Your erotic stories

The new owner of the Faro Ranch was unlike anyone that Emily Wilder had ever met in her twenty-two years of life. Her world did not extend far beyond the slat fences of the Faro. Her father had managed the ranch for Mr. Donavon for twenty-six years. When the old man had died, his son had auctioned off the cattle and sold the property.

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With every stitch of her clothing saturated to the skin and every fiber of her being chilled to the bone by the driving and frigid January rain, Donna Mitchell's mind was comprised of only one thought: A stiff drink sure would be wonderful! Though it had been six months since Donna had her last drink of alcohol before joining AA, she could still taste the crisp and clean bite of an icy cold Budweiser sliding down her throat.

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It was a sultry July day as I stepped out of the taxi; Ali would have loved it. As I walked into the synagogue, however, I reflected how much she would have hated that. Ali despised all religion – I wanted to give her a humanist funeral, but whereas her family had totally rejected her in life, in death they had reclaimed her, doing their best to freeze me out entirely.

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The early night air was warm and the skies clear enough to see the crescent moon shining brightly, the stars around acting like a thousand small fireflies as they danced gracefully, adding to the beauty. A tall, lone figure descended the Central Library steps on this particular New Zealand Spring night, late in the season, it was November. The figure paused to look up and admiring the beauty, took a photo with her IPhone 4, then continued walking towards the bus platform a few streets over.

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This story is meant to serve entertainment purposes only, it means no direspect towards Muslims or the religion of Islam. I had a crush on a girl, and it just happened that she was Muslim. Hope you enjoy the story. * "Oh my gosh, it's her again," I thought to myself.

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Barbara Clausen woke with the first light of dawn as it crept through the curtains. Moving slowly and carefully, she slipped from under the sheet and swung her feet to the floor. She stood and tip-toed to the chair where her clothing lay. She donned her dress, picked up her underwear, pantyhose, shoes and purse and left.

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The last thing I remember before going to sleep was that it was hot. The kind of scorching, dry heat that not enough water in the world can quench. I was sleeping nude to try and maintain some normal body temperature, my old fan slowly pushing hot air around the room. I thought I would never fall asleep.

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