Your erotic stories

Chapter 1 -"No!" My shriek got my friends' and some strangers' attention in the waterpark. "What's up?" Cody asked with scrunched up brows. He looks like a cute little puppy with that concerned face. That along with his boy-next-door look always got attention from the women. "I can't find my bikini anywhere!" I half-sob, half-shriek with a frown on my face. "This is all your fault."

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My name is Dr. Matthew Dorhring. Samantha's father and I met almost 25 years ago while working as teaching assistants at the same institution where I am now a tenured professor. A few years ago, I took a sabbatical from the university during which I traveled and lived in different parts of the world and had missed seeing Samantha develop from child to adolescent. It wasn't until just before Samantha's high school graduation that I moved back to the states, and for the first time saw how beautifully she had grown and transitioned from a gangly adolescent into a nubile, sexy young woman, eager for life and new experiences.

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Even with the sun low in the evening sky, it was stifling hot. Jeff wondered why his Mom insisted on jogging in weather like this. The few times he had asked, her answer was always the same: "Because I don't want to look old." At eighteen, Jeff somewhat understood. Still, why put yourself through that, he thought to himself. Was it that important to a thirty eight year old woman to look ten years younger?

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My name is Steve. I am now married to the most beautiful woman in the world. Just ask her she will certainly confirm it is true. This one is a keeper. I work construction; we build bridges and other large structures. I work out of town most of the time. While I own my home I rarely get to spend much time there. That is until the last job the company sent me to. I now work in town at the office, with only an occasional day or 2 out of town. Now the wife comes with me.

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Julia sat in her Medical Ethics class and watched Professor Richards teach. She had a hard time believing that he had raped her the week before. Did it really happen? It just seemed so unbelievable. Everything seemed so normal at the moment. She tried to put it from her mind. There was nothing she could do and no one she could tell. He had her blackmailed completely. She would never tell anyone.

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He had been tracking his female's scent for days when he located her. Immediately he recognized who she was and what she meant to him. It had taken him awhile to realize that the circling path she was wondering could only mean that she was lost. Amazing, he had never known any of their kind to be lost. She was obviously young. Panic had struck him for a moment that she would be too young. However further study of her scent established her age to be well into her breeding years.

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The image of the girl was burned on his mind as he stepped outside the hall. The band was taking its final bow, and fit though he was, his muscles were well-used from the dancing. His friends had gone home early in a taxi, very drunk, but he'd stayed on, caught in the whirl of the ceilidh. The girl had been in a couple of sets he'd danced, and something in her eyes as she'd wheeched by had arrested him. He just wanted her, deep primal need. Knew it wasn't appropriate, she'd been the schoolpal of his friends' daughter.

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It had been almost a year since Emile and I went on our life-changing Cruise to Alaska and met Tom. Emile is back to being her friendly, positive self and is doing reasonably well in college. Her grades should be better but after Tom finished with her, she decided to like men. They take a lot of time away from her studies but it is wonderful for me to see her smiling and happy again.

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"I told you I wanted the bacon well-done," the woman said loud enough for most of the café to hear. Jason looked down at the two halves of the BLT sandwich laid open for the young man to see the meat in question. "We didn't think you wanted it burnt," Jason said. "I wanted it the way I ordered it," the woman stated firmly. "Well-done. Not soft. Not burnt. Well-done."

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The car arrives promptly at 09.30 hours, as stated on the card she had opened when she rose that morning. Sara has her small handbag with her, a light coat, and nothing else. Dressed smartly in a blouse and knee length skirt she closes and locks the front door, making her way down the path on sensible 2 inch heels, sheer stockings swishing together as she approaches the sleek black Mercedes that awaits her. A liveried chauffeur steps from the car and opens the rear door as she approaches.

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