Your erotic stories

So like most folks, when something like this happens to them, I never saw it coming. You are probably asking yourself what the "it" is. I'll tell you. What I never saw coming was my formerly straight-laced wife being turned inside-out by a lesbian coworker of mine, and more. But I'm getting ahead of myself, which besides being disorganized probably isn't very helpful or fun for you. Let me start at the beginning.

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Paul's a mate of mine. He's a genuine nice guy and that surprises people when they find he's a mate of mine. Most people think I'm a bit of a bastard, but Paul doesn't mind that. He just says that's who I am. Like I said, a genuine nice guy. Like me, he's in the building trade. Difference is, he's concreter, where I'm a carpenter.

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After a long restful night's sleep in the arms of Salina and Maria, Brigette retreated to her arch room to prepare for the day with her new gift, a wooden cock. Her loving teachers admonished her to practice her poetry and calligraphy by composing around the topic of her first true sexual experience with them the previous night as well as use her new gift. They then retreated to their own chambers to handle their individual morning oblations.

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Long ago, before anyone's grandfather could remember, there had been a war, between wolves and men. The wolves won, not only because they were stronger, faster, and more cunning, but because they did not betray their own kind, as did the men. After the war, a peace was settled, so that man and wolf might live in unity, but only a wolf was allowed to hold the throne, because humans were easily corrupted, and could not be trusted with government.

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I woke in the night and lay in bed next to you listening for whatever it had been that brought me from sleep to consciousness. Around me, the house was quiet, the white noise of night sounds a barely audible suss in the darkness. I knew you were asleep next to me; I could feel the soft warmth of your presence that told me you were still in our bed and hear your soft gentle snores as you breathed slowly and rhythmically.

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I'm close to the end of my life now, and as you reach your twilight years mostly all you have left is memories. Especially since I lost my wife of more than 50 years, Katie, I spend most of my time looking back.: my youth in Nebraska; my brief spell as a college football star; the first time I ever saw Katie, and fell in love with her; and, of course, the War.

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"He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff . . ."

The rich, resonating, calming baritone of the La Lectura began to weave Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea for us for perhaps the hundredth time, as we Torcedores settled once more into the rhythm of preparing our bunches of tobacco leaves perfectly for the press. We could not have done our demanding work without La Lectura, the reader who sat on the dais on the cigar factory floor, reading to us, first from the daily press and then from classical works—and sometimes, to our great privilege, reciting poetry to us in perfect rhythm to the set movements of our leaf bundling.

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Brooke asked if I would write this story. The theme is interracial lesbian domination. All the characters are real. All references to people and photographs are real. I've simply inserted myself into her world. The story ends at my last point of contact with Brooke. There may be more to come.

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Mandy's weekend had not been good at all; from the early start to the heavy traffic to the slowest bellman in the entire country to the flaky actresses, the Georgia peach was anything but sweet by the time she arrived home. A more apt description would be an ornery lioness, ready to claw the next person who had the audacity to simply look at her wrong.

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In high school, it had always been me, Jodi, and Nadine. I couldn't have hoped for a closer relationship, even with sisters. We were sort of nerds in high school, but under the acne, clueless fashion, and dumb crushes were fun-loving, pretty young women waiting to break free.

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