This entry was posted in Stories on January 10, 2020 by sex stories.

Her First Threeway

Husband fulfills wife's FFM fantasy

© 2009 Salacious Scribe. All Rights Reserved.

This was the first erotic story I ever worte, and posted it online on 7/10/09.

I wrote this story at the request of an online friend who went by Shy155. She is in a sexually unfulfilling relationship, and she desired a three-way with a friend’s college-age daughter. Continue reading →

This entry was posted in Stories on January 7, 2020 by sex stories.

A long night at the bar

I go to the bar with my boyfriend and he lets other guys touch me as they like.

We decide to go to the bar, you make me wear a short mini red see through dress with no bra or panties underneath, plus some black high heels. Everyone can see clearly my nipples and pussy. The dress barely covers my butt cheeks, it slightly moves up with every step I take. Once we get there we order some drinks and sit at a table. Continue reading →

This entry was posted in Stories on January 4, 2020 by sex stories.

Female domination porn story, erotic read to enjoy before watching the film

After running around like a lunatic all day, I needed something special. And here he was, sitting submissively at my feet, waiting for me to give him instructions. The metal links of the leash slide easily through my fingers as I contemplate how to torment him. In a good way, of course. I give a little tug. The leash is hooked to a thick black collar with silver hardware. Continue reading →

This entry was posted in Stories on January 1, 2020 by sex stories.

Erotic tale of Felicia giving into her desires for her stepson

Why does he have to be so damn hot?

Felicia stood in her opulent bedroom, one manicured hand clutching the fine drapery and the other pressed to the glass as she gazed down at Colin from the window. Her stepson was bent over, stretching for his run, ass firm beneath his sweats. From this angle, she could see how the material hugged his balls. Continue reading →

This entry was posted in Stories on December 29, 2019 by sex stories.

The night touch

On November night, I licked Nicole. I licked her and felt her move against my mouth, her hands reaching down and locking my face on her cunt. Something had changed. Something had really changed….

Last November, yes, only a year ago, i actually fucked Nicole. I did it on a regular basis, sometimes out of bed too. We pretended that it was adequate. Sometimes, if she was feeling especially kind, she pretended to orgasm. Continue reading →

This entry was posted in Stories on December 26, 2019 by sex stories.

A Little Help For Mom

It was a normal Monday morning, and I woke up at six-thirty to get ready for class and work, and walked downstairs to see my mother in a very short robe, sitting down like she was it barely covered the slopes of her ass.

My mother and I have always had a special relationship, ever since my dad died four years ago from cancer. My mother was devastated by his death, and has never even considered dating again. Continue reading →

This entry was posted in Stories on December 23, 2019 by sex stories.

First Time With My Sister

My Sister y Virgin and Hot

I'll just start out by saying that I understand some may think it's wrong, however the taboo perversion of it still sits fondly in my memory. It happened years ago when I was a hormone induced teenager and constantly horny. From what I can remember I would jerk off at least once or twice daily. My sister and I had the typical sibling relationship where we were almost always fighting or arguing.

He will wait for his death

Under a dusty halo of gray hair.

Then the zephyr, playing in the fields,

Ile young naughty

He will be touched by gray hair,

And he will die, May's pet.

He will scatter, disappearing

Like a sigh, a farewell sigh of spring!

IN THE COUNTRY

I left the city; no movement is heard here,

The heavy clatter of wheels does not tire the ear,

And the former tenderness descends into my soul

Long-forgotten thoughts, long-faded dreams.

Caress meekly the gaze of variegated colors

In the blue distance of scattered valleys,

And captivating tales whisper over me

Trembling leaves of shy aspens.

Like a peaceful old age behind a happy youth,

Twilight descends after a weary day.

A little mist spreads over the golden field,

And mosquitoes curl in a fluttering column.

I look into the depths of heaven - I follow with a diligent gaze

Behind the marvelous play of floating clouds:

As changeable as life, they are with their dress

Capricious, like the deceit of infancy.

And a month between their scattered crowd

Turns white with a silver sickle, and around

Everything is embraced by a holy, bashful silence,

And the meadow is fragrant with the smell of grass.

And like a pale crepe of a mysterious veil,

Everything is wider, everything is bolder, half-darkness falls,

Towards the first stars blinked sadly

Slightly visible lights of a distant village.

