Your erotic stories

Heather nuzzled into Conner's hand as he placed it on her cheek, and she looked up into the cornflower-blue eyes of the lithe-figured blond college junior as she cupped his balls with one hand and sucked on the bulb of his cock with her mouth. She was sitting on the foot of the bed in her university dorm room, just in her panties. Conner, pantless and briefless and his sport shirt open to expose his trim, but well-muscled torso, was standing between her knees and telling her what he wanted her to do next in the blow job she was giving him.

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I tore off one of the phone number slips from the bulletin board post and figured I would at least give it a try. Just the kind of job I was looking for, high pay (for a college kid at least), and didn't sound like a lot of work. I had never been an artist's model, or even really knew what that entailed. I was an engineering student.

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He was just posed there, his feet on the ground, half sitting in the seat swing in the overgrown abandoned playground at the back of the elementary school. I had walked over here on a whim to cool down from the sharp retort I had unexpectedly made to my mother at the lunch table. This after her third badly cloaked jab on why I hadn't married yet and given her grandchildren.

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"Truth or dare?" asks Cristina. "Truth," Sammy answers. There'd be plenty of time for wild antics later. The slumber party was just getting started. "Okay..." Cristina looks around the room at her friends mischievously grinning, feigning serious consideration with a finger to her chin. She pauses extra long to build suspense and takes a swig of her wine cooler before posing her brilliant question: "Spit or swallow?"

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Henri smiled. Susan liked the cheerful, guileless concierge-come-garçon de café that was as much a part of the pavillon as the faded, not-quite-peeling paint, the louvered shutters and the balmy salt breeze. She'd come to treasure this quiet little place on the Côte d'Ivoire. Henri's warm grin and genuine welcome greeted her every time.

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Kari Bates is an attractive 36-year-old mother of two. She's no supermodel, but she has the look of that good looking school teacher that most boys had a crush on during their school years. She stands 5'6" with a slender 34-B-24-24 body. Brown hair, parted in the middle and hanging almost to her shoulders. Bright blue eyes hidden behind her thin rectangular framed glasses and an ever-present smile.

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I didn't know if it was the unseasonal heat or the heavy work we'd done that day or Jake's scary stories or Miguel's empty bed that kept me awake in the dormitory that night, but I had nervous energy to spare. I would doze, but I'd wake up with a start and look over at Miguel's bed, the emptiness of it now explained, and then I'd check all of the other beds to see in guys were there. And sometimes they weren't, and then I'd speculate.

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One Tuesday morning, Linda Harris, a thirty-five year old mother of two, entered her kitchen with the intention of making herself some breakfast. Filling up the kettle with water, she placed it on the stove and took out her favourite teacup from beside the counter. It was another sunny morning; from here she had a good view of her suburban backyard, seeing her previously washed blankets flutter on the clothesline from where she had hung them. The clock on the kitchen wall announced the time as 8:24PM.

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We live in a quiet suburban town in central New Jersey, our neighbors basically keep to themselves, usually just a hello in passing as i walked by their house walking my dog. The neighbors are mostly white couples ranging from their mid-40's to late 50's. A few interracial couples but it is mostly a white neighborhood.

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"I think it's wreckage of a ship. From the storm last night. It's not strange to find ship wreckage on the Cefalu beach after a tempest like that." Two scouts, on their regular patrol along the Adrano coastline while the forces of the Prince of Madness sought to invade the island nation, had stopped on the beach, their attention arrested by shattered ship planking and tangles of shredded sailcloth washing up in the surf.

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