Your erotic stories

I squinted into bush and idly my hand rubbed my neck, feeling the dampness there. Gosh hard to believe winter is scarcely over here in the bush. It sure was a hot day, I thought as I looked up at a blue sky with a few wispy white clouds in it. Still hot as it was I had been glad to be in the field rather than the classroom today~! I watched the students as they walked through the bush. They had come a long way. One of the few female rangers had learned the hard way that the bush is tough stuff.

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To say I had difficulty falling asleep would be quite the understatement. First off, I was lying in a puddle of pussy juice from rubbing my overworked clit all night. Second, I had all these images in my mind that just would not go away. I actually had licked my Aunt Karen's huge nipples while she was asleep! And filmed it! I had taken pictures and video of my Uncle Todd's fat cock without him even knowing! And all this debauchery was swirling in my brain...

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Imagine my dread when my Mother told me that I'd be spending three weeks in Little Rock, Arkansas with my Aunt so that she could go on her church trip to Mexico. Me, the sophisticated, suburban 20 year old college girl from Buffalo having to spend three weeks of my summer vacation in Arkansas! My Aunt Karen and Uncle Todd were cool enough, in their early 50's I remembered, but I just didn't relish the thought of leaving my cozy living quarters in the basement of our house. Yes, my basement where I could toy my ever-dripping pussy with my favorite dildos whenever I pleased.

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Rebecca was excited. Today was going to be one of her special days. She'd been building up to it or a couple of weeks now, and no matter how she struggled against her perverted desires no matter how much she tried to suppress the depravity of her craving, Rebecca knew that eventually she would weaken and give in. Her sexual urges appalled her in the immediate aftermath of one of her soirees and Rebecca would analyse her actions constantly in the days that followed, but inevitably that analysis would leave Rebecca in a fugue of self loathing and disgust at her own conduct.

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"Do you remember me?" Peter Dovzhenko turned from his seat in the sand, where he'd spent the last hour watching the waves rolling onto the beach, when he heard the smoky, Slavic-accented voice of a young woman behind him. He found her standing 5'3", with dirty blonde, shoulder-length hair, her body lithe and fit like a gymnast's, her tiny, turquoise bikini covering pert little A-cup breasts just big enough to hold.

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The chill October breeze sent a shiver through my body as I closed the front door of my parents' house who I had been visiting that evening. As I locked the mortice, I heard a sound to my left. I looked round and, in the frame of light created by the open front door of the neighbouring house, I saw, over the dividing fence, my 'childhood sweetheart' struggling to manoeuvre a large fridge/freezer over the precipice of the doorstep.

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Cammie Sandrith lie awake in the dark of the night listening. She heard the gurgling at last, long after she had started listening for it. It was late, after two in the morning, and she had woken almost instantly when someone closed the door to the bathroom just down the hall. From the sound of the footfalls on the linoleum, it was her son, Roger, back for the weekend from university. It took forever for him to begin. Then the gurgling had commenced.

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"You say you just want to play eh, no strings attached? You're my kind of woman." I smiled as I slipped my hand under her swimsuit, feeling the humidity emanating from her damp nether region. "I feel the same way, sex doesn't always have to come with a commitment. What do ya say we have ourselves some fun?" I suggested.

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The sex between Devin and me, which began on our third date (a month ago now), has been world-incinerating in its hotness. In addition, call it the effect of the honeymoon phase if you want, but I love the guy with every shred of my soul-his gentle gray eyes, his teeth slightly crooked on the upper right, his large but graceful hands, his messy dark hair, his subtle sense of humor, his passion for the same art and music I like, his trace of an Irish accent. (He and his parents moved to the U.S. nine years ago, when he was twelve.)

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In my experience it is more men than women who are into peeing. But in my case it was quite the opposite -- I never fantasized about it and if you had asked me I would have been disgusted. Here is how that changed. Firstly let me tell you something about myself. My name is Peter and I'm 35. This happened when I was 30. I'm 5'11, with dark hair and a muscular body.

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