Bringing you a daily mix of erotic stories, celebrating first sexual experiences. Listen to the stories on your favorite podcasting platform.
These explicit romantic tales involve mature themes and content. All characters are fictitious. No sexual depictions involve minors. Individuals under 18 are not welcome.
That was the word, Maeve thought, right out of some ancient
Greek story, like The Odyssey; a 'brazen' sky. She smiled a little, thinking
that her English teacher, Mrs. Pensey, would be pleased by her remembering.
Her smile didn't last too long, for this sky was
beyond hot. It lay like a low, searing bronze lid over the town, the oven-like
temperatures scarcely relieved by the odd feeble twitch of stale, dusty breeze.
Air conditioners across the region wheezed in failing attempts to keep up. The
demand had become so high that the electrical system was struggling and
consumers had been warned of possible rolling service interruptions to avoid a
complete collapse.
The bigger adventure now began. School finished and college not starting until October, two and a half months to find out as much as I could about life and have some serious fun.
I had started my long break by visiting my Tante Marise in her French chateau. She had taught me a lot, and introduced me to the joys of assisted showering, a pleasure that I have enjoyed throughout my life. As a French lady, she saw my typical Brit uptightness about human sexuality, and helped me about as much as a proper relative is allowed to.
Where to go next and what to do had been the two big questions. In the 1960s travel to far off lands was not really one of my options, so I decided to head for the beaches of the northern Spanish Mediterranian coast, commonly called the Riviera. Here I could live cheaply, enjoy the weather and get a proper sun tan.
I had just left school at the age of nineteen and had a whole summer before starting uni in October. I was off to France for a month and in the 60s that was a big adventure, I couldn’t wait. Having been cloistered in a boys boarding school for the last five years I was now off to explore the world, well northern France at least.
We had relatives there and I was going to spend my first month in a chateau just outside Amiens. Chateau sounds very grand and thanks to TV, if not schoolboy French, it doesn’t mean castle. It in fact means a gentleman’s residence, substantial for sure, but no portcullis or draw bridge.
Tommy sat by the edge of the pool, alone with his thoughts as he waited for Amy to come back out of the house.
Both of them had made it back unseen and unquestioned from their little secret getaway into the woods.
He had just gotten back poolside when Amy’s best friend Cindy came over to him.
“If you’re looking for Amy, I just passed her in the house a minute ago,” Cindy said. “She looked kind of strange, and freaked out a little. You two love birds aren’t fighting or something are you?”
The pool party had been going on for several hours, and it
was well after dark, when Amy asked me if I’d wanted to go for a walk in the
woods behind the house.
She was 18, I was 19, but we’d known each other since we
were toddlers, our families being very close and part of the same church group.
The party was to celebrate her high school graduation (I
graduated the year before) and was mainly our families along with some of our
mutual friends from church and school.
As I said, we’d been friends for a long time, but it was
only in recent months that things seemed to change between us.
My friends were throwing me a big four-oh party and it kind of got out of hand there were a lot of people there. Many of whom I didn't even know. Let's just say that we passed small and intimate way back in the dust.
As I moved through the crowd, a woman who appeared to be about 45 caught my eye. She was one of the many people I didn't know. She was in shape and had a great body. I decided that at 40, I was allowed to chat up women who were 45. I move over to her and introduced myself.
In 1981, I was a good Jewish lad, living in a little town in
Western Massachusetts. I was still in high school and had just turned 19 in my
senior year.
I was very, very shy while growing up. I didn t really
expand my friends much in high school. I was super quiet and extremely shy. I
barely spoke to any girls, except for Carrie. She was in my Temple USY (Jewish
religious youth group) and a little younger than me at 18.
The tension in that honeymoon cabin was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I gently rested my hands on my virgin bride’s hips, and her shoulders twitched, I leaned forward and planted a very soft kiss at the base of her neck. She moaned softly, and then again as my hands slid upward, past the swell of her hips and her slender waist, gliding over the silky fabric up her back until, so very softly, my fingers left the satin and traced across the exposed skin of her back.
