Your erotic stories

From my late teens (my first discovery of porn beyond my dad's stash of Playboy magazines), I found myself more and more fascinated by watching blow jobs There was just something I liked about watching a big, hard cock sliding in and out of a mouth. The porn of those days often involved women like Desiree Cousteau and Seka and the like, and I also just love a great face and a firm set of boobs, but watching those lovely faces involved with those cocks was something special. There's something more personal about a face than there is about a pussy, however cute.

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It all started with a thought. One thought. Three weeks ago. When my girlfriend, who, let's face it, was never very good at blow jobs, was actually giving me one. It started with me looking down at her and thinking, 'you know, I bet someone with a dick would probably know how to totally rock at this'.

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I grew up a very attractive girl. I kept my brown hair about chin length and have what I consider to be a wonderful smile. My tummy is not a fit as some but I keep it trim enough for my taste. My legs are long, firm yet slightly larger than most girls. I have a nice bottom that is well rounded from the only exercise I ever did as a kid -- weightless squats.

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I saw the low rider coming up on my rear end fast. I moved over into the right hand lane to let him pass. I saw the gun barrel protruding from the rear window and saw the flash of the first shot. I laid over in the seat and let the car go on its own. Two more shots were fired and both of them hit me. I heard his engine race as he accelerated away. I sat up and gunned my car towards the nearest hospital. Staggering into the emergency room, I collapsed on the floor in a pool of blood. The world went away. I'm dead, was my last thought.

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I slammed the door behind me as I walked in the house, getting home from work. My boyfriend, Jason, had called me while I was driving to tell me that he wasn't coming over tonight. I was incredibly angry at him -- my parents hardly ever left me home alone, and I had been looking forward to having him over for most of the weekend. I had planned everything out, and had spent most of the day thinking about taking him into the hot tub, where we would fool around, ending the night with a long session of sex in my room.

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So much preparation, planning, work on the venue and time spent on the costume. Elise and her best friend Thuy loved themed parties and would host one every chance they got. Last year's combined birthday bash was a gothic theme. The guests that came put in the effort and Elise and Thuy quickly realized that if a person was willing to dress up, they were willing to have fun. A "Hippy Barbeque" followed that summer, but it was time once again for the girls to celebrate their birthdays together. Thuy thought up the idea of a "Pimps n Hos" theme and ran it by Elise.

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I knew it was going to be a challenge to pull my weight when I went into the partnership with Steve and Chuck. They graduated in the top of our law school class; I was somewhere in the bottom half, I think. More relevant to their professional trajectories, they were the stereotypical alpha males: tall, strong, good looking and self-confident to the point of having inflated impressions of their abilities—and their abilities were considerable. These were the crucial ingredients for success in the law—even more than intelligence. And, on top of that, they were hard workers.

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"YOU PRICK! YOU FUCKING PRICK!!!" Kaylee stood frozen in the bedroom door. Her arms were rigid at her side; her fists were clenched as she watched her sister dive off of Kaylee's fiancé's rapidly deflating cock. He laid there, too shocked to move, while her sister tried to hide beneath the sheets.

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It had been a great massage until I turned over and realized he was naked and had a huge cock hanging over his big sack. I had thought he paid a lot of attention to my glutes and while it had excited me when his fingers brushed my ass hole a couple of times, I figured it was just part of the process.

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"Micah." I groaned slightly at the sound. "Micah, wake up," a voice sang to me. I groaned again, louder this time. "Micah, babe, you can't stay asleep all day," the sing-song voice chided me, "you have to wake up now." "It's Sunday," I mumbled in protest.

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