Your erotic stories

Paolo softly nibbles Alessio's earlobe while stroking his bare chest at the same time. His nimble fingers play with his nipples, now erect due to his soft touch; he pinches them, causing a shiver that becomes more intense when he feels the warm breath of his boyfriend on the back of his neck. He sighs contently, closing his eyes while his boyfriend covers his nape with kisses.

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At your urging, I decided to go shopping at the toy shop. No, not for games or toys for children, but adult toys. I had a vibrator, but it was on the verge of death, and it was time to upgrade anyway. I was a bit unsure of what I wanted, but I decided to just wander around and see what appealed to me. The first thing my eyes fell upon in the store was Tarzan. Okay, so he didn't come in jungle camo or a loin cloth, but this was a vibrator that looked like it could make you scream like him.

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*Author's Note: Any and all person's engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age. ***** "Daddy, will you come read me a story?" Tina asked as she peered into the living room. "What?" Burt looked up from the news. "Will you come..." his eighteen year old daughter repeated. "Tina, for God's sake, you're eighteen years old; aren't you a little too old for such foolishness?" Burt asked.

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Mark lay on his back, naked on the bed. The hotel room was quiet, dimly lit. My wife Jan, was naked as well as she sat next to Mark. She looked into my eyes and smiled and then turned to Mark and straddled him. She reached around behind her and guided his hard cock to her pussy. I was hard as a rock. Jan settled back a little and took only the tip at first. As Mark entered her more fully, Jan's eye's flashed open and she drew a deep breath.

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This story is a work of fiction. All characters are fictional. This story is for adults and not to be read by minors, all characters depicted are over 21 years of age. If you like this story please vote, leave a comment or drop me an email! XXOO - Dre

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Anna's parents came from Europe. Her father was a tall blond from Poland and her mother a red-haired beauty from Ireland. Yet poor Anna was stuck with the wrong branch of the DNA. She was six feet and then some in her socks. Her face was plain with a broad forehead, long jaw and beaked nose. Most of her height was in her legs. She wore men's jeans with a 30 inch waist and 36 inch inseam. Her hair was neither blond nor red but a sad mixture resulting in a rough brown. Her height served her well in obtaining a volleyball scholarship to college where she majored in business.

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INTRODUCTION It was the1970's when I accepted the position of Regional Sales Manager with a small software company. The company was headquartered near Philadelphia and had been formed by three men and some silent partners. They were starting to get leads from companies from across the country but they only had a presence on the east coast. They wanted me to become the Western Region Manager and deal with the demand for the company's software.

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Television just wasn't cutting it. I couldn't get her off of my mind. I'd fallen right into the same routine I had every night. Beer and TV usually made me groggy quick, especially on a full stomach. One pull of a lever, and my aching feet were up and my hands were behind my head in the recliner. The same recliner where she had climbed into my lap without her panties and rode me like a stallion.

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Kelly Wurtz had always gotten her share of attention from men. Her body was a most exquisite collection of curves, from her perfect 36C's to her extraordinarily lush backside, she was the subject of stares wherever she went and enjoyed her choice of lovers while avoiding long-term relationships and the dreaded 'M-word'. She loved the excitement of motorcycles and the company of the men who shared that passion, although seldom did she engage in intimacy with those men.

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It was as I was returning from a trip up to Manchester that I saw the sign: 'Stewartby Park Prestige Hotel'. I vaguely remembered hearing that the old place had been converted, some years after she died, but it hadn't really hit home to me until that moment. Before I'd even realised it I'd swung the car between the gate posts and started up that familiar wide, sweeping gravel drive, framed by rhododendron bushes. After a few hundred yards I rounded a corner and saw again the huge, sprawling former stately home I'd last set eyes on more than 30 years earlier, its crooked Tudor chimneys silhouetted against the afternoon sky.

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