It was intoxicating. Her skin was hot to my touch, almost burning my hands, or at least that's how it felt. Her head was drooping forward and I could hear her breathing turning shallow. I slipped my hands into the back of her dress and gently slid them outward, across her quivering shoulder blades, taking the fabric along until my fingers curved around her shoulders.
Devout Believers Face Their Wedding Night mental struggles.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm the palpitations that were pounding through my veins. I was standing on the edge of a mountain, nothing but vast open space around me for miles. The height wasn't helping me relax, and for the hundredth time I silently asked myself why on earth I had wanted to get married on a mountain?
Then I saw her, veiled and gowned in white, gracefully descending the stairs towards me, and the world was made anew.
Okay, let me back up a bit and start at the beginning.
Cassie gasped, jumping in her seat as the clap of thunder
and splitting bolt of lightning across the screen lit the theater like daylight
for an instant. In her momentary panic, she grabbed at the armrest, the fingers
of her left hand finding instead the warm forearm of her fellow movie-goer and
best friend, Andrew.
We snogged on her doorstep again, and
when she disappeared inside I ran home, straight back up to the loft, and
trained the telescope on her bedroom window. Tonight she stood in front of the
computer desk with the bedroom light on, facing the window, and unbuttoned her
blouse, peeling it off her shoulders in one smooth shrug and allowing it to
drop to the floor behind her. She was standing there in jeans and her straining
white bra, and I unzipped my trousers and awkwardly pulled out my stiff and
aching cock as she reached behind her to unclasp her bra.
I lived at the top end of the village,
my bedroom overlooking the main road and, of all things, a cemetery across the
other side. Beyond that was the mountain that separated our valley from the
next one across, so you'd think this was not exactly the ideal domain for
somebody who held an unhealthy interest in space and astronomy while he was growing
up. What we did have, though, was a loft conversion with two large windows -
one on each side - that tilted open so you had a clear and unobstructed view of
most of the night sky from inside the house. While most people had to put their
stargazing telescopes outside in the garden, mine was up there in the loft warm
and dry all year round.
I was folding the last of my laundry, there wasn't much with just myself left in the house. My son Steve, had got married and moved to British Columbia. My wife passed on 2 years ago. Just me now, enjoying a much-too-quiet life.
Then the doorbell rang. I went to the door and opened it, only to find my neighbour's daughter Tess standing on his front porch. I'd watched her grow up next door.
The guilt provoked by Mr. Jacobs' observation was fleeting,
and Emily texted me 3 days later, "Can we have another Valentine's Day
tonight?"
It was clear that the charade was over, and 'Valentine's
Day' was her chosen euphemism for spending less-than-wholesome time together.
Our relationship had become a dichotomy of two very different and
compartmentalized romances. One of a pure and honorable public courtship, and
the other of two young lovers clandestinely exploring physical passions.
I sit naked in an overstuffed leather armchair absorbing my
surreal surroundings.
The remnant scents of crushed rose petals and last night's
love making fill my nostrils while the gentle glow of dawn filters through
leaded glass windows and sheer drapery. Gold-leaf picture frames and an antique
clock face give off a slight radiance that contrast against the historic
mansion's otherwise dark furnishings and wood paneling. Of everything in the
room, the object most strikingly highlighted by the soft illumination is
Emily's smooth alabaster leg extending from underneath the king size bed's dark
duvet cover. The room is silent except for faint, deep breaths of slumber
emanating from beneath the duvet.
As it turned out, I would learn a lot more about the subject
during NG group a couple weeks later. The study that week was on 'integrity in
relationships'. The study material was pretty general and covered all kinds of
relationships, both social and business. However, discussion among the
unmarried college students naturally morphed into a dialogue of biblical
perspectives on dating relationships and sexual purity.
