Your erotic stories

To bow. To worship. To breed. These are the notes of his symphony, his soul's hunger. 

His eyes dart from body to body, evaluating, finding nothing of either sustenance or substance. 

In his emptiness, I sense his desperation for my religion. He seeks a fane with an altar of leather and chains. Here is not that temple. 

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"I think he's signaling to you, sugar." I'd stopped to talk to the two guys who regularly positioned themselves at the corner of 4th Street Northwest in Albuquerque and the alley in which I temporarily resided in a cardboard carton. I hadn't been there long following a relocation from Las Vegas and, although I'd found some work as a gofer on a high-rise construction project downtown, I didn't have near enough funds yet to rent a room—or even to have three squares a day.

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We had all gone away for a month, us six guys: Ray, Mike, John, Matthew, Paul and myself. It was supposed to be a bonding thing. We were in the heart of the countryside, staying in Paul's family's holiday home. It was miles from anywhere and it was going to be our last group outing together before Ray got married.

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Author's Note: In Icelandic folklore, there are many tales of huldufolk—the hidden people. One tells of ljuflingur, huldumen known to seduce and impregnate human women ('ljuflingur' means 'beloved' in Icelandic). Many thanks to mac ropis for the thoughtful comments, spelling/grammar check, and insightful questions! Volunteer Editors are the best idea since oral sex.

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Meeting Tyler for the first time was exciting since I'd heard sooooo much about him. Tyler was my boyfriend's 'cool' friend back when he was younger. Tyler could always get James into bars and clubs when he was underage. James told me endless stories about the HOT girls Tyler dated and apparently shared with James occasionally.

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I had grown accustomed to the ordeal of waking up to the electrifying sensation that accompanied the sight of Jason's beautiful pink lips wrapped around my cock. He was, undoubtedly, the most gorgeous man that had ever come into my life. A ruggedly handsome face, framed by a French beard that always smelled of my cum and spiky jet black hair that made me melt each time he ran his fingers through them; all that was just an added bonus to the extremely lovable personality that I had fallen for.

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Jerome stood just inside the doorway at the shadowed end of the room. He should have just turned and gone down the stairs and out to the carriage to tell Thomas that Master John wasn't ready to go yet. That's all Thomas, Master John's carriage driver, had told him to do. But the shock of what he'd found when he'd entered the house on Decatur Street and been waved to the second door down the hall on the second floor held him plastered to his shadowy vigil spot long enough to engage his curiosity.

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He was almost completely untouchable. Even in his tribe he was an anomaly, the rest of the friendly people tactile by normal standards, but to him they kept a respected distance, granting him the space the shaman deserved by some silent demand to keep all hands off of his smooth dark skin.

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INTRODUCTION Marion knew that her husband was cheating on her but given her comfortable life style she looked the other way. Marion had remarried at the age of 32 to a very wealthy business executive who at the time was 43 years old. The first seven years of marriage were wonderful as she got accustomed to the finer things of life.

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I had been on the internet for more than three hours, talking to a beautiful woman named Mary. She was hesitant at first, but eventually we shared photos and talked about our fantasies. She loved the name I was given at birth, "Vincent". It reminded her of simple times.

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