Your erotic stories

Olivia scurried nervously down the pot-holed street of the poor, downtown neighborhood of the city. Having grown up in the wealthy suburbs, she had only visited this part of town once or twice in her life. She recalled coming down here with her father on one of his business errands a couple years back. As she breathed in the hot night air, she recalled from that earlier trip the same sweet, slightly rotten smell of the city in the summer.

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Oh. My. Goodness. Was she seeing what she thought she was seeing? Creeping closer in the darkness, she realized she was, and while disturbing to watch, she felt her pussy twitch. Watching for a bit longer, until she felt sure she had to be back or be caught, she slowly and quietly made her way back to the street. She had recently moved to the neighborhood, a really nice neighborhood, almost at the end of the cul-de-sac.

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"Do you trust me?" I asked looking up at Mike, my lover, from between his legs. My hand stilled on his cock as I waited for an answer. He laughed nervously, "Why?" "Just answer! Do you?" "Of course." I smiled up at him and resumed my slow stroke up and down his shaft. "Mmm," he half moaned and half sighed as he leaned back against the pillows on the bed. "I love when you tease me."

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My Name is Robert Walsh and I have been through some significant transformations in my life and I need to tell someone about them; "I need to tell my story". How it began... I am 49 years old now, but this all began for me about 39 years ago when I was a boy living with my mom in a 1 bedroom apartment in the basement of the Babylon Shores Motel. I didn't know this at the time but my mom had been divorced because my dad had caught her several times in our house screwing her boss "Lenny".

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"...When you greet me at your door I want you to be wearing your dildo-pants. Oh, and wear them under your tightest pair of jeans. I'm taking you out tonight, and yes; I do want you wearing them out in public. I'll see you in a bit," I said, and then hung up without giving her a chance to respond.

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When I was 19-20, I worked as a production assistant for a TV show which I won't name. It was not a huge deal. It was steadily successful in a small way, and is still on today. It was a fun job. Most PA jobs are not. You run shitty errands and never get appreciated. Usually the boss treats you like shit. This job was different. People were friendly.

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Becky bends over, leans into Paul's ear. "It's stuffy in here," she says. "Let's go for a walk." Paul looks up and watches her retreat around the coffee table. He pardons himself to his two bookend sofa-mates – the gregarious Auntie Lou and the diametric Grandma Claire, a stick with permanently down-turned lips and hardened scowl. Paul is relieved to escape her still life painting.

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So, here's a story you perhaps don't hear every day. It's a true story, but it has a couple of layers, so allow me to explain some of the moving parts. I'll try not to ramble too much so we can get to the juicy stuff. My name is Max and this happened to me. Sometimes I still can't believe how it all played out. I work at a small business in the hospitality industry.

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The mud squished under Marcen's toes as he waited for the best fuck of his life. The grass and shrubbery rustled as Cade appeared a few feet away and Marcen's heart pounded. He had been waiting for this moment ever since he met the guy last weekend at Lavoi's Pub. His rosy cheeks were what drew Marcen in at first, along with his brilliantly coiffed blonde hair and extravagant blue eyes, but no, it was the red cheeks that did it for him. This natural blush was so unlike his own skin, pale and a little freckly, and he could never get his own red hair to style like Cade's.

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When I was 18 years old, in my senior year at a Catholic school for girls, my dad caught me on the street with my parochial school uniform's skirt pulled up a few extra inches so that it uncovered my legs to get the attention of boys. A lot of girls at my school did that after school. He is very strict. He is Sicilian.

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