The
following account is fiction, which is based on the well-documented Legend of
Pope Joan, the first, and last female Pope of the
Catholic Church.
As this
story took place in the ninth century of the Christian era, or Year of our
Lord; many of the terms are from ancient languages. Words such as slitten, which is Old English for slit, and sheath, later
referred to as cunny or cunt. Although the specific accounts were not taken down
on paper, the story refers to certain facts in which the legend was based.
The first, and last
female Pope of the Catholic Church
My name is Robbie, looks-wise I'm tall and lanky, awkward,
with curly brown hair usually too long, and up to last weekend, a virgin
College sophomore. I learned when you are single with few friends, meeting a
woman is hard, meeting one that will touch your cock is harder, and the fact
that I was a poor, scruffy underclassman was not helping.
She wanted desperately to be a member of Rho Iota Epsilon;
her mother would be devastated if she wasn't. She'd endured the normal hazing,
the cold showers taken while racing against the other pledges to repeat the
Greek alphabet, cleaning the toilets with her toothbrush, the yelling and name
calling, being woken up at night, even the embarrassing skits.
Now that morning had arrived, it was finally time to learn
who this unknown blonde goddess really was.
The early morning sun shone in through the many cracks and holes in the
weathered planks that made up the roof and siding of the dusty old barn,
bathing everything inside in a dim, yellowish light. The girl was still
sleeping peacefully, with her head on my shoulder and her arm draped around my
chest, her breathing regular and deep and slow. Because of how she was lying, I
still couldn’t see much of her face, and what I could see was largely obscured
by the curly wisps of blonde hair.
The girl was shivering in my arms as the cool night breeze chilled the damp
skin of her back. Although I wouldn’t mind fooling around a little more, I
didn’t want her to catch a cold, or worse. I was feeling around for her sweater
when my hand landed on something soft and furry. Picking it up, I recognized it
as the woolly tail the girl had been wearing around her waist. At some point
while we were having sex, the ribbon had come undone and the tail fell off.
Hi, I'm Jethro, I’m nineteen years old and I live with my parents and two
younger sisters on one of the small islands off the east coast of Ireland.
Although, to be truthful, that’s where I used to live, as I'm currently
spending most of my days on the mainland, attending university. But the island
will always be home to me and once I’ve graduated, I’ll surely go back. There's
just something special about life on a small, isolated island like ours that
simply can’t be found anywhere else.
"We'll go to my house for the rest of the night," said Melody. Agnes and the Three Amigos followed her to a small stone house along the dirt street of the village. Inside was a single room with an overlooking loft. A fireplace was at the center of one wall, crude kitchen cupboards and a dining table were at the other. Cushions and pillows were scattered around the floor. "Burt and Melody, the Mayor and his wife, live no better than I do," thought Agnes. "Equality is the norm here. I like that."
Agnes stood uncomfortably at the center of the room, surrounded by the three naked men and Melody, equally naked. Harry, the short Asian, took command. He wrapped his arms around Agnes and kissed her passionately on her lips and pulled her hand down to his erect cock. She explored the length of his cock with her hand.
Harry pulled his lips away from her. "Did that feel good?"
"Oh, yes," she said, eager for more kissing, more exploration."
Dick's turn," Harry answered. "If that's okay with you."
"Yes," she said again as middle-sized Dick pulled her to him and, this time, her hand found his cock without assistance. It was another long kiss, and his tongue went into her mouth and she stroked his cock.
"My turn," said Tom, She broke away from Dick and closed with Tom, who was so tall that she had to stand on her toes to reach his face. He lifted her off her feet, put his hands beneath her hips, and she curled her legs around him and felt is cock probing her cunt; but only barely, and she felt the uncircumcised skin moving back and forth, caressing her.
"Don't forget me," said Melody. "I'm not just a potted plant standing here."
