Your erotic stories

It all started one evening at our local bookstore. I was browsing through the racks, Rachel having wandered off to glance at the science fiction section. I noticed an autobiography by a well-known porn actress and picked it up. The cover featured the author looking very hot in a black corset and matching boots. Rachel returned while I was reading the blurbs on the back cover. She saw what I was looking at and chuckled.

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Helen was a little surprised when the doorbell rang at precisely nine a.m., exactly when the contractor had told her that the workers would arrive to build her new deck. She was even more surprised when she opened the door and saw two young men who couldn't be more than twenty years old.

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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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My friend, George, the sleeping car attendant, teases me with a double entendre private nickname. He calls me "All-Aboard Betty." Let me explain. I have necessarily drawn George into a conspiracy because I need him to achieve my purpose during periodic journeys aboard The Frontier, a transcontinental passenger train. When I'm aboard the Frontier becomes instead the Piece Train. (Apologies to Yusuf Islam. The devil made me do that.)

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I'm going to do what they say people of my age (the thick end of sixty plus) are best at; I'm going reminisce about my youth. For me this was towards the end of the nineteen-fifties, when rock-and-roll ruled over drainpipe trousers and drape jackets and everyone jived to Elvis, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, etc. In England it was the time of the 'ton-up boy' who rode motorbikes with British names and who wore leather jackets liberally sprinkled with metal studs.

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Two middle age men walk down a rain-soaked street on a dark night, and a small neon sign directs them down an alleyway. JIGGLE HUT, it reads. A bright red door at the end of the alleyway is well worn and has a big 'JH' painted on it in yellow. Marcus, the taller of the two, pushes it open and they walk in. Dark stale air glows with dim purple light, and bass heavy music throbs. A fat man on a stool that's way too small for him looks them over.

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It started with my wife Pam. She has a love for cock that I have never witnessed before in anyone else. She is constantly playing with mine, in public and private; she can't keep her hands off of it. She loves to tease me, loves to watch me grow hard, and loves to suck endlessly on it afterwards. She takes great pleasure in slurping my cock in the most delicious ways and always insists that I watch while she performs her magic.

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She watched him from the kitchen as she prepared a pitcher of martinis for all of them. He did not have traditional good looks but he was appealing, especially to her. He flirted with her constantly and although she knew it was all in good fun, she could not help but be turned on by him. He had this confidence about him that she found so incredibly sexy.

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I'm so excited to see them. I'm squirming in my seat. It's been so long since I've tasted either of them and I'm licking my lips with anticipation. I remember her soft body against mine and his hard length inside of me. God I need that again. I need to feel both of them against me, on either side of me. I drive off the bridge, trying not to speed knowing I'm so close to there place. I'm shaking in my seat, and I have butterflies in my stomach. What will we say? How will we start? God I can't wait.

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Katherine stumbled out onto the uneven back stoop, audibly groaning under the weight of the heavy-duty trash bag. It was full of crumbled plaster and strips of wooden lathe and swung ponderously, threatening to pull her over with each uncertain step. As her foot slipped on the sloping stone slab she overcompensated and was forced to let the bag drop with a heavy crunch. Catching herself with a sideways grab at the door frame, she slammed backwards into the peeling paint of the old wood siding.

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