Your erotic stories

My Aunt Jessie had been threatening for several weeks to call me over to her house for me to give her another massage after I'd massaged both her and Mom with baby oil in our back yard one afternoon and she finally did it. I got home from work and was showering in the mud room when, as usual, I heard Mom call out, "That you, Hut?"

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Tyler let out a sigh of relief as he set down the last fully painted model of his Dark Angels' army. He stood up and made his way across the room tiredly. He stopped abruptly in front of his full length mirror, taking a good look at himself. For an 18 year-old freshman in college he looked pretty damn good, he thought. Short brown hair, fairly tall, and very well toned.

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This story was inspired by something I saw while on holiday at this very hotel. I'd not really thought about older women being attractive to me, but couldn't get this couple out of my mind, unable to figure out their relationship. I swapped glances with the older one – if only she knew what I was fantasising about!

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Everyone in this story is over eighteen. It may seem a little slow to get going, as I've attempted to explore the girl's feelings as she takes her first steps into Lesbian love, and is then taken into willing slavery. 'Can I help you, Sonny?' had said a gruff voice from behind the market stall. That did it. Just past my eighteenth birthday, and the combination of track-suit, short hair and no make-up had me marked as a boy.

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[This story contains themes of lesbianism and incest, including graphic descriptions of sexual activity. If such material is in any way off-putting or offensive to you, please do not read any further. All characters depicted herein are over eighteen years of age. Unlike my previous erotic offerings, this tale is grounded in a real life incident involving my wife. The names have been changed to protect the innocent—and those who become a bit less innocent as events run their course. I really hope you enjoy it.]

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Chap 1 - A Tourist Accident I was in my third year of medical school when my parents died on an eco-tourist expedition to the Zambezi. Despite prolonged and expensive efforts, no trace of their bodies, or of the other tourist couple and the guides in their canoe, were ever located. The only explanation that came back to me and other members of the family from Africa was that a rogue male hippo in the grip of mating fever was responsible.

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