Agnes looked up from where she was kneeling in her vegetable garden. It was Burt, President of the City Council of Heavenly Aden. It was hot and she was wearing only a pair of shorts and a white blouse. Her hands were soiled with dirt. "Hello, Burt," she answered with enthusiasm. "Welcome!" She stood up and walked over to where he was standing and kissed him on the cheek. For her that was bold.
"I came to apologize," he said.
"What for?" she was puzzled. "I should have fucked you the other night. I focused only on what I wanted, and didn't take your needs into account." Burt had masturbated and cummed on her tits
.Agnes, with less that a week in Heaven, still flinched at the word fuck. "Oh," she said, dismissing his apology, "That's all right. Harold, uh, fucked me good. I was happy." She chuckled. "Maybe for my first sex experience one man was enough. And I enjoyed watching you, uh, cum on me.”
The spirit of Sister Agnes met a bearded, white-robed figure with a benevolent smile standing just outside the pearly gates. "Saint Peter?" she asked. She was wearing the same kind of white robe which, frankly, was a bit thin and translucent for her taste.
"Call me Pete. We don't stand on ceremony here," he answered. "I am as you wish me to be. At your service, Sister Agnes. May I call you Agnes?"
'Yes, of course, uh, Pete. I don't quite know what to say. This looks exactly as I thought it would look. Even to the cherubs sitting on clouds. And the harp music. Everything is so white and clean.
"Your imagination makes it what it is," answered Peter. "Welcome to heaven! Your reward for a life well lived."
I had always thought my neighbor Belinda was attractive, even after she got glasses. She was well proportioned, with long black hair, ample tits, a round ass, and nice legs. She looked good in a swimsuit. But even as a kid, she had been the prettiest girl in first grade.
Belinda had been my neighbor since elementary school. Everyone called her Binny. We had played together and grown up together. As we both grew up, I had watched her mature into a beautiful adult woman.
We had both been away at school, so we hadn’t seen as much of each other as before, but we stayed in touch.
The text popped up on my screen: “Are you ready for me? I hope you’re saving up all your cum for when I see you tomorrow.”
Lysa attached a video. It was taken last summer, right before we were going to be apart for months. The video started on her face, scrunched up in pleasure, then scanned down her chest, her breasts bouncing in rhythm, nipples beautifully hard. The video kept going further down, over her toned abs, to the fuzzy dusting of blonde hair on her cunt. Further down, and I could see her flowery cunt lips opening, welcoming my cock over and over with a wet sound.
It wasn’t the 17 degree Fahrenheit temperature that had turned backpacking in the North Cascades into a life or death situation…it was the rain. As majestic as the Pacific Northwest is in late autumn, the weather can turn on you in a ferocious way! Failure to plan accordingly can lead to terrible exposure.
My friend Julie and I had set out with the intention of cold weather camping, but because of unusually heavy snowfall the access roads had limited entry to the park. The rangers advised us not to use our backcountry camping pass, but we had driven all the way from rural Oregon, and were determined to rough it out.
"So, tell me about your family, Mason," Livia
said, tracing the lines of his palm with one finger. How long had they been out
there? Although it felt like she'd been with Mason for only a few minutes, at
most, she was deathly afraid that dawn would break soon, and they would have to
part ways, sneaking back into their respective beds.
"Oh, they're nothing special," he said with a
shrug. "My father's done pretty well for us with inter-community trade,
and my mother's a self-proclaimed busybody. I have two little sisters who must
hate me, for all the grief they cause me, and a cat that only eats because I
ask him to every day."
Girls spend their entire lives looking forward to the
fateful Matching Day - and whether or not they will admit it, boys, too, have
at least a healthy curiosity. It's so reassuring, knowing that in your eighteenth
year, you and your age-mates will be paired off, brought together with another
from their own community or a surrounding one that match them perfectly. No
song-and-dance dating rituals, like the ones in the books Livia liked to read,
no old maids, no riotous bachelors; just simple, comforting compatibility.
