Your erotic stories

Kari was hot. Not playboy hot, but attractive nonetheless in a natural, wholesome kind of way. She wasn't one to dress up. In fact, she'd often come to class in nothing more than sweatpants and a t-shirt. If I was lucky though, she would wear shorts And I'd get a view of her perfect, well muscled legs. She never wore makeup, but her skin was always flawless. She had a deep tanned skin tone that was an indicator of her half-oriental background and drove me crazy.

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The sky started clouding over as I found the cafe called 'Chances Are' down on Santa Monica Boulevard and pulled in. In 1974, I was nineteen, and had found a man in a swinger's ad magazine, and was here to meet him.

Inside, it was different than any other restaurant I frequented. The clientele was all men, not a woman in sight. I felt a shiver of guilt and fear as I waded into these unknown waters, looking around for a man in a black suede jacket with a large red book. That would be Gary. 

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Trixie lurched through the door, heels clack-clacking on the laminate flooring as she stumbled. Failing to realise the racket she had just created, she turned and carefully shut the door, just in case her boyfriend, Gary, had gone to bed already. He had let her borrow his keys just case she came home really late, as he had an early start the next morning – a weekend away with the boys.

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"So, you think you might be OK, now? A different perspective, I hope?" "Yes, yes, thank you, . . . You know I haven't gotten your name. I feel so . . ." "No need to, son. You can just call me Dingle. And I won't be seeing you up here again, I do hope." "Umm. I kinda hoped that—"

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You're downstairs reading when I call to you from the bedroom. "Honey, could you come up here for a second? I need your help with something." You put down your book, mildly annoyed at being interrupted, and walk up the stairs. "What's up, Doll?" you ask as you come around the corner into the room and stop dead in your tracks, mouth open slack jawed at the site in front of you.

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I got home late one night from my usual cardio session at the gym. Working out had got me sweaty and horny, so I raced home, glancing to be sure the DVD was still on the passenger seat, something I had grabbed from the gay section at the porn shop I worked at, before leaving for the day.

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She was lethargic from the intensity of that last orgasm. She had no idea that having his entire hand inside her would make her body explode like that. It was amazing. He had left the room a moment ago and she heard him in the bathroom, probably washing all of her cum off his hand. Her pussy clenched again with the vibrant memory. Hell, she didn't even mind the ball gag any longer. It would be so easy to fall asleep right now...

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Pleasantly surprised when answering the door, but instead of inviting her in, Shawn joined the euphoric teenager on the front deck. "You look happy," he smiled, eying the tight microskirt, enjoying the sight of luscious tan legs. "Ah, that's right! Today was the big day, wasn't it? Live up to expectations?"

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Sweat dripped her brow. She smoothed her skirt over her nylon-clad thighs. Slender legs led to fuck me pumps underneath a cream-colored business suit tailored to show off her every curve. She looked one last time in the mirror, tugging her brown curls. She tucked one behind her ear before walking out of the bathroom and down the hall towards Bruce Callahan's office.

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The sun is setting on this Friday marking the end of a work day and work week. I watch the dynamically shifting color change while my car speeds along the two-lane highway. Although your email lacked specific details, I grabbed my backpack and jumped in the car anyway the sheer thrill of a weekend with you sets me in motion.

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