Your erotic stories

You rush in the door bringing cold air and your own sensual heat at the same time. You're running late and our friends will be here any minute so we can head up to the comedy club for a free show tonight. I'm sitting on the couch waiting for you modestly dressed, hair and make-up done and ready to go, looking every bit the part of the wholesome girl-next-door.

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Damn it! Just reach over and touch me. I wish you could read my mind. You would be shocked at what I am thinking right now. You think you need to go slow with me. I have been hurt in the past. Right now I just want to feel you pounding that huge joystick into my hot waiting canal. If you put your hand between my legs you would feel the wetness that begs for you to control me, take me, hurt me as you pound me with your cock. I am so hot, so hot.

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Dillan didn't know the specifics of a gale-force wind, but by the force of this wind, he thought it should have qualified. He wiped the fine film of sand from his clean-shaven face. "Forget it," he told his companion, who peered up the boardwalk. "It's a stupid bet. I call it off." "What?" Joel said, turning to him. "You can't do that! You made a deal, man." "Yeah, well, I don't feel so desperate anymore. This wind is bumming me out."

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"I have a special dessert for you, sweetie", Christina said to me as she cleared the dinner table. "I was wondering where all this was headed" I replied. My wife Christina is a complete ass-play freak, and tonight she prepared a wonderful dinner for me while dressed up as a sexy french maid. Her curvy figure was accentuated by a jet-black satin corset with white lace edging.

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"He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff . . ."

The rich, resonating, calming baritone of the La Lectura began to weave Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea for us for perhaps the hundredth time, as we Torcedores settled once more into the rhythm of preparing our bunches of tobacco leaves perfectly for the press. We could not have done our demanding work without La Lectura, the reader who sat on the dais on the cigar factory floor, reading to us, first from the daily press and then from classical works—and sometimes, to our great privilege, reciting poetry to us in perfect rhythm to the set movements of our leaf bundling.

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Selina quickly checked herself in the bathroom mirror one last time. She'd been looking forward to tonight's job and her preparations had been meticulous. She smoothed down her knee-length black dress that clung to her, showing off her shapely body to full effect. The low cut neck-line showed off her décolletage, with just a hint of the lacy black basque she was wearing below it. Sheer black stockings and stilettos completed her outfit.

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The sweet odor of pipe tobacco encased the room. Mandy stared at the ceiling as she lay on the couch, her legs slightly spread. "You have to assert yourself," he told her. Mandy sighed for the umpteenth time. "I know. I know." "How can you expect to be taken seriously in a man's world if you act like a chicken shit." Mandy took the insult like she always did—lying down. The doctor was supposed to be the best, and a bit unorthodox, but he always left her feeling like the worst.

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"You may enter the room now, sir." A pause. "Sir...Daniel?" I was off in my own little world, oblivious of the kind voice speaking to me. "I'm sorry," I offered, snapping back into the current reality. My eyes focused on the receptionist, a warm, middle-aged woman, smiling understandably at me.

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She did not clean herself after I had spunked over her over ripe, fleshy tits and her make up pasted face. She simply sat there, still in the position she had been in as I had fucked her, and with the cum that I had showered over her beginning to run down her chin to her neck and from her tits towards the gentle rolls of her stomach. In remaining like this, she was silently offering me an invitation to admire her and I was keen to accept it.

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I didn't hear the garage door open so I barely had enough time to hide my hard-on and zip up my pants before the Marek's opened the door. What I didn't have time for was to stop the VCR. When they came in, they were greeted by the sounds of fucking coming from their widescreen TV and their "Debbie Does Dallas" video that I had found stashed behind all the other tapes.

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