Your erotic stories

For generations, the Royal Family had been protected by the elite Royal Guard, given the best training and the most advanced weapons to date. With a proud heritage which stretched back generations, the Royal Family had always been under the protectorate one family.

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It was early April when I returned to the house I had spent my entire life in, up until the previous September. I had gone to college on the other side of the country and had been incredibly homesick for the small town I grew up in, a place I had hated until I had to leave. I missed my friends, my neighbours, my parents especially, and I was incredibly excited to see everyone when I got back home. Unfortunately, I was the first of my friends to finish my final exams at school, so I was back in town two weeks before most of my friends would be back.

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You might have seen me once or twice if you happen to visit any of the lonelier cycle paths around Great Britain. I've cycled them all. Mile after mile of empty countryside – away from the cars, away from the people, and away from every other distraction of modern day life. Boring? You've got to be kidding! This is where it all happens – in the natural world, that is; and as a passionate wildlife photographer, this is all that matters to me.

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I never dreamed I'd experience sex with my own father. Never. But it happened when I was twenty-two and he was forty-seven. My parents were on vacation in Montana when they were involved in an automobile accident on the Interstate. A car in the lane opposite theirs sideswiped another car causing the two cars to spin and turn over.

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As I walked into the bathroom, I immediately took note of its strange cleanliness, considering its location off of a highway. I sat down in one of the stalls and closed the door. As I finished my business, I turned around to flush the toilet, and noticed a hole in the wall, about 3 inches in diameter.

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She walked out of the bathroom to the middle of the empty room. It was a bedroom of sorts, but completely devoid of furniture. The carpet on the floor was thick and plush and a dark rich chocolate brown. The paleness of her skin contrasted nicely with the dark carpet. Almost the reverse silhouette.

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I travel frequently on business. Recently, I had to travel to another city for a few nights. I reserved a room at a well-known, mid-level hotel. On my last night at the hotel, I had to complete a report and get it emailed out by morning. Unfortunately, it was a Thursday night and a football game was on TV that night.

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I had a really shitty day. My secretary quit, to move to Texas with her new boyfriend. Somebody clipped my brand new Porsche in the parking garage, denting the hell out of the passenger side door and both fenders. One of my clients, the Avengers, tore up the hotel they were staying in. And Ozzie Schmuck, the drummer for Snakepit, got busted for coke and can't make the Australia tour.

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A number of years ago, I placed an ad in the local paper as a free-lance writer offering to write heirloom biographies for a reasonable fee. The idea came to mind after my mother passed away, and I realized how little I really knew of her life. I simply knew her as 'Mom,' and my kids only knew what I passed along to them. My intent was to help families capture the essence of their lives to share with the generations to follow.

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I've been at this gig for about three years now in a Northeast city. It isn't what I expected to be doing, career-wise, at my age, but I can't gripe about the pay. This is for a private apartment complex (not a hotel, mind you), so it's rightly what Europeans define as being a Concierge (attending to high-end residents' needs). I'm in my mid-twenties, tall and reasonably fit, outfitted in a blazer, gray slacks and dress shoes, and I sport a genuine-enough smile that's kept fresh every day.

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