Your erotic stories

One thousand, eight hundred, and seventy-one visible stars danced above his head in the sky, circling about, scintillating, putting on their constant ballet for all those below. Not for the first time, he wondered at how many intelligences he was staring. Millions? Trillions? Or perhaps it was zero.

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Traci and Heather were discussing whether or not Karen Cambell would show up at their five year class reunion. They could hardly believe that the 'bitch' would show up after what had happened just over three years ago. But if she did Traci had some three and a half year old pictures that would insure a memorable reunion for her classmates.

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Ace Hoffman sat in his new used truck and wished with every breath that he hadn't moved from Atlanta three weeks ago.

This happened every time he'd changed cities in the past – Boulder to Baltimore, Baltimore to Atlanta, and now to Lawrence, Kansas. He missed everything he knew – his favorite bars, the great friends he'd left behind, knowing where all the roads go. 

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Note: Your comments or constructive criticism mean a lot to me. Feel free to leave me a private message if you'd like to share your thoughts, get updates on future chapters or receive a personalized photo of my cock. Statement of veracity: This is a true story. Well, everything up to the break point. I'll leave it to you to guess which of these is the full true story.

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He didn't move. He just sat on his girlfriend's bed and kept his eyes on her open closet. Eighteen-year-old Edward had only one thing on his mind. But his girlfriend would never accept it even if she was more open-minded than anyone else. The young black man tried to repress his temptation, but it always fought back and sought its victory. One look at Cheryl's beautiful red dress and he would do anything to wear it.

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His eyes were closed, a vain token of propriety: if he didn't see what was happening, was he really responsible? Around his finger her mouth closed, warm, wet, sucking. He felt her teeth graze over the hardness of his wedding band, then those hot, soft lips closed about his finger, retreating slowly towards his fingertip with a delicious, unfamiliar suction. What am I doing? There is a reason I've worn this band for fifteen years.

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That day started like any other first day of preschool for Julie. She greeted the returning children as well as the newcomers. Parents milled around the room to see what new things Julie had set up for the children to do. As she was speaking to one concerned parent, she noticed a tall man standing in the doorway, with a large Stetson in his hand. Wrapped around his leg, was a small girl in a pretty green dress and saddle shoes. She seemed to be terrified at what she was seeing.

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When you love music and like talking about it, radio is the way to go. But as a bill-paying career, it leaves a lot to be desired. I'm not complaining...well, maybe a little. I'm a single mother driving a 17-year-old car and one income from my noon to 3pm gig at a local rock station wasn't cutting it. The drive-time guys make the big money, especially if their ratings are solid, and I would go play with them on the air sometimes just to feed off their fame and get a couple of weekend remotes to pull in a few extra bucks.

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I stood in the crisp sunlight bursting through my window, my shades pulled back and inviting the morning inside. It was September; the first day of classes. My parents had helped me move in to my residence room a week ago, giving me time to get acquainted with all the people that would be on my floor. I had made a good number of friends, many of which I already had invited me to spend the next weekend on a drinking splurge.

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DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the result of my imagination or are used within a fictitious context. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, places, or incidents is entirely coincidental.

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