Your erotic stories

The text message from my dad read, simply, "Mom home early." I knew what it meant. Even with the butterflies in my stomach, I'd have to pull myself together and act normal and natural once I got home.

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This is a story about life at Sheri's Place. All the characters portrayed herein are eighteen years old or older. This story is pure fiction. * "Come on bitch, suck on it!" demanded Jerry. Just then Phil a graduate of the high school came around the corner of the shed. What he saw was Xenia on her knees with 18 year old Jerry's cock in her mouth.

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This story is a work of fiction. All characters are fictional. This story is for adults and not to be read by minors, all characters depicted are over 21 years of age. If you like this story please vote, leave a comment or drop me an email! XXOO - Dre

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I drove up early Saturday morning. I remember he said he went there about every weekend and I was hoping this weekend would be no exception. I drove about the country with no luck of finding his street so I stopped by this lone gas station sitting out on some country road to ask for directions. The place looked abandoned when I pulled in, but I got out and went to the small office and opened the door and asked if anyone was there.

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I slid off my heavy backpack in the shade of a stand of Lodgepole Pine. It was 1980, the summer after I graduated from college. I had put life on hold to hike the Colorado Trail. I had no attachments, no appointments to keep, no place I had to be but on the trail and in the moment.

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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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Dutch came first. It was a particularly busy and boisterous night in the Dick Hut, tucked in the back shadows of an alley off the Nuuanu Stream in the heart of Honolulu's red light district. The sign over the door actually said "Richard's," but that's not what everyone called it. Naval ships were in harbor, more than ninety of them, I was told, and all of Oahu was abuzz at the rumbling of war, with the Japs getting more belligerent with each passing day.

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Omar and Barry were my neighbors in DC before they moved to California 10 years back. They lived in my building complex and we hit it off immediately after meeting at a mutual friend's dinner party. Barry and I quickly connected over our love of team sports. At nearly 6ft, he was a big man but surprisingly agile on the field. He joined my soccer team.

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