Your erotic stories

As you will no doubt have read "Nurse Leslie -- First Fist", you will have had a peek into my life with my sexy little vixen. Let me back track a bit here and start at the beginning. Leslie is a lovely woman, ten years my senior and unable to have children. This came as somewhat of a disappointment to me when I discovered it after we had been dating about two weeks. I had always wanted kids -- but, man, she was so damn sexy. Her whole body just oozed sexual excitement.

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As Lorraine walked up the steps of the mansion for Andrew's one o'clock lesson, she could hear him butchering Beethoven's "Für Elise" in a way so awful it had to be intentional. Sure enough, the musical carnage soon ended in a burst of raucous laughter followed by the sound of several people slamming their hands down on the keyboard—all in all a forced, nasty sound.

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Another month passed since Steve got his promotion and we had any time away from the kids. That previous night alone was another memorable one in which I bought him a nice black pair of thigh highs and a black lacy garter belt that matched his black satin bikini panties. He was so aroused he came in his panties as I rubbed his crotch on the drive home from dinner.

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Sunday morning came sooner than I hoped it would but nonetheless it was here. It was around 8 am and I had ordered breakfast in bed to be delivered at 9:30. I rolled over and saw Steve still sleeping soundly facing away from me. He was still in his new sheer black babydoll and tanga panties that I had given him last night as a gift for a wonderful orgasm.

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My name is Kashish, and this is the story of how my life changed from an ordinary, conservative young woman to everything I am proud of being today. I was born to a regular middle class family in India and for the 18 years I had stayed there, I had all the values and culture instilled in me and it was always expected that I would abide by everything I was taught.

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When the Black Death swept through her village in central Germany, Brigette didn't really understand the changes it would bring to her life. Indeed, no one was prepared for the chaos that arose from nearly half the village not being able to work – and then beginning to die. Suddenly it seemed that everyone was sick and everyone huddled in their homes, afraid of human contact. But it came home to her when her mother and older brother came down with it, and then both her younger sisters the next day.

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She walked softly into the moonlit bedroom. The space seemed to glow with a layer of sheer silk flowing from the ceiling around her bed. She heard the rain outside rhythmically calming her as the scent of jasmine welcomed her into relaxation. There was nothing like coming home. Home was where she felt comfortable to be herself as a natural body, naked within a soul.

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All his life Tom has been haunted by one single concept more than any other. Like most men, he has a soft spot in his heart for romance (but please don't let our secret out). However, also like most men, romance alone doesn't usually "stoke the furnace"...at least not the way it does for most women. This "men are from Mars, women are from Venus" rule of the universe has always seemed to be God's little joke on the procreating men and women of this crazy little planet of ours. And so has it been for Tom.

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It was a reasonable summer's day for England, the sun was out and it was quite warm. Not warm enough to sunbath by any stretch of the imagination, but it made my 300 mile trip back from University a bit less grim. I am always in a better mood when it is a nice day. I had the radio on singing away. I was wearing a white skirt and a white vest top.. The skirt was well above my knees, not super short, but not massively long either. The vest top stopped just above my navel showing off my belly button piercing which I had had done on my 18th birthday just because I was never allowed one before that.

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Ursula almost remembered the dream that night. The alarm shattered most of it; even as she was waking up, the strident buzzing noise crashed through the memories, leaving nothing but fragments. She grasped at them, trying to hang onto something, anything at all. There was a hand, she knew, a hand sliding down the swell of her hip and...and a taste like wet rubber...no good. It was gone. Ursula hit the snooze button, but the dream didn't come back.

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