Your erotic stories

I'm not what you would call slutty but kinky or freaky would describe me fairly well. I just love anything and everything to do with sex, straight bi or gay I like it all and never pass up an opportunity to try something new. I've never had a problem finding hot guys to fuck and sexy girls just LOVE to explore with me after a few drinks. Guys and gals alike have told me that my body is just to die for.

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Jenny had had a normal upbringing, as a teenager she had experimented with sex, gropes in the back of cinemas and backs of cars leading to using the parental bed when her parents went on holiday, all the usual stuff that teenagers got up to. Then she packed her bags and went to college in Leeds, England and continued as a middle class girl enjoying her life. Sex was incidental to enjoyment, it was ok and she occasionally was able to orgasm with a guy, she'd even enjoyed the odd "girl on girl" experimentation with her flatmate, Jane, when there was nothing else to do.

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As a psychology major, it never ceases to surprise me how deep human loathing can go. Often times the most screwed up ones are ourselves. For every ten people that you meet, eight hate everyone, six hate themselves, but blame everyone else, three loathe themselves with depths unfathomable, and one or two out of those ten will never let you know just how disturbed they really are.

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It had been a warm afternoon. The sun had shone all the time and the wine had been consumed in quantities. Combined with the heat, it had stirred Mary's body with a vague awareness, a pleasant feeling of sexual desire. A slight ache which craved pacifying, the feel of a thick cock inside her, though there was no hurry. Among the meaningless chatter of guests, the distant laughter, Mary remembered her younger days when she would relieve her aching loins with deft fingers. Memories of lying in the sun, holding her soft, plump genitals, squeezing them gently until the honey began to flow.

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It was several months after my wedding that my growing but still largely unconscious suspicions finally emerged into a realization: I had a rival for my husband's affections. It was surprising, given how grateful he had seemed—after all, Eric had won a bride almost half his age—but I knew that he was possessed of a powerful sex drive and a taste for novelty and adventure.

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As we pulled up to my house I enjoyed the fact that no bicycles were strewn on the driveway and no soccer goal stood on the lawn. Just my wife and I at home tonight, with no kids to interrupt and no reason to try and maintain any appearances. I had been looking forward to this for weeks. I got out of the car and turned to say goodnight to my neighbor from down the street.

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I savored the delightful sensations of being inside Andrea as she rode up and down on my erect cock, her moist, warm, silky-smooth vaginal walls squeezing and caressing my thick shaft as she ground herself onto me along its length. Her flaming red hair swirled around her face, and her large, full tits, splashed with freckles like virtually every inch of her body, swayed up and down, and side to side, with her movements. My cock was buzzing warmly as it probed to her inmost depths.

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Today is her birthday and Tim has waited a long time for this surprise. He intends to make this a birthday to remember. All day long he has been planning and preparing things for their special night. The picnic basket is packed with a lovely bottle of wine, cheese, crackers, fruit and her favorite chocolates. Tim remembered the chocolates, the little smooth ones that melt so delicately in your mouth.

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I had been invited by my boss to dinner at his home. Marek Jablonsky was a paunchy, well-set man in his late forties, sort of overweight, a non-nonsense character who had a constant disapproving frown on his face. He was your typical ill-bred working class lout who enjoyed making others squirm with his offending comments. He hated everyone and thought everyone was a complete asshole. And to make matters worse he was a drunk. He had a bottle of Vodka in his office and made sure that he never ran out of it. It was my job to see that he didn't.

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Mark found himself pleasantly surprised by the book in his hands. Though he was a writer of science fiction, he wasn't much of a reader of it. He was on his way to his first science fiction convention to be part of a panel for new writers, a Q and A session about a defunct TV series he'd been a writer for, and he had one autograph session set up. He knew he was just a minor guest, and was reading up on the other authors he'd be sharing the panel with.

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