And it seems that those lights with the stars at night

Thoughtfully carry on a silent conversation;

They are full of longing, earthly suffering,

But the stellar gaze flickers with a bright mystery! ..

ENDS!.

In memory of M. P. Fofanov

It's over!.. A groan involuntarily breaks,

So hard, so scary this word!

It sounds like a death knell

Or like an alarm, roaring sternly

In the silence of the night, who announced to us

Fire smoke running to heaven...

Love, and life, and poisoning glory,

It often haunts us

It gapes us like a fatal abyss,

Everything is eternity, everything is full of secrets ...

Terrible mysterious word!

It's old, but it will always be new

Ends!

We see a feast: careless and bright

The guests rejoice, the hall shines with lights,

Laid tables caress the eyes

And wines, and food, and fruits.

Cheerful laughter and din from all sides,

And crystal trembling chime.

But it's too late! The hall is thinning out a little.

Silences the noise. Like colorful bumblebees

Guests are striving for a narrow threshold ...

Here the servants hastily entered the resonant hall, -

They sweep the floors, quickly extinguish the candles ...

The hall is getting dark; conversations, toasts, meetings

Running out!

Agitated, the sea of ​​​​cornfields sparkles,

Streams murmur, valleys bloom colorfully;

Turning the peaks to the radiance of the day,

Timid aspens tremble with leaves;

And friendly birds stray family

Sings delight and sweetness of being.

May passes; summer follows him

And the sharp sickle carries away the grain of the valleys...

Burnt, silent and undressed,

Dubrova sleeps... Only from drowsy peaks

The last leaf, spinning, falls

On the wet moss... And the wind sings:

Ending...

Our gentle friend worries, lives,

Captivates us with an open soul;

He dreams, but the impudent illness

A hungry snake crawls towards him.

And finally wrapping it around

It languishes and burns with a feverish fire.

Hurry to the bed of a sick friend,

His home is silent and gloomy.

The door is open, the servants are whispering a little,

Fragrant musk watered the air.

The patient lies and breathes with a hoarse noise,

You shuddered - your hearing involuntarily hears:

Ending...

The earth is blooming ... Passionless centuries,

Sweeping away everything, generations change.

So clouds change in the sky

Sea winds severe fermentation ...

The struggle boils and the proud mind grumbles.

But there will be a century - the dispute and noise will fall silent,

The earth will die. Over snowy seas

The motionless ridges will hang,

Silvered with never-melting ice.

And the human race, like the delirium of an earthly dream,

Will disappear in sleep - and even death will forget ...

And then there will be no one to exclaim:

Ends!

"Evening Dawn, Farewell Dawn..."

Evening dawn, farewell dawn

In the sky, gentle warmth blushes ...

The road is long, the road is long

Like a blue ribbon, variegated, stretches.

I dream gloomily, I look distractedly.

The soul is more responsive, dreams are more superstitious ...

And, like my sadness, like smoke is dispelled

Farewell dawn, evening dawn.

THE DEATH OF THE JOKE

The merry king's court is in turmoil...

Everything is dark in him; the owner frowns,

Silent, not sharing sadness with pages,

He will speak - annoyance in every word.

Court ladies elegant family

Near the queen slowly crowded;

Prince Charming sighs and fears

Per short nap earthly existence.

Lights do not shine in heavy chandeliers,

The gloomy hall rested in strict silence ...

Silent death hovers over the hall,

And he slumbers in a mysterious shadow.

And only in one Gothic window

The lamps are burning and, tearing with wax,

Candles are flickering ... In gloomy silence

There the corpse of the jester lies on a hard bed.

He is like a wise man, like a frisky child,

He spent his life - carelessly and jokingly.

Brought up in the midst of palace luxury,

At the whisper of envious flatterers,

He did not like either glory or ranks,

Feeding the heart with harsh wisdom,

And what he had - he distributed everything to the poor ...

Trophies of jokes: gold, diamonds,

A phial presented from royal hands,

Embroidered cloak, intricate vases

He carried everything as a gift to hungry poverty ...

And many in a laughing jester

A defender and a friend were found ...

He was alone before the gloomy king

The protector of the unfortunate - and about him

More than once the poor will cry at the grave ...

Here he lies, motionless and dumb,

Despised life, and luxury, and peace.

