Your erotic stories

I am wearing no knickers and a blue miniskirt that displays my slender, tanned legs. I sit on the motorbike and feel the vibration of the engine run through me. The photographer tells me to hold still while she takes the pictures. It's hard not to wriggle. She runs off a few shots and stops. I puff out my cheeks and lean back to take the pressure off. My nipples are hard and straining at my tight, white t-shirt.

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The illumination from the streetlights was more than enough to see by, even after the intense electric glare of the subway station. But the addition of the subtle light of the full moon added a certain something to the night that Alex Johnston had always thought special, almost ethereal in nature.

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It had been a year since Don had left Samantha and moved in with his secretary. As part of the divorce settlement Samantha kept her home and had sufficient money to get by. It occurred to me that it had been a year in which Sam had drawn herself into a shell. Although she lived just down the road we were at best nodding acquaintances. Then it struck me that she'd always seemed the quiet type, Don, her ex, would strike up a conversation but Sam was never included, and if she did attempt to join in Don would quickly cut her short giving the impression that Sam's opinions were unimportant.

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Her heart started leaping in her chest as she turned into his driveway, the full throaty throb of the Ducati between her legs vibrating rhythmically as she let it roll up the gravel to the front of his house. As she shut the dark black machine down, she heard the sweet silence of her surroundings for the first time and took off her helmet to look around.

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