Your erotic stories

"Don't be such a prude Thor! Nudity is perfectly natural and doesn't have to be about sex. In fact, they'd be more likely to think of our bodies in a sexual way if we wore G-strings or tight jeans." "Easy for you to say, you're not likely to be ogled as the fresh meat." "For God's sake stop with this nonsense already, Thor. They're NOT interested in your body for sex.

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I was walking across campus, headed to a nearby pizza restaurant for a late lunch. Suddenly a body pressed into my back and a hand covered my eyes. Startled, I tried to get away but my unknown assailant held me tight, something cold pressed into the middle of my back. I started to struggle and then I heard his voice.

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Her wrists were tied together and secured with her own pantyhose to the headboard. He had left the room, with her kneeling as best she could, legs spread wide, giving him a perfect view of her now glistening pink slit, and more importantly the tight pink rosebud above. He said he wanted her ass. She thought they'd do some ass play for a little while and then he'd forget about it. But for the past two months he was persistent.

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The first time I rimmed my wife was an experience we both will never forget. It forever changed our sex life for the better. This event took place on the Valentine's Day before I proposed to her. Let me explain a little bit about us. For a very long time, I had sealed my heart away. I dated some fucked up bitches when I was young and dumb. I was raised in Hawaii with influences from Eastern culture. The whole concept of respect is something valued in many cultures of the Pacific, more so than individualism, which is highly valued in American Western society.

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If you're driving along the motorway and feel like a break, I would strongly recommend Mudchute Services. They're fairly easy to find, right next to Brown Wood, and you'll find the toilet facilities make a very worthy detour.

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My wife was out of town visiting some friends for the weekend. It was Friday, and afternoon was turning into evening. With no plans I thought I'd stay late at work and try to catch up on a few things. About 6:00 a co-worker popped his head in my office and asked if I'd like to join him for a drink. We went to a neighborhood bar, ordered a couple drinks and spent most of the time bitching about those in charge at the office.

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The summer after I graduated from college I crashed on my big sister Trish's couch for a few months. What else was I supposed to do? I had earned a bachelor's degree in anthropology, which translated to no money and no job prospects. She had a little house in the woods outside the town we grew up in, and she said I could stay there as long as I needed. She'd mentioned something about having a boyfriend, but I didn't realize until I got there that he was pretty much living with her.

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"See anything you like?" Scott asked before taking another drink from his beer bottle. I took a small sip of my drink before shaking my head. "Not really," I responded, resting my arms easily on the railing in front of me. "Usually this place is better." My eyes continued to scan the dance floor of the club before drifting over to the area to the side, covered with tables and chairs.

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He is lying in her arm, she touches his face, her gentle voice is sending shivers down his spine, just like all the times. She is playing with his nipples again, they are already hurting a bit. She is talking to him with her calm voice. He had to masturbate in front of her and had to stop just before cumming. Cumming was strictly forbidden. Just using his full strength he was able to do so. She knew more about his body than he did himself. When there were only two or three moves left until his explosion he heard her gentle order: "Stop!"

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Sixty two year old Wallace Stone wasn't from Saratoga Springs, he was just passing through on business. When after dinner he walked through the park and stopped near the little stage where an angry young man was singing angry songs, mercifully without benefit of amplification. Most of the couple dozen or so folks who were around the performer listening didn't seem much more interested than Wallace was, but the salesman didn't care about them.

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