Your erotic stories

Maggie and I went camping at one of our favorite sites in the mountains, a secluded campsite that never seemed to be visited by anyone else. It was as deserted as it usually was, and the weather was perfect. We settled in and began enjoying the beautiful afternoon sunshine. Maggie was sunning her gorgeous nude body on a rock outcropping at the edge of camp and I was sitting under a tree with a beer enjoying that stunning sight.

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The second estate agent was in his forties. He had a heavy, ponderous look about him and a blue shadow round his jaws as if her were poorly shaved. His name was Cheetham. It was he who watched her. She looked to be early twenties, seemed nervous, as if she was unsure of herself. They'd been married three months. The husband's name was Christopher. He was in a wheel chair.

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"Let the game begin!" the Gamemaster shouted. The girl opened her eyes and looked quickly from side to side. One of the warlocks took this as a cue to let out a spontaneous: "Welcome to the feast princess." Followed by a mocking laugh. The girl was quick to join up on that track.

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My mom's new husband Roger is one of those guys that's ugly-hot, kind of with a cave man thing going. He's not dirty or anything, just big and muscular, with a beard and kind of shaggy hair and a tendency to walk around in his undershirt when we're at home. Crazy eyebrows, too. Anyway, he can be a giant prick at times, and it's a good thing I'm not younger because I think another year of him is all I can take.

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Most people have some talent at which they excel. Me, I'm a maestro of the movie camera. I've been doing media studies and I found that I had an amazing knack for getting the best out of a camera. This led to me getting an offer I couldn't refuse. Not from The Godfather, happily, but from a wannabe rock band at our school.

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Prologue The Right Hon Mrs Grace de Vere Cobblehaugh sighed deeply. Mrs Cobblehaugh (pronounced "cobbler") was not happy. Yet why should this be? The heiress to the vast de Vere estate had every right to be content with her lot. After all, she was a beautiful, intelligent woman with a handsome, dashing husband. It was a glorious summer day in 1895, and the lawn outside her holiday cottage stretched down to a pretty little river.

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Jeannie and I were just hanging out around the pool like most 18-year olds do the first summer after they leave high school, but before they land a job or run off to college for the next four years. Jeannie and I had plans for Berkley. Together. We did everything together and had since we were children. We even wore the same clothing. Perfect size 10s in a world that valued size 4s.

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When they started building the apartment building next door it was more an annoyance than anything else. It would take almost a year for them to complete the building after razing the smaller brownstones that now occupied the space. We overlooked four of the smaller buildings and their backyards. Not the most amazing view, but it was wide open to the skies. Our apartment was on the 11th floor.

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Paul could not believe what he was hearing. After 4 years of service, he had believed himself to be an asset to the company. His boss, Richard, now sitting there, spewing the company line, had become a good pal. Yet, here it was.

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The night started out like any other night at the restaurant. I was making a killing in tips, thanks to my abundant flirting. I could only guess that my 21 year old body wrapped in the uniform didn't hurt either. The uniform was the traditional tight white shirt and the orange shorts. We were also required to wear pantyhose and sneakers to complete the look.

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