Your erotic stories

I like gardening. It's a relaxing hobby and I happen to have the knack of making plants grow. Give my brother and me two identical plants and what happens? He carefully plants his one, adds the right fertilizer, tends it carefully, watches over it like a mother with her baby, right up to the time it dies on him. Me, I slap my plant down into the soil and jump back to give it room to grow. A natural talent and a green thumb, I assure my brother. Pure arsed luck, he tells me.

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Lena hummed tunelessly to herself as she put away her groceries. Her voluptuously curvy figure, kept in check by four sessions of yoga a week and strict adherence to a healthy diet, was cased in snug denim and a soft knit sweater. Lena tried to keep her kitchen stocked with only healthy foods—whole grains, fruits and veggies, Clif bars. She knew that if she let herself snack on processed food, her toned waist would gradually expand and soften, and she refused to let that happen.

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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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"Shit," Brian muttered as the lights in his office went out. The darkness was accompanied by the dwindling drone of his computer shutting down. He opened his door and saw that the whole floor was in darkness. After a few minutes of everyone standing around speculating as to what the problem was, his boss appeared. "You might as well all go home A work crew outside cut through a power line. We won't be back up until tomorrow. Enjoy the afternoon."

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"You'll have to take Sex Education today for 4C, Miss Martin." Just the words I'd been longing to hear, I don't think. "Why me? Doesn't Mrs Annot take that?" "Normally," said the Principal with a grin, "but she just called in sick and you're the only one with free time for that period. Don't worry. The kids are only around fifteen. You can handle then with no problems."

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On the outskirts of any big city you will find a few scattered small towns not yet gobbled up by the ravenous metropolis. They tend to be away from the major highways, which is probably the reason they haven't been overwhelmed. But with the big city just there, a lot of people drift from the small towns to the city itself. Shops that used to support the small town just can't compete with the big city malls and close down.

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The idea is that you get home from work, take off your shoes, grab a beer from the fridge, turn on the TV, sit down, and relax for half an hour. What you do not want is to come home from work, walk in the door and find all your furniture has been tossed about. Neither do you want to hear swearing and clattering and banging coming from further in the apartment, apparently in the kitchen.

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Sam Stafford is a grouchy old man who lives up the road from us. Well when I say old, he's probably in his early thirties, but from the arrogant young age of eighteen, thirty is old. Especially the way he acts at times. He does, I will admit, have a green thumb, and his garden has the best roses for miles around. Come spring he had an amazing display. That's partly what led to the trouble.

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After a short courtship, Mara and I married in a small ceremony with only a few close friends and family members present: her mother, my mother and father, her brother, and of course, my son Luke. Luke was 11 years old now, not the best age to go through such a large life change as getting a new stepmother, but then again, is there ever a good age for that? In any case, he was clearly feeling better than he had just after his mother died. He was performing better in school, and he seemed to be bonding with Mara.

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I lay back listening to the sound of my wife hungrily slurping away at my cock, as she did every day when I returned home and pondered how lucky I am. I married Margot, a spoiled daddy's girl from the right part of town used to getting what she wanted. Daddy being, of course, Clifton Meriwether Van Rijn, renowned shipping magnate, whom I had the opportunity to work for as a landscape consultant- a gardener for the less verbally dexterous.

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