Your erotic stories

I was lying in the bed, naked fingering myself, moving my fingers in and out, preparing myself for the evening to come. I am very wet with anticipation, my thoughts keep going back to the previous night, seeing the one of my desires, being next to him, wanting so much more but unable to have him. I start moaning as I continue to play, now I need more than just my pussy played with so I also start pinching and grabbing my nipple, wanting so much for it to be in his mouth, wanting his cock in my dripping wet pussy. Feeling it move in and out.

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Michael Powell was exhausted now. He lay very still, taking small, shallow, quick breaths. On his lumpy single bed, staring at the cracked, white ceiling of his room, Michael recounted the events of earlier that night, in his own private mind movie. He took one deeper breath, closed his eyes and smiled. He opened them again and reached over to pick up the toilet roll from the floor at the side of his bed.

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The day dragged on and on. Claire watched as the last few minutes ticked away. She had already organized her affairs and was now just waiting until she could go. It was Friday, so the traffic would be horrible, but at least she had a few days off. She longed to be home in her quiet apartment. Eventually, the clock struck five. She walked briskly down to the parking garage and started her car. She hurried and managed to get five minutes down the freeway when she ran into grid locked traffic. She sighed and turned up the music.

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My wife Kate walked into the house first, naked. Lori, our good friend and down the street neighbor, followed closely behind. She was also naked and chuckled quietly as we climbed the stairs from the back deck to the house. I followed those two gorgeous derrieres into the cool kitchen. This had already been quite the afternoon. We had all been laying out in the back yard, getting some early spring sun on ourselves. We were all a bit pink. Some were stickier than others.

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I am one lucky son of a bitch. There. I said it. I have a life any other guy would kill to have. And I have no idea why, except when genes play a role. It certainly isn't because I'm a genius, because I'm not. I'm not the biggest, the fastest, the strongest, or the best athlete. I'm sure as hell not rich. Just lucky. Now, I did mention genes helped out, and I wasn't lying. I mean, I'm pretty average-looking: brown hair, green eyes, thin, six feet tall even, straight teeth.

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Natalia Petrovitch walked down the beach, wearing her smallest bikini and enjoyed the beauty of the morning. The feeling of the warm sand was comforting between her toes. There had been an early-morning fog, but it had lifted and it now appeared as if was going to be a truly beautiful day. There was just enough breeze to keep some of the heat away and later, she would lie out in the sun and work on her tan. She knew that tanning was ill-advised now, but it was just one of the many things she had never really been free to do.

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So after the back seat experience with Tara, Rob and Trevor, (See my story "Tight Places") it had been pretty routine. It was back to the grind with school and Trevor and I had hung out a few more times and slept together, but nothing noteworthy. Tara had gotten a job on campus and I had not been seeing too much of her with our busy class schedule. So when an evening became available when both of us had no plans we jumped at the chance to do something. Being boorish, we had decided to go over to Rob's and hang out.

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I sat at the casino bar all morning and into the afternoon. Even though I looked old enough to drink, I was sure the only reason I wasn't asked to leave was because I ordered only soda, and I probably looked like I'd been through enough grief. I didn't talk to anyone, and they quickly understood it did no good to try. My eyes were fixed on the floor behind the bar, but I saw nothing. I didn't even notice the bartender shift changes until I snapped out of it around 4pm. I had been sitting in the same spot all day.

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She didn't need to see him. She didn't want to. She trusted her partner after all as he knew her as intimately as anyone had ever known her. Instead she could sense him, sense him enter the bedroom behind her as she knelt on the bed and ran her hands over Dave, her partner. She liked him to be still whilst she massaged him, to 'give' to him, to feel his reactions and hear his involuntary murmurs as her hands explored his every contour.

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Although she was not technically a mother, Mother's Day was still one of Jillian's favorite days. Her husband always made sure that he and his boys did something special for her to show their appreciation for everything she did for them. She loved the men in her life and was happy to have them all. She thought of her stepsons as her own and knew they saw her as their mom just as much as their real one.

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