Your erotic stories

Cocksucker. I've been called many things in my time, occasionally in anger but often in the heat of lust, but that one is my favorite. Cocksucker. It's just so descriptive, so simple, so accurate. If you've called me that the chances are I've probably sucked you dry. My name is actually Alicia. I suck cocks. I'm an oral woman. I smoke too much, I talk too much and I chew gum too much.

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This is Johan in Kristiansand, Norway, telling Kari, his girlfriend, one summer morning why he is no longer as shy as he had been in the spring. If he seems to have been a little too naïve, that is because the incident takes place some forty years. They are supposed to be going to the library and then having a lunch of Sunday leftovers in his house, since his parents both work. Kari, who is a couple of months older than now 18 year-old Johan, already has some experience with her brother and is delighted when Johan suggests that they immediately go to his family's house, where they end up naked in bed together, kissing and masturbating each other.

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It was the wrong choice of swimwear, and I was headed back to the guest room to rectify that, when the cause of it all stopped me in the hallway. The new owner of our company had invited me to his country place for a weekend to discuss some details of a project we were working on, and it turned out there was a pool party included. But, not knowing that, I hadn't brought my suit. I had assumed this would be all business. So there I was, having to pick out a loaner suit from Thad, my boss, and I'd picked the wrong one.

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Though he was twenty six years old Charlie still lived with his divorced mother; in her basement in fact, because he couldn't afford a place of his own. Charlie wanted to move out and get an apartment or perhaps rent a townhouse, but with his meager salary his prospects were not good.

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There were four of them who entered the store close to closing time, all muscled punks decked out in black leather. I owned the small convenience store but found myself behind the counter this evening because my regular night clerk called in sick. The hunkiest of the four came up to the counter and puckered his lips and tossed me an air kiss. He asked me where Jake, my regular evening clerk, was.

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"Open to me. Open to Daddy."

And I spread my legs for him.

Before that, he had pushed me back gently onto the thick carpet on the moss covering the little sun-spackled glen. He had me kneel before him and take his beautiful, huge cock into my mouth, where I worked it up to over nine inches of hardness to the sounds of the birds twittering in the trees and the other jogger emitting little sighs and moans of pleasure.

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Despite my best efforts, thoughts of what I wanted to do to Michael kept clouding my mind. Maybe coming up with that fantasy about him hadn't been the best idea. Instead of clearing my head, now I was wishing even more that it would happen in reality. But the pressure was on with our project and I forced myself to focus on the job at hand. The next four days of the convention were really intense. It wasn't easy because the others all knew each other and had worked together in this type of situation before, and I was still the new guy in the group.

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I came home early; it had been one of those days from hell. Murphy's Law at work--if it can go wrong it will. Well, it could, and it did. Meagan Murphy, the current number one box office sex symbol, who is scheduled to star in Ben Affleck's new movie, shows up on the set five months pregnant. The film has a four-month shooting schedule, and there's no way she can do it.

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Phil came into the sauna as I hoped he would. He came up to the top tier and sat below me where I was lying on my back, just a white towel around me, the leg toward the wall bent, foot flat on the wooden slats of the bench, with the other leg straight. He sat close enough to me that the roughness of his towel brushed the toes of my stretched foot. I had started hardening up just in anticipation that he'd come. It had been him who had said "See you in the sauna" and had given me "that" look. And I continued to engorge now that he was here.

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The Orient Express train had left Vienna Station at dusk, and there was no longer anything to see out of the coach window, the lights of the towns flashing by having been extinguished hours ago. Magnus the Authenticator was weary, and the clacking of the iron wheels on the iron rails as the train thundered toward Belgrade lulled him. But the unfamiliar noise of the speeding train and frequent lurch from side to side robbed him of sleep. He'd never ridden a train before;

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