In one corner through the sleepy twilight

You can see the frayed cap,

In the other corner is a patched toga...

An insignificant jester who has been playing for a long time

At feasts a meaningless role,

Now fell asleep in the greatness of the demigod!

The smoldering graves have not yet dared

To touch his cold brow, -

More than once, afraid to smile,

The king approached the bed of his beloved,

And looked at him with a diligent eye,

And departed in silence deep ...

And he thought: in what outfit to put on

You my friend? You ended your earthly life...

In your features I read another life,

You are embraced by wisdom and holiness ...

You are alien to earthly vanity,

Like an old cloak, you abandoned our perishable world! ..

And commanded the deceased jester

The king to dress his precious ...

May 1888

L. N. TOLSTOY

I know the peace of your soul

It is not related to the earthly world:

The earthly world is woven from chains,

In fluffy hoarfrost white birches
And frosty night gloomy darkness,

The creak of the sleigh in the snow and shadows on the snow,
Smoke, running from the pipes in a slow column,
And the motionless air, full of dead laziness, -
But I was not fascinated by the dream for long.

Outside the window, something rang noisily,
Like someone young spread their wings,
And burst into the heart festively and boldly
The melodious rumble of the awakened night.

I found out that it rumbles outside the window,
What is knocking on the glass. It's spring rain!
He rings and cries, he sings and wants
Powerfully debunk deceptive dreams.

Oh, how passionately the heart contracted with burning pain,
And how dim the flame of insinuating candles!
I opened the window: behind a pink cloud
The flickering of the morning rays flickered;

Behind the wattle fence, the aspens shone in the rain ...
The burning moisture of tears dimmed his eyes.
The strings broke, the sobs rang out,
And a tear has sunk like a spring drop ...

NIGHTINGALE

The nightingale was in love with spring and dawn,
And made a nest in a currant bush,
And until the morning in unswept grief
He sang love obedient to a dream.

He sang spring, and youth, and hope...
Dawn replaced dawn in the sky.
Spring has passed. Green clothes
Dense forests crumbled to dust.

Gray fog, swirling, rose over the field
And the enamored nightingale flew away
To another spring, to another happy country,
For the expanse and distance of the midday seas.

And the poor bush drooped orphaned,
And about the singer sighing at night,
He rustled so sadly, so timidly,
As if sending reproaches to heaven.

And, turning gray from the cold and frost,
At the noise of a blizzard, he thought:
Everything about the singer was born in him a dream,
Everything about the singer was a bright dream! ..

...

April 1888

ON THE NEVA

No night, no day. Over the sleepy Neva
The evening dawn blushes warmly,
But the wind already smelled of coolness at night
And the calm glass wrinkles the bright waters.

The windows of the buildings glow with purple amber,
As if there the night celebrates the feast of spring,
Patterns motley distant outlines
In the lilac twilight, as if in smoke, they are immersed.

A stone boa snakes a chain of granite,
And the ships darken with a web of masts.
Sadly the night is silent, and sadness is poured around,
And the sigh of heaven is heard in the silence of the earth.

And just someone's eye, like a ray of random love,
He looked into my soul inquisitively and lightly, -
And everything that was in it a riddle or a secret,
Everything was clothed in sounds, everything acquired a name.

And passionate dreams, sick to the point of languor,
Filled me with blissful longing...
And it seems that around all the magnificent mansions,
All this night and shine to us is caused by a dream.

And it seems - the distance of heaven, like a canopy, will open,
And the immovable caravan of stone masses
That's it, now, now, worrying, swaying -
And in the pale skies will disappear like mist.

...

April 1888

DANDELION

Weathered by a cruel cold,
The forest is still dying without foliage,
But the golden-eyed dandelion
Already shimmering from the grass.

He is young, and the forces are young
They roam in it with a secret game.
Pet of the field, for the first time,
Kissing, met with spring.

And he looks into the hours of sunrise,
How the clouds move on high
How nature wakes up
In its spring nakedness.

And in the days of sparkling summer,
When all the magnificent will take the form
And, dressed in a dark robe,
The oak brava will make an important noise, -

Looking at the noisy peaks
On the grass of the fields and the color of the valleys,
He will wait for his death
Under a dusty halo of gray hair.

