Your erotic stories

On that particular morning, I woke up with a massive hard-on. So it was quite convenient that my cock was deeply buried in Patty's throat at the time. Chicken or the egg? I had been "dating" Patty, if you can accurately categorize marathon sex sessions as "dating", for about six weeks now. During that time, my dick was usually buried in some orifice, crack, or crevice of Patty's torso and head a great majority of the time. Her eardrums might have been safe, but pretty much every other hole was fair game.

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NOTE: Different perspectives (Third Person, and switching off of characters). This is my first time posting my work on an erotic space, please be kind. Enjoy! *Third Person* It was a breezy spring day and the family was planning to go for a little road trip. To visit some family. Lacey and Ryan were sitting at the back of the car, windows all the way down, both lost in their own worlds. Driving was Lacey's stepfather and beside him, Lacey's mother.

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Summer was coming to a close, and Jason was about to start his final year of high school. All his life he had let his neurotic over-analytical nature control how he interacted with people. He had always put too much thought into everything, and as such had wasted his childhood. He believed he was unpopular, and therefore he was. With the social experience he had gained over the summer however: after having turned 18, going to parties, and fucking a busty young mall rat senseless, Jason was ready to improve his social standing. Life was finally a game he was ready to play.

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"Mae, you still make the best apple pie ever!" my father said, rubbing his full stomach contently. There were hearty agreements from the rest of the adults sitting around the table. Mrs. Nolan's pie wasn't the only dessert out. Our neighborhood's annual block party was winding its way down and the table was covered with some of my favorites. Mrs. Franklin's triple chocolate brownies were amazing and Mrs.

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Vikki came into my life through a business venture of mine. I had to make some contractual agreements with several not for profit organizations so they'd agree to lend me certain information that they had in their possession. Vikki put the contracts together so I wouldn't get myself into legal trouble. I was expecting to get a 60-ish balding lawyer when I contracted her firm for legal services and instead they sent her out. When we first met she was dressed quite smartly, as one would expect, and conservatively enough to satisfy even the most up tight executive.

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I was 18, almost out of high school and decided that I was missing something in my life. I felt as if there was more out there than I was experiencing and I wanted to find it. So after thinking it over I enrolled in the exchange program offered through my school. After careful consideration and deciding that the best way for me to get the most out of the experience was to not choose the obvious countries of choice by most students: France, Italy, Germany, Spain; but instead to get my grand life experience in the Orient, particularly Japan.

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It was a dark, calm, clear Friday night in May. Layla had just arrived at her friend Joy's house for a sleep over because they had not seen each other in quite a while. Joy lived towns away, so of course they did not attend the same school. They had kind of grown apart with time, but still very much enjoyed each other's company and would be eager to catch up on what was happening in each other's lives.

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Three of us were sitting together in the company cafeteria having lunch. Because all three of us are married men the conversations usually were about sports, politics, money or occasionally, sex. If one of our offspring had done something noteworthy we allowed a little time for parental bragging. All three of us were in the age group where our offspring were either out-of-the-house at college or out-of-the-house married and gone.

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Harry stood outside of the shop shivering in the cold as he nonchalantly peeked in the windows building up the courage to enter the store. Acting as if her were waiting for someone he would wander away from the windows, glance at his watch and then wander back to the windows trying to decide exactly what he wanted to buy. Unfortunately, each time he saw a few interesting items, the window would begin to fog from his breath so he'd back out toward the street, look up and down the sidewalk and then glance at his watch.

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I walked down the hill on the west side Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown, crossing the C and O canal, and stopped outside the window of a small women's boutique. The window displays indicated a variety of fine clothing and accessory items, immaculately arranged and appointed, so I entered. A small bell attached to the door jingled, announcing a visitor.

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