Your erotic stories

Allie knew what was coming well before she pulled her towel away. It was just the price of still being friends with Craig and Eddie, who hadn't matured much at all since high school. "Boooyaaaahhhhhh!" "Hubba hubba hubba!" "Them's the stuff!" "Such a couple of little boys, aren't they?" Corri asked Allie with a grin as the two young women set their towels aside and stood on the sun-drenched poolside in their bikinis.

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It is a Saturday just like any other for Isabella. She lies in bed listening to the familiar ticking of the clock as dawn creeps towards daylight. It is 4 a.m. and she resists the urge to toss and turn in this familiar state of early waking that has become her newest habit. She will not give into the frustration of it.

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((I usually detest the idea of using toys in a movie or a story because it generally means that the writer has just run out of ideas and the toys are used to take up space, which is almost always the case in commercial porn. The toys also usually sever the story line because they put space between the participants and eliminate flesh-to-flesh contact. However, in this particular story with a "Mother-teaches-daughter" theme, I felt that the use of toys was appropriate to the plot.

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Oh god, I was so horny. I was watching dirty movies whenever I wasn't at school, I was masturbating for hours every night. I'd sit in the lecture hall, twirling a shiny, jet-black curl of hair, eyes not registering my pathology professor droning away. While my classmates scribbled notes furiously on either side of me, I would be concocting daydreams filled with big cocks, silk sheets, and the wild animal humping. I had been fantasizing about sex so much I was hardly paying any attention to my ten classes.

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Whenever I need to come, I just have to think back to those busy few days on the set, when both J and V touched my life in a most special way. That had been when I worked in the Industry as a sort of creative script consultant – a job I set up to both enhance the actor’s methoding, and therefore cut down on the studio’s worries. I was a sort of go-between, acting as interface between Director and producers on one side, and of course all the actors on the other.

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My wife Joan is 62 years old. She is a doctor and a dancer; her lifelong devotion to the art has kept her slim and strong, with great vitality, despite thinning skin, age spots and thickening around the middle. I am passionately drawn to her, find her very attractive, love her with a depth I never knew was possible, and want to fuck her often. (All you young people out there, just because we're old it doesn't mean we're dead.

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Valerie stared out the kitchen window at her neighbour across the alley. She'd met Patrick when he'd moved in, and while he had been polite, they hadn't maintained any contact more than a smile and wave if their paths crossed. But she'd been up close to him and that face had stuck in her memory. He was so pretty.

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Joan looked up at the clock. It seemed to have stopped at 3:28, but that was probably just her imagination. Her watch also said 3:28. Mind you, she'd been pretty sure for a while that her watch had stopped too. Maybe both of them had stopped. Time seemed to have been doing funny things to Joan all day. At some points, it had been going by unpleasantly quickly, sneaking past her when she wasn't paying attention.

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Could I really be doing this? I'm following some guy at a garage to the back room - seriously, the back room - where he is no doubt going to fuck my brains out. I'm watching his muscular ass ripple in his tight jeans, and I'm already unzipping my leather jacket. It was barely holding me in to begin with, and since I don't seem to be wearing anything underneath it, I'm already bouncing free by the time that my surprise lover opens the stock room door. We slip in, I slam the door closed with my foot, and he reaches for me.

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I watch you sleeping; your steady breathing is comforting as I see your chest rise and fall. It's Christmas morning and I know soon our house will be full of the sights and sounds of Christmas. I smile as you murmur in your sleep, turning your face towards me. I lean forward; cupping your jaw I run my thumb across your bottom lip, feeling your breath puff out against my hand. I feel the ache low in my belly; I'm so desperate to get one moment with you before the madness starts.

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