Your erotic stories

I met Brian Carmichael in early July. I remember this because it was almost a week after my fifth birthday. I was in the driveway of our yard, playing with a Tonka dump truck and bulldozer that my Uncle Jake had bought me for my birthday. I looked up and saw a small black dog (a Labrador retriever, I later found out) run across our lawn. The dog wandered over to me, his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging.

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The warm afternoon sun felt good on Nancy Horne's legs. So did the feeling of her husband's hand on her inner thigh and his fingers lazily caressing her soft skin. She smiled, looking down at Bill's hand on her, just below where he had pulled the hem of her skirt up to uncover her shapely, tanned legs. Her golden blonde hair shimmered in the sun and her brown eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement. When Nancy saw her husband's hand begin to disappear under her skirt and inch towards her damp panties she placed her hand on his wrist, stopping him.

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When they started building the apartment building next door it was more an annoyance than anything else. It would take almost a year for them to complete the building after razing the smaller brownstones that now occupied the space. We overlooked four of the smaller buildings and their backyards. Not the most amazing view, but it was wide open to the skies. Our apartment was on the 11th floor.

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I suppose a lot of people would consider me to be a slut now. But I don't think it's my fault, really. I mean, what else could have happened? I was one of those girls who started to flower into womanhood early. I was a skinny young girl who wore a B-cup brassiere when I was still in the sixth grade. I was completely embarrassed by my development. I dressed to avoid showing my rapidly blossoming femininity. Layered clothing became the norm along with a shoulders-hunched-forward posture.

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After Nick and Tom left the room, Scott stared for some minutes at his mom's naked body. The woman was breathing deeply, still passed out from the long wild fucking. Her swollen breasts were ondulating on her chest; her left arm was stretched out over her head, showing the delicious curve of one ivory-white armpit.

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Once upon a time, there was a princess who was known as an exceptional beauty. She had hair as dark the sea at night. Eyes as green as clover. Skin white as snow. And her figure as shapely and rounded as an hourglass. All the eligible men in the kingdom vied for her. That is, until one day a jealous witch came to the princess and cursed her with a dour affliction. Horrified, the princess confined herself in the tallest tower of the palace requesting that only one maid bring her food and necessities whenever she requested.

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There is a name for heaven on earth. Tribbing. It's also called scissoring, grinding, and pussy pounding. When you do it with the woman you love, it's heaven on earth. Imagine you are on your back. Towering over you, on you, is the sexiest sight in the world. A passionate woman in love. Your woman, in love with you.

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I don't suppose it will surprise anyone that, in the age of the Internet, texting, and beyond, it is not only possible, but extremely easy and pleasant to acquire the services of a female 'companion' when one is a busy lawyer visiting Washington D.C. I am 34 years old, 5' 6" tall, with short, ash blonde hair, blue eyes, attractive and slim, though I admit I'm putting on just a little weight as I grow older. Oh, and my name is Lisa.

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Jenni had come to work at my office as the payroll manager about a year ago. She was in her early thirties, married with a couple of kids. She had silky, straight brown hair, shoulder-length and cut in bangs, green eyes and wore glasses. She was hardly a great beauty, there was something about her face I found attractive.

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Let's start with the boring stuff. My name is Caronne, I'm just over six foot and slim, with almost no boobs but large nipples. I have long brown hair that reaches about halfway down my back and hazel eyes. The following is a true story...

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