Your erotic stories

N--- was a pretty young Asian woman. The first time we went out, I picked her up after she got off work at the restaurant where I had met her. We had made no particular plans, which suited her just fine. As we drove around looking for something to do, a dance song she liked came on the radio, and she closed her eyes and began dancing dreamily in the bucket seat beside me, her arms in the air above her head, her upper body swaying erotically to the beat. Her sweater-clad breasts, round and relatively large for her very petite frame, thrust outward as she moved. I began to believe this would be a very good first date.

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Heavy rain hammered loudly on the roof of our porch. Strong winds whipped through the mesh screening, blowing the heat of the summer day quickly away. The wind pushed raindrops through the screen, vaporizing the droplets into a fine, refreshing mist. The random lighting strikes that brilliantly lit the night-time sky were quickly followed by deafening claps of thunder. The room was pitch black, interrupted only by the persistent flashes of bright white light. Being out in the elements, experiencing the power of mother nature was intensely stimulating.

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The café was warm, filled with low chatter and the pungent scent of roasting coffee. A jazz band sent its smooth sound over the vast expanse of crowded tables. Seated by the window, Hyuga bent his head over his sketch book, silently absorbed in the task of laying out the scene around him. His pencil glided across the page; he glanced around frequently to take in the exact detail of a certain mug or a woman's blouse. Incessantly, he flipped the dark bangs out of his eyes.

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The ice clinked in the empty glass as Leah fumbled to find the night stand. She'd drained the last of the brandy in one gulp. She was tired of sitting at home alone. Normally, she didn't drink alone, but she'd been angry tonight. She'd been getting to know a guy she met online and their conversations had gotten pretty deep. She'd chatted online with Xavier for a while before exchanging phone numbers.

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It was with some frequency that James Hartman returned to his old stomping grounds in the ATL for job related responsibilities. Atlanta held many memories for James, good times, pleasant reflections and melancholy longings. It was a trip he always took with much anticipation because it presented itself with the hope of exploring his deepest, darkest, most perverted desires. James had a dark side that hadn't had an outlet for quite some time.

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Cody moved over to the corner of the floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window of the penthouse party room at the top of the high-rise. At one angle we was looking down at the busy E. Colfax Avenue in Denver. The other wall of window overlooked the Denver Zoo. He took a swig of his drink more so that it looked like he was drinking than that he wanted to drink. In truth, he would have liked to get drunk, but this was definitely not the time or place for it.

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I love cock. Can't deny it. Can't escape it. Not guys, as such, but COCK. I am married, love my wife and family, and will do nothing to endanger them or my marriage. But I love cock. Am I repeating myself? With local University connections, I am able to make use of the 5 different gyms and work-out centers on campus, in addition to the 3 pools they have. I admit, that at the pools I spend way more time looking at the co-eds, than anything or anyone else.

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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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