Your erotic stories

You walk in my house after work, I motion for you to sit on my soft leather couch and move the ottoman out of my way. I walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water for me and of course whatever you want to drink. Coming back into the living room I hand you your drink and set mine down near your feet.

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As my orgasm subsided, my girlfriend Annie held her mouth completely still around my cock, waiting until patiently until my cock stopped twitching, before gulping her mouthful of semen down. After a few moments, she took my cock out of her mouth, exaggerating the audible "pop" sound for effect, and said, "Ahhhhh.," as she crawled up next to me in bed to snuggle.

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His story: She came highly recommended. A friend of a friend sort of referral. He checked out some of her photography online and was impressed by her work. She had a good eye. He needed some head shots for auditions and print work. He had gotten into acting late by most standards, but it came easily to him and he found his looks, charm and likeability were already opening doors for him.

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I always knew of the man who lived in the house at the end of the dead end street as the Creeper. His real name was Mr. Manson, and I thought that his first name was Barry or Barney or something like that. The word around the school was that he liked boys, and from the time I was in elementary school, to the time I was a senior in high school, I was warned by other kids to stay away from his house.

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Several years before my marriage, I met a young woman who had experienced much in life - for her age - but hadn't known the greatest pleasure of all until we met. This is the story of that first experience for her. I had seen her at work a few times, she was eye-catching to say the least. Her vivacious smile, friendly attitude and empathetic charm made her the type of person who lights up a room when she walks in.

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Donna Faircloth was energized, turned-on and kneeling on the kitchen floor, giving her husband a surprise blowjob he'd never forget. She'd just come home with her emotions in overdrive after a daylong workshop on conducting group encounter sessions.

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Emmy had suggested we spent the evening watching a film, and I was happy to go along with her plan. I'm fairly open-minded in what I watch, and cope readily enough with most things she chooses. I might object if they were sappy romances time and again, but—to be fair to her—they're no more common than any other genre, so it works out ok.

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Bo rolled down Highway 59 with the top down, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music on the CD player. The day was hot, clear, and sunny; a beautiful end of summer day. Bo worked in real estate and the past several years had been tough. He owned an independent agency and when the real estate bubble had burst several years before, his business had nearly gone under. He had survived that and the end of his marriage, brought about when his wife found another guy who still had the money he once had.

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I enjoy recalling erotic encounters that occurred during my high testosterone years prior to my marriage. I was an enthusiastic but by no means accomplished swordsman, far from it. The memories of those few successful trysts remain clearly fixed in my mind. For some reason my most rewarding conquests were with "older" women. I have no idea why there was this attraction between some women and myself despite them being 20 to 30 years my senior.

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One thousand, eight hundred, and seventy-one visible stars danced above his head in the sky, circling about, scintillating, putting on their constant ballet for all those below. Not for the first time, he wondered at how many intelligences he was staring. Millions? Trillions? Or perhaps it was zero.

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