Your erotic stories

My name is Jacob. I am 21 and I work as a materials handling specialist for a Chicago construction company. It pays very well, and while not always the most exciting job in the world it does have it's moments, like the time we ordered 500 toilet seals and received 500 toilet seats. But I digress. This story is about my Senior Prom. I had just turned 18 at the time and was dating this beautiful young woman named Stella. Blonde, blue eyed, 46 DD with a nice big ass. She was the object of my teen angst.

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The yoga class had already started by the time I made it inside so it looked as if I'd have to wait until afterwards to get to the toilet. I was dying to pee but that wasn't surprising. The further my pregnancy progressed, the longer it seemed to take to get anywhere and the more often I seemed to need the toilet. I felt like a beached whale at times, nearly nine months in, just a few weeks to go and I couldn't wait for it to be over. The worst thing was not having anyone to share my troubles with.

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We both got up and headed for the bathroom at the same. I urgently needed a piss, I guess Claire did too. We had both drunk quite a bit last night, a bottle of wine had gone down easily. She always drank more when she was feeling horny. We'd had good sex too, I seem to remember her rolling over and offering me her arse in a wanton act of lewdness.

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It was about a year and a half ago, I was sitting in my work truck having a lunch break and leching at any remotely sexy looking female who happened to walk by, fantasizing about kinky sex. Such has been my custom ever since I can remember. At 53 I still had a raging libido and quite simply did not get enough sex to satisfy it. I could still quite easily orgasm two or three times a day.

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"Hey man, you got a light?" the old guy next to me asked with a hoarse voice. He looked to be about 5'5" tall, overweight, had a head full of roughed up black and gray greasy hair, and a shaggy beard. I guessed his age to be around 50. His jeans and flannel shirt were a little dirty looking. "Sorry, I don't smoke," I told him.

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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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His fingers were in her pussy, tracing patterns on the sensitive and soaked flesh of her inner passages and lazy curly q's on her clitoris. His lips were on hers, roving tongue and all, giving her long kisses that sucked the breath from her. All in all, she was completely lost in the sensations of his lovemaking and would probably have done anything he wanted. Her mind was a mixture of numb to the rest of the world and alive with him. Her heart throbbed and the blood in her veins had turned into a molten river of arousal. Everything was perfect.

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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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For 20 years I have always been the apple of his eye, and he, my night in shining armor who always kept me safe. Whenever he wrapped his arms around me, I'd melt into him and become the sweet little girl I once was, but what else would you expect, he is my daddy after all, and we share a very special relationship. Most people notice it right away, how close we are, if only they knew how close we get, I wonder what they would think then?

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I had read a story on a fetish porn site about a woman named Jen stopping behind after hours and taking a naughty piss over the carpet in a conference room. The author had then gone onto to describe how the woman, turned-on by her actions had gone onto experimenting by first peeing over the table in the same room before taking a piss in her manager's cup.

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