Then the zephyr, playing in the fields,
Ile young naughty
He will be touched by gray hair,
And he will die, May's pet.

He will scatter, disappearing
Like a sigh, a farewell sigh of spring!

...

IN THE COUNTRY

I left the city; no movement is heard here,
The heavy clatter of wheels does not tire the ear,
And the former tenderness descends into my soul
Long-forgotten thoughts, long-faded dreams.

Caress meekly the gaze of variegated colors
In the blue distance of scattered valleys,
And captivating tales whisper over me
Trembling leaves of shy aspens.

Like a peaceful old age behind a happy youth,
Twilight descends after a weary day.
A little mist spreads over the golden field,
And mosquitoes curl in a fluttering column.

I look into the depths of heaven - I follow with a diligent gaze
Behind the marvelous play of floating clouds:
As changeable as life, they are with their dress
Capricious, like the deceit of infancy.

And a month between their scattered crowd
Turns white with a silver sickle, and around
Everything is embraced by a holy, bashful silence,
And the meadow is fragrant with the smell of grass.

And like a pale crepe of a mysterious veil,
Everything is wider, everything is bolder, half-darkness falls,
Towards the first stars blinked sadly
Slightly visible lights of a distant village.

And it seems that those lights with the stars at night
Thoughtfully carry on a silent conversation;
They are full of longing, earthly suffering,
But the stellar gaze flickers with a bright mystery! ..

...

ENDS!.

In memory of M. P. Fofanov

Ends!.. Involuntarily torn groan -

OLD WATCH

Between the old junk in the Jew's shop,

Where luxury bar slumbers, rotting and darkening,

Where between dusty vases and old-fashioned lamps

The whole faded print flickers with a frame,

Where is the pale Cupid with a beaten little hand

Under a cobweb, as under a thin veil,

Slyly squinting in dreamy anguish,

Where is the green of the mold on the bright curl

The patterned candelabra falls like an emerald,

Where in languid tenderness over a gilded dish

From the frame looks the face of powdered beauty, -

The old clock stands silently...

Their pendulum is silent, their arrows are motionless,

And it seems: old visions fly to them, -

And the old clock of great-grandfather's chambers

Recall again a long series of events,

That long, vague dream, gone without return,

When two arrows circle their dial

Crawled - minutes, days, years smashed from the shoulder,

Like two cold, impassive swords

Harsh eternity ... It used to be in the languid dusk,

When the huge hall dozed sullenly,

And the scarlet light, oscillating, poured stones,

And branches of skinny loose tops

From the dark garden they knocked on the windows of the hall,

And the autumn night, like a sinner, sobbed, -

Then the pensive owner of that watch

Sadly recalled the lost years

A tale stained with revelry and shame,

And his troubled conscience wept,

And a warm, invisible tear,

A tear of remorse dimmed his eyes.

And the pendulum of the clock hurried without a shudder

Frighten into the darkness of eternity moments of repentance.

And winter midnight, when in noisy chambers

The feast thundered and the din of crazy speeches

The ringing sound of bowls was amicably muffled,

Suddenly, the annoying ringing of the clock was boldly heard,

How languid life is, how old age is monotonous,

Recalling a dream to the restless crowd.

And the cups slowly walked from hand to hand,

And the guests are pale, raising to heaven

Their tired eyes, yawning, distinguished

The radiance of the morning in the silvered distance ...

And how many wonderful secrets they overheard

In tender youth in those nights and in those days,

When, trusting their impassive face,

A couple in love on them, as on a lord

Goodbye short, looked in a hurry

Extend the last kiss at the farewell hour.

And so what! Years have passed, which are so even,

With such irony, so evil and cold-blooded

They hurried to destroy the impassive hours ...

And here are the breastplates of Saturn's scythe -

They, forgotten like a grave monument,

They stand between the junk, and their dial is dusty,

Like a disabled person, blind, not scary to anyone,

Looks senselessly into the mysterious darkness

Motionless eternity. And the formidable genius of decay

Above them celebrates the victory of destruction.

I look at the fire in the stove:

golden cities,

Bridge across the fiery river

They disappear without a trace.

And in place of bright scarlet,

Gilded towers -

Fire coral forest

Shines with sparks of trunks.

Wonderful forest is short, soon

It will crumble to dust

And open to view

Steppe in crumbly fires.

