Your erotic stories

Having the double headed dildo halfway inside her sopping wet pussy hole. Adrienne was looking down at her sister who just wrapped her mouth around the other end and started sucking on it fast and hard. Adrienne could feel the dildo move inside her, rubbing and pushing against her soft insides as her sister Julie was moving it with her tongue and mouth. In their bedroom when they should be asleep, but what is going to bed and sleeping without a good cum?

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"Oh my God," he moaned as he slowly woke, wishing he hadn't. Zac Knight's head was throbbing; a hangover, first class. Slowly, gently he rolled onto his back. He waited while the spinning stopped. His tongue licked dry lips. His mind refused to work, so he shut his eyes tight to try to doze off. He could vaguely recall last night; party, Halloween party. Fragments of recollection, some gorgeous blonde, arrogant bitch, bit of an argument over ... over?

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Cole sat nervously in the waiting area. He'd arrived for his interview the customary ten minutes in advance. He'd waited patiently for the expected fifteen minutes. Which had turned to thirty, which had turned to forty five minutes. "I'm sorry Sir." the receptionist said. She was a pretty blond in a tight skirt and heels which accentuated her legs. "I'm sure it won't be too much longer."

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I got to my desk to find a bright orange donut and a small gourd on my desk. Next to it was a note. I opened it. "Halloween Masquerade Ball" and the date on the weekend. I pushed it aside. I hadn't had a date in months and wasn't planning on going alone. I'd stay home and on the real Halloween, hand out cavity causing candy to the urchins on the street. Later in the day Noah from accounting walked by my desk. Then he walked back the other direction.

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I stood in formation in the hot, stuffy gymnasium: at ease, but hard as hell. The third local official of the day was basically reiterating everything the previous two had said: how proud everyone was of us, that we'd done good work, etcetera, etcetera. I knew I shouldn't feel so fucking ready to get the fuck out of there, but I'd just spent the last thirteen months, seven weeks and four days, thousands and thousands of miles away from the woman of my dreams.

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I was old enough to know better. Clever enough to know better. Responsible enough to know better. I should have been able to do the right thing, the only thing. This story recounts events beginning in the summer of 1994, not really that long ago, but an age before mp3 players and before mobile telephones really became popular.

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Weeks of anger, hurt and frustration had caused the maelstrom of emotions to abate enough that we could be in each other's presence without compounding the situation. My heart squeezed painfully in my chest as I looked at him, my eyes feasting once more on the visage of this man I love. His silver hair was shorter than it'd been the last time I saw him;

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I was getting ready for a trip to Washington on business, for work when Bill, a guy I didn't like at all, said at coffee, "If you are in D.C. you have got to go to the Iron Rod." "The what?" I asked, barely listening since all the guy did was bullshit. "The Iron Rod is the best pick-up bar in Washington. You are literally guaranteed to get fucked," he explained.

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It was Friday evening at the end of an unusually long week. I dropped into the local watering hole to grab a beer and unwind. The place was buzzing with conversation, music and laughter. I grabbed a small table near the window, nursed my first beer and enjoyed the view of the sunset. The weekend had arrived and people were there to celebrate. I was there to move into it quietly, others were there celebrating with friends, and two women half way across the room were there to make memories.

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Gary and Daniella, Dani to most folks, had invited Sue and me to a casual card game and dinner. Two of Gary's younger friends were still there, helping him with the same car that had crushed Gary's legs two months ago. Gary asked them to join us, so they laid a thick 4x8' plywood sheet on the basement Bumper Pool table over some towels to protect the rails. Dani pulled a painter's tarp over the makeshift table and covered it all with a heavy tablecloth.

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