Your erotic stories

I originally thought my idea to get the girls to go camping with us, probably for the last time as a family, was a good one. I guess it was an attempt on my part to reminiscence of days past when the kids were little and we all had such a great time enjoying nature and just being together as a family. But the girls were both in college and things had changed. Amy would graduate the next spring and Emily was a sophomore.

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After everything they went through, Andi, Nicki, and Janis decided that sororities were not for them. Andi was glad that she "had what it took" to be in one of the finer sororities, but she had more fun just hanging out with the girls at the apartment. Nicki was as popular as ever with the boys, and she was only a sophomore. Her goals were already met, and the sorority was of no use to her.

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So here it was, Thanksgiving Day, and I found myself in a strange man's bathroom, with my pantyhose pulled down around my knees, my dress hiked up over my hips, and that strange man's cock sliding in and out of my pussy. Well, in truth, he wasn't a complete stranger ... he was my boyfriend's father and I had met him two hours prior. But I'm getting ahead of myself, let me start at the beginning.

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"Holy shit." I said it out loud, and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, mid-step, staring at the picture on my phone. "He's...hot." I scrolled the picture on the screen, increasing the size to get a closer look, noting it was a scan from the back of a book. "Oh, that's right," I thought, "He's a writer." He was definitely hot, for a guy the age of my parents. He had a thin nose and high forehead, dark eyes with fine lines at the corners, and dark hair that fell around his face in waves.

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First off, it's not as bad as it sounds, really. I'm her step-father, and not her real dad. But in the end it's just an excuse. I mean, I raised her through her teen years and saw her off to college, so I guess, unless she really thought her deadbeat dad was a father to her, I was it.

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You knew exactly what you were doing, didn't you? You knew what you wanted and you knew from the beginning how it was going to be. I saw the look, I felt your eyes, even as you smiled with beguiling wit and alluring chivalry. You welcomed me back home after my second year at college and marveled at how I had grown, how much of a woman I had become, how mature, how easily mistaken for some cosmopolitan runway model or some professional volleyball player, with my long blond hair and clear blue eyes. You told me how much you missed me. You told me how amazed you were at how I had truly filled out and fully blossomed as a sophisticated college student on my way to possible med school.

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"No. No. No. Maybe if I was drunk. No. No." Reaching my hands up and placing them lazily behind my head, I reclined against the large oak tree at my back and continued to check out the steady stream of girls walking past me. "No. Yes. No." I said to myself, as a trio of eighteen year olds made their way past, casting a few flirtatious glances my way.

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When you start writing a fiction story, it's fun to think about where to start. But when you're writing a true story, especially one with a lot of threads runnings through it, deciding where to start is really hard. There are so many strands involved in explaining the key event, and people won't understand you if you don't describe them well. They may even judge you.

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Author's Note -- This story is an original fiction, and not meant to display any actual events or persons. All characters within are depicted as being 18 years old or Older. *** *** *** "I don't even begin to believe you're telling the truth!" Kita -- short for Nikita -- had just finished telling her part of the latest round of Truth or Dare that she and I -- Sherry -- had been playing.

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Her throat was burning and she found it hard to breathe. Her knees were aching from supporting her entire weight for too long on the cold tile floor. These pains were tolerable, minor even, compared to the humiliation that she had just experienced and even more painful still was knowing that she was about to endure an ever greater embarrassment.

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