Your erotic stories

Part 1 I got home after another long day at work and retrieved the mail. I sifted through it...junk, bill, junk, bill.... "What this?" I wondered, looking over an envelope with no return address. "Hmmm?" I took it upstairs to my kitchen and opened it. Carefully. It contained three handwritten pages of pink paper. I read the first one, a brief cover letter, as it turned out.

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Sam was at his desk at work, reading a very sexy story on Literotica. He hadn't masturbated for a couple days so his cock was rock hard. He couldn't resist unzipping his pants and freeing his erection from its confines. As he read on, he stroked himself slowly. His mind was deep in the story when his office door flew open. Melinda.

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Nicky pushed opened the back-door to Bob's house. It was Tuesday so she had at least three hours before Bob, her landlord, returned from his weekly trip to town. Three hours to do some washing, have a hot shower and grab some food before Bob returned with his groceries, animal feed and fuel. Nicky lived in a caravan on Bob's farm. Every other day Nicky had to bathe using a basin and a sponge but on Tuesdays she took the opportunity to 'play house' while Bob was out.

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Becky Freeman couldn't believe her luck. Here she was, an eighteen-year-old girl visiting a sorority house at the college she planned on attending in the fall, stuck sitting bored on a couch instead of exploring campus or checking out any of the weekend parties. As part of the school's orientation program she was paired up with one of the current students as a chaperone of sorts.

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I was getting ready for a trip to Washington on business, for work when Bill, a guy I didn't like at all, said at coffee, "If you are in D.C. you have got to go to the Iron Rod." "The what?" I asked, barely listening since all the guy did was bullshit. "The Iron Rod is the best pick-up bar in Washington. You are literally guaranteed to get fucked," he explained.

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"Shit! Shitshhitshitshit!" Sarah quietly screamed, looking at the scrape on the back fender where she'd kissed the nearby post of the mall's underground parkade. Tears welled in her eyes. "What am I going to do?" she lamented, beginning to hyperventilate, as she considered her husband's response. She wasn't even supposed to be using his pride and joy, a maroon Carerra 4. She wouldn't have been either, except that her Audi was making weird noises.

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"What exactly is this little meeting about, Mr. Cross?" Mrs. Morrison said as she leaned back against her desk and looked at her pupil. With her arms crossed, her breasts swelled up to almost overflow from her red blouse. Lawrence Julian Cross III smiled up at the middle-aged math teacher. He took in her short frame like he'd done for months. She had to be at least a foot shorter than his six foot two inches.

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There was this nasty character that lived up the road from me. A walking asshole is how I tended to think of him. He had a top of the line PC system, though, and he did recognise talent when he came across it. That's why he used to have me do any repairs he needed to his system. The only catch was that I had to go to his place to do the repairs and he would sit by my shoulder the entire time I was there, making sure I didn't snoop in his files. I suspected that he had a pile of porn he didn't want me stumbling across.

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It was one of those days where you just wanted to go out and get yourself laid. My name is Gus Roberts, 32 years old, and it's been in a while since I've had a steady relationship. I'm kinda on the stocky side, a little under 6 feet tall, and short brown hair. I was wearing a classy black shirt and matching slacks, flashing some cash, buying women drinks and trying to get some at a local singles bar.

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Lucy Wright was forty two and divorced with two grown sons. Both sons were in college but that did not mean much as the college was just across town. John the oldest was a senior and due to graduate in the fall. He had an apartment near campus, which he shared with his girlfriend. Joe the youngest was a sophomore and lived at home most of the time.

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