Your erotic stories

The basis for this story is autobiographical, but I do make changes with names of individuals and some of the content to make the story flow more smoothly such as entering the minds of characters to reveal possible thoughts leading up to their actions.

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I never know what my wife's got up her sleeves. At 35, Lily is every bit as beautiful as she was at 25, when we were married. Long, blonde hair cascading across her face. Silky soft pale skin. Incredible, firm breasts. A tight tummy. An ass I can't keep my hands off of. I don't know how I lucked into my marriage, but I am thankful for it every day.

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Girls like her should come with warning labels, the kind you see on coffee these days, Caution: Hot. This girl was molten. I, of course, had no clue just how right I was, but I would of course be schooled quickly.

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"Buenos dias, Hermosa" She whispered to me over the phone. I grin without trying and ask her when her flight leaves. She replies in a few hours. I reply, "Hurry..." Our call ends. Los Angeles will be clocking 90 degrees today, so my phone tells me. From my bed, the morning sun pours in and the sky is crystal clear. The makings of a perfect day. It will be perfect.

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I go bow hunting every year, not that I kill an animal each time but it's my time to get away from the modern world. Prior to my hunts in September, I make a few "scouting" trips to see what signs I can find of the elk and deer. In Oregon you can hunt both at the same time with bow and arrow.

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The doors swung open, and I stood before her, flanked by two of her zombie underlings. Even though I took this to be her personal bedroom, the stench of death and decay was unmistakable and unavoidable. The thought of who I might see on the other side of that door bothered me more than the two shambling corpses who had escorted me here.

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"My sweet Lord," I heard her whisper under her breath, as I framed her face with my hand, and gently turned her to look me in the eye. "Shh," I hushed, my face inches from hers, "don't speak." I curled my lips over hers, my bottom lip gliding into her mouth. I settled in closer, my other hand sliding down her arm to lace our fingers together.

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You Are Not My Father. That was what my daughter Amy said to me. She was right of course, we had not met until she was twelve but much to the amazement of the three of us we got along well from the start. I did all the Dad things and perhaps a few more. I took her out on a to dinner dates on her birthdays, just the two of us. I taught her to drive. I was always dressed and polite when her friends came over.

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There she is. She has amazing hair, the perfect skin, a great set of abs peaking out from under her tank top. She moves with catlike grace through the crowded bar, smiling at people even as she pushes them out of her way. "God, you just want to grab that ass and lick your way up her stomach," I mumble to Brook. Brook just smiles and takes the pool cue from my hands for her turn.

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The early morning sun began to shine brightly through our bedroom window- waking me up. I wasn’t much of a morning person until the first morning you and I woke up in each other’s arms. After that, I grew to love mornings. Our mornings were special. It was the one time of the day where we actually got to hold each other close and not be in a big hurry. All the cuddling and whispering as we each wake up. Except this morning, I woke up too late.

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