Your erotic stories

The old fisherman sat out at the end of the dilapidated dock in his lopsided deck chair. Though it was getting on toward evening the sun was nice and warm. He was fishing really light; a homemade bamboo pole and an old reel he maybe got before he had whiskers. Duck-taped it to the pole and wound it with ten pound test. Fishing flounder didn't take much gear. He had a card of hooks, a tin with some weights and floats and some leader. Minnows in an old milk bottle and a plastic paint bucket for his catch. He had caught some.

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Lara had just dropped off her two daughters at school but, instead of turning around and going back home, she waited at the school gates with the other parents. Today was the end of term school party and the parents had been invited to attend a short concert before the party began. Lara noticed that some of the older schoolgirls were still walking in after the bell for the start of class and wondered if they would be punished for being late as some of her classmates had been when she attended this very same school.

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Aaron moaned, head rolling from side to side on his pillow. His jaw was tightly clenched, as were his fists. He thought hazily that he must be bruising the soft, perfect pear curves of her hips, but he couldn't help it. He was dying. His cock was wedged tight in the hot clench of her no-longer virgin cunt and she was riding him, tits bouncing prettily, long red corkscrew curls springing and sliding over her lightly freckled shoulders. Her mouth was a lush rose bed of pleasure, lips wet and parted on harsh, hard, eager moans.

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The shower water has long since run cold. Those laughing, jeering voices have echoed into nothingness. Still I stand here, shivering and cowering, hoping like hell I am truly alone. Soon I will climb out of this cold, thundering stream and run through to the changing room. Naked. Those bastards have taken my towel and my sweaty cricket gear, even my box, shoes and socks.

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Eighteen-year-old Kristina entered the Dean's office. The busty blonde was wearing her school uniform which consisted of a white blouse, which was currently unbuttoned enough to show her ample cleavage, a short skirt and her white knee-high socks with black shoes. "Miss Mitchell, please come in and have a seat." said Dean Whitmore.

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I wasn't planning on doing much of anything that evening. It was raining pretty hard out and I didn't have anything I really needed to get done anyway. Then the phone rang. "Michael, have you seen your sister?" It was my mother's voice on the other end, she sounded worried. "No, why?" "It's just, she ran off and we don't know where. We called some of her friends' houses but nobody's seen her. I hoped maybe... maybe you would know where she was." She was close to panic.

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I can still see it in high def, up close and personal; the image is engraved on my brain. The bald, glistening vulva of a teenage girl — a squirming, moaning teenage girl, knees up — is not to be forgotten. The best night of my life was the night my sister had a slumber party. To save money during my last year of college, I moved back in with my parents and commuted from their home in a Boston suburb.

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Steve had thought that he'd have a quiet Saturday afternoon to himself. The house was empty. His wife had gone shopping with friends, the boys were out with their mates and Kirsty had to go to the library to complete the paper she had to write. She'd hoped not to go, but found she was missing some information at the last minute and so had to make a quick dash.

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Aileen had always been an adventurous girl, even with her religious upbringing. Her parents had encouraged her to participate in extra curricular activities, such as girl scouts, sports, and even the international student exchange program. And it was in Spain that she'd met Tadeo. The handsome college boy had been so taken with the lovely American redhead; he told his family that he intended to marry her.

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This is an edited version of the original. A comment mentioned that the ending of the original didn't really fit and after reading it a few times, I realized he/she was right and I changed it. I hope you enjoy. "Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get - only with what you are expecting to give - which is everything." - Katharine Hepburn, Me: Stories of My Life

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