Your erotic stories

Maria stood before her son's bedroom door. She held her fist up, ready to knock. She paused, a tiny twinge of guilt crossing her mind. For the last two months, she had spent every Sunday morning draining Matthew's balls, helping him to relieve his raging eighteen-year-old's erection so that he could go to Mass with her. At first, handjobs had been enough. But for the last month, it had taken blowjobs to get him to cum. She hoped they would still suffice.

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The school year started with Gina and Mike eagerly looking forward to their final year of school. Mike ended up having a particularly heavy load of classes the first semester. He was short a few credits and wanted to make sure the final semester of his senior year would be fairly light. From practically the first week of classes his schedule keep Mike very busy studying, working at the lab, or meeting kids from his classes to work on group projects. He and Dana managed to keep up their personal workouts in preparation for the coming swim season, but it wasn't hard to see that the heavy class schedule was wearing him out.

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Maria knocked on her son's bedroom door. "Matthew! It's Sunday. Time to get ready for Mass." Without waiting for an answer, she swung the door open. Matthew was lying on his bed, naked, sporting an enormous erection. "I'm ready for you to help me get ready, Mom!" He leered at her with his evil, lascivious grin. Maria sat on the edge of the bed, and traced one finger up and down the underside of her son's cock. "How would you like it today, baby?"

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'Just a very nasty little stroke story, all dialogue. Edited by Red Martha. "You are one nasty little slut! No panties I see, you're always ready for cock, any time, any place, any hole, aren't you, cunt? I'm going to fuck you up the ass again. You know how much I like my cock buried inside your tight little shitter, baby.

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I was living in my parents house one winter because I was in between locked ward confinements, and, though not enough of an outlaw to have an actual price on my head, I was enough of a one to make living outside the family milieu difficult at best. I was in my 20's and had a neuroses now widely known but unrecognized back then by the quacks. I also suffered from a small number of other disorders but nothing really physically disabling, in fact, for a neurotic young man of aesthetic temperament and criminal tendencies my physical health has always been robust.

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Summer vacation was winding down fast, taking with it the last vestiges of freedom that my sisters and I had been so thoroughly enjoying. All too soon, I would be starting my senior year in high school and it would be back to dull grind of boring routine. "Samuel T. Young, you need a haircut, young man!"

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Jake was 18 years old. For all intensive purposes he was normal. Except for one itty bitty thing. He wanted to sleep with his mom. This disturbed Jake to no end. It certainly wasn't normal and made him feel awkward around her. His mom was none the wiser. Being a very open and liberal mother didn't help his appetite at all, especially since she would often walk around their house in nothing but a shirt and her panties. Every time Jake would see this he'd have to control himself. Every now and then she'd give him an innocent hug, but to him it wasn't so innocent. He'd steal a chance to brush her butt, or her boobs. He'd pat her back to see if she was wearing a bra. She rarely did in the mornings.

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Two days after I graduated from High School, my dad surrendered to the cancer that had been kicking his ass for more than three years. To say my mom and I were devastated would be an understatement. It seemed like we died with him as we moved like zombies in a cloud of unreality. A world without him was no place we knew or wanted to know. And yet, there we were, the carpet pulled forever out from under us.

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It is the middle of the night and Jon Mason returns from the bathroom. Sara sleeps on her back and the bright moonlight filters through the curtains casting a soft glow across her body. Through the open window, he can hear the roar of the surf. The sheet, wadded and tossed towards the bottom of the bed, leaves just one of her feet covered.

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Cindy sat at her dining room table and sipped a glass of wine. In front of her were two letters and two small piles of photos. Aside from some soft music coming from the stereo the large house was empty and quiet, as it had been for much of the past six months.

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