Your erotic stories

Sitting out on the back deck I do not always hear the doorbell when it rings. I should probably fix that problem some day since I spend so much time out here enjoying the view and sun. Then again I do not get many unexpected guests. I live on the outskirts of town on a large bluff. The back of my home faces the south towards the city and the view is spectacular.

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INTRODUCTION The summer I was sent to Mountain Farm, I was in my late teens (19). A had for a couple of years already been soiling the sheets with my nightly juices almost every night and my attention to schoolwork and helping out at home had become more and more distracted by my growing and constantly aching cock and balls. The actual trigger was when my mother surprised me twice one afternoon when I was happily stroking my member in the family bathroom but had forgotten to lock the door.

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She had been sitting outside for about thirty minutes, waiting for him to come home from work, and watching the clouds build up to the northwest of them. There was a distant rumble of thunder and a few brief glimpses of lightening. And then she heard the siren go off on the golf course behind the house and knew that the storm was headed their way.

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This actually happened to me tonight on my commute from work. Well, everything up to the characters getting off the bus, anyway. The rest is a fantasy. I wrote it all in a burst after getting home, so it might be a little rough, but maybe it has the immediacy of what was going through my mind. Your comments or private message are always welcome.

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The summer was drawing to a close; long, balmy nights were growing shorter and sweaters began to feature in the costumes of the young and cool. Kate sat alone at the top of a small hill, watching the sunset and waiting for her boyfriend, Ben to arrive. One by one, the stars began to prickle through the hazy sky, peppering Kate's view with constellations she didn't understand, but loved all the same.

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Neal wasn't the sort of guy people noticed much. He could walk through a room of people talking—even a room full of people he knew—and get to the other side without being greeted or noticed. He could have conversations with strangers and then the stranger wouldn't recognize him if they met again. He was a guy of no standout talents, no distinctive looks other than being smaller of stature than his age. He wasn't ugly; he was just plain and forgettable—and a little scrawny.

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"Asshole," Jeri said out loud as she drank a tall glass of water near the kitchen sink. Jeri stared lazily at the backyard where the young neighbor was mowing and trimming the backyard. It had been a task he had completed every summer for them for several years. Jeri and her husband had paid him well for his work, which wasn't so good when he first started, but became better and better. Being a scorching day, he was out there with his shirt off. Jeri would watch if she was home when he worked, but never fathomed the idea of anything more.

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It was the first time in my life I was living together with somebody else. It was thrilling. I remember the first time we went together to the supermarket. I was used to buy just a few things and spend some metal coins just not to use the Credit Card... I left there half of my monthly pay! We bought an unbelievable amount of stuff to start our household, most of which I would never think of.

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Victoria checked the bathroom to make sure that she had not left anything behind; she closed her carry-all and put the box her Mistress had sent her the day before in her hand luggage. She was more than ready to go home. The raven-haired Assistant District Attorney had been asked to present a panel at the annual Conference of Women in Law Enforcement in Chicago.

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Tiredly, I walked up the driveway from my car. It had been a long day and I was looking forward to a relaxed evening and a cold beer or two. I dumped my briefcase and suit jacket in the foyer and shouted, "Honey, I'm home. Where are you?" "In the bathroom," she answered. I walked down the passage and pushed the bathroom door open. Zoë was seated on the toilet, her flimsy g-string around her slim ankles and her sundress hiked up over her wide hips. She looked up at me with an annoyed look in her grey eyes.

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