But the purple of the sultry steppe

Burn and bloom.

The darkness is gloomy and calm

The vaults of the stove will be wrapped around.

As in an empty, forgotten house,

In the smoky realm of stuffy haze

Nothing will be but

Coal, ashes and cinders...

January 1888

SPRING RAIN

I recognized spring by its blue glitter

Languid as a dream, thoughtful nights,

But, in my soul cherishing a secret languor,

I'm afraid of the spring of painful eyes.

From her silent and inquisitive eyes

In the heart, rising, rise again

The shadow of past grievances and the pain of past reproaches,

Everything that burned the heart, that excited the blood.

I hung the windows with a dark veil,

I kindled the fireplace and lit the candles,

To frighten off spring with a deceptive dream,

Winter lulling into a warm corner.

Triumphing victory over spring, dreams

Drawn to my heart again

In fluffy hoarfrost white birches

And frosty night gloomy darkness,

The creak of the sleigh in the snow and shadows on the snow,

Smoke, running from the pipes in a slow column,

And the motionless air, full of dead laziness, -

But I was not fascinated by the dream for long.

Outside the window, something rang noisily,

Like someone young spread their wings,

And burst into the heart festively and boldly

The melodious rumble of the awakened night.

I found out that it rumbles outside the window,

What is knocking on the glass. It's spring rain!

He rings and cries, he sings and wants

Powerfully debunk deceptive dreams.

Oh, how passionately the heart contracted with burning pain,

And how dim the flame of insinuating candles!

I opened the window: behind a pink cloud

The flickering of the morning rays flickered;

Behind the wattle fence, the aspens shone in the rain ...

The burning moisture of tears dimmed his eyes.

The strings broke, the sobs rang out,

And a tear has sunk like a spring drop ...

The nightingale was in love with spring and dawn,

And made a nest in a currant bush,

And until the morning in unswept grief

He sang love obedient to a dream.

He sang spring, and youth, and hope...

Dawn replaced dawn in the sky.

Spring has passed. Green clothes

Dense forests crumbled to dust.

Gray fog, swirling, rose over the field

And the enamored nightingale flew away

To another spring, to another happy country,

For the expanse and distance of the midday seas.

And the poor bush drooped orphaned,

And about the singer sighing at night,

He rustled so sadly, so timidly,

As if sending reproaches to heaven.

And, turning gray from the cold and frost,

At the noise of a blizzard, he thought:

Everything about the singer was born in him a dream,

Everything about the singer was a bright dream! ..

April 1888

No night, no day. Over the sleepy Neva

The evening dawn blushes warmly,

But the wind already smelled of coolness at night

And the calm glass wrinkles the bright waters.

The windows of the buildings glow with purple amber,

As if there the night celebrates the feast of spring,

Patterns motley distant outlines

In the lilac twilight, as if in smoke, they are immersed.

A stone boa snakes a chain of granite,

And the ships darken with a web of masts.

Sadly the night is silent, and sadness is poured around,

And the sigh of heaven is heard in the silence of the earth.

And just someone's eye, like a ray of random love,

He looked into my soul inquisitively and lightly, -

And everything that was in it a riddle or a secret,

Everything was clothed in sounds, everything acquired a name.

And passionate dreams, sick to the point of languor,

Filled me with blissful longing...

And it seems that around all the magnificent mansions,

All this night and shine to us is caused by a dream.

And it seems - the distance of heaven, like a canopy, will open,

And the immovable caravan of stone masses

That's it, now, now, worrying, swaying -

And in the pale skies will disappear like mist.

April 1888

DANDELION

Weathered by a cruel cold,

The forest is still dying without foliage,

But the golden-eyed dandelion

Already shimmering from the grass.

He is young, and the forces are young

They roam in it with a secret game.

Pet of the field, for the first time,

Kissing, met with spring.

And he looks into the hours of sunrise,

How the clouds move on high

How nature wakes up

In its spring nakedness.

And in the days of sparkling summer,

When all the magnificent will take the form

And, dressed in a dark robe,

Oak brava is important to make noise, -

Looking at the noisy peaks

On the grass of the fields and the color of the valleys,

He will wait for his death

Under a dusty halo of gray hair.

Then the zephyr, playing in the fields,

Ile young naughty

He will be touched by gray hair,

And he will die