Your erotic stories

I didn't get into sex when most of my friends did. I'm not sure why, but at thirteen and fourteen when my friends were starting to take an active interest in sex and boys, I just wasn't that interested. I suspect my hormones were late bloomers or something. It wasn't until I was sixteen that I started to feel the urges, and I tried to deal with them at bedtime by touching myself with very little results for some reason.

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She had come out of the fortune-tellers a changed woman. Pausing only briefly at the entrance, she looked around her for a moment and walked briskly to the train station. She stood in the throng of the station concourse, examining the departures before walking into the ticket office. The train she chose was leaving in only a few minutes, leaving her no time to sit around and ponder what on earth she was doing.

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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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I focused on the backs of her legs and turned the little wheel of the binoculars with my thumb to sharpen the image. She was bending over one of her pots and pinching something on a plant to remove it. Her dress was riding higher and I glimpsed an extra three inches of white thigh. As she attempted to stand erect she put both hands behind her back and straightened with an effort.

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It was the Friday afternoon, before the Holiday Weekend, and I was driving the car to the ‘Biker Rally’ and ‘Rock Festival’, when I realised that I had a ‘slow puncture’. My husband, Craig, had set off earlier, on his new Honda 750. My mobile phone couldn’t receive a signal, so all I could do was sit by the side of the road; smoke a cigarette and wait for help.

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'Should I send him a picture of my ass or my tits?' Kayla thought to herself. She stood and looked to the mirror on the wall between the dorm room beds. She admired her own body, grabbing her breasts over her spaghetti strap top. Chris was definitely a tits guy.

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I moaned loudly as the phone's ringing refused to stop. I rolled twice toward the sound, tossing blankets to the side as I did, and reached up to grab the phone. "Hmmmm?" I voiced into the receiver. "Ms. Calista Holiday?" a deep voice asked. "Yes," I responded. "This is Aidan Conner. I must regretfully inform you of the death of your great-aunt, Faye Michaels." The man's vaguely familiar accent registered, but his words didn't.

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"Fffffffff!" Emma seethed as she slipped the dildo into her pussy, all six inches being swallowed whole by her desperate cunt. She sighed with relief as she slid it inside as far as it would go. Satisfied it was in deep enough, Emma lifted her legs up and slipped her panties and tights on, and put her jeans on over the top, all still while lying on the bed. She paused a moment, her jeans hadn't yet been buttoned or zipped up.

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In case you haven't read any of my other stories, my name is Alicia and I'm eighteen years old. My best friend since fourth grade and lover since December is Shelly. She's five months older than I and a very beautiful girl, if I may say so at the risk of being a little bit prejudiced. We are bisexual, not lesbians, because we have boyfriends, too.

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It was Saturday night, and I was looking for company. I didn't have any particular prospects, but I did have a standing invitation to attend a party that an acquaintance of mine threw on the first weekend of every month; I had never attended one, but I had a hunch that it might be a good place to go looking for love, seeing as how Randall, the acquaintance, always seemed to be accompanied by a different, very attractive woman.

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