Your erotic stories

The door opened before the third knock. She must have been standing there waiting. The thought warms me as I look into her pale cream face. Her skin is smooth and spotless except for the tiny freckle under her left eye. Liquid aquamarine eyes hold my gaze as my fingers brush softly up her defined cheek bone. I drag my fingers through her silky smooth onyx hair and cup the back of her head in my hand.

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Two years ago when I first became a full-time student at the state university's city campus I was fortunate enough to find a part-time job, one that I still have to this day. Twenty hours a week I work in a small family run pastry shop called the Donut King. While the amount of money I earn there is modest, it is a much needed supplement to my student loan and savings.

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My name is Mark, until today I lived pretty much an average life. I am happily married for many years with grown up children. I am self-employed and work from home, my wife has a good paying job at an insurance company. We are not rich but what I would consider comfortable. Recently I have been getting I guess you would call it curious about certain male/male relationships, to be exact I fantasize about sucking a cock.

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Mr Valens reached towards the numbers on the alarm panel inside the front door of his modern, two storey home. The red light was not flashing. He paused and cast his eyes around without moving, noting the gleaming kitchen bench, the bleak smell of domestic cleaner. Then he remembered. Today was Wednesday - Sharni Peller's cleaning day.

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My lessons had been going very well with Ms. Candy for quite some time. My skills "tickling the ivories" had even improved somewhat too. Good thing too, because my mother was always very interested to hear how I was doing with the piano lessons. Ms. Candy was going to be touring Europe for a month. Being a kind soul, she had arranged for her sister, Ms. Honey, to give me lessons in her absence. On the way over to her house, I couldn’t help but wonder how much Ms. Honey would be like her sister.

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So finally we meet. God, you are even more radiant and exuding that perfume that I only have heard about so far. Your Irish eyes crinkle and sparkle with mischief as you smile at me, taking in my gauche nervousness. "Nervous, boy?" you ask me teasingly. I try and laugh it off, blushing furiously.

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My mother left my father when I was 15. She went off to "find herself" in California. Strangely, my father was upset but also understanding. I think that made it easier for me. I still loved her and she was in touch with us and said she loved us both. I believed her, but also knew that she had moved on as we must. She always was a free spirit and one that was hard to hold onto.

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It was Friday evening and as per my weekly ritual, I put on a clean pair of jeans and a button down shirt and made my way over to Abel's, the neighborhood dive bar. As I entered I glanced around the room, waved to the usuals and took a seat at the bar next to a girl I've never seen before. I sat down and ordered a Labatt. As the bar tender grabbed a glass and began to fill it, I turned to the new girl and said "I'm Jack and I don't reckon we've met".

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How long can you last just sitting by the hotel pool on holiday without getting bored? I can go about an hour before I start to shuffle. Have you every got so bored by the pool you played imaginary games? Looking at the bikini clad women and guessing if they have shaved, trimmed or hairy little cunnies, if they had a good pounding last night, what they look like when they come and, my favourite, my top ten shagables in each position.

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It was always a fantasy of mine to model for an artist. I do not think I really cared where the artwork would go, be it for personal use or to be on display for the world to see. It wasn't the fame or glory that I cared about. There is something exciting about striking a pose for someone to examine you in all your glory and imperfection, capturing your details into another form. Clay, paint, photos, charcoal drawing, all of it excited me.

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