burglar on my tax returns. I'm a registered second-hand dealer and I do a lot of buying and selling over the internet. As long as I pay my taxes no-one bothers me.

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CHAPTER 1 At last new widower Charlie Creek was left sole occupant of his home. His two daughters had returned respectively to Rome and Los Angeles to their families after coming for the funeral and had cleared the house of most of Beth's things but had left the photographs of her undisturbed.

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Dan spent last weekend up at his parents' house in the suburbs. It was one of those dead weekends. Many of his friends were out of town, working, or too tired to go out. On Friday before he left, he called Steve Morgan's cell phone again in one last ditch effort to try to get something going, but was greeted only by voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message, threw some clothes in a backpack, and drove up to his parents'.

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Zosimos felt the whip crack down on his back once more. He screeched in agony and was met with only more blows for comfort. He knew he wasn't supposed to make a sound but by the 20th strike he couldn't help it. His brutal master continued to beat him until all that was left was the comforting dark.

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When Aleta graduated from university with a degree in journalism, she went to work for an upscale woman's magazine. She worked as a copy editor and wrote some of the articles. After eleven years she had risen to assistant editor of the magazine and was making a six-figure income. Then the bubble burst; the economy began to tank, and eventually the magazine failed. Aleta found herself without a job and without any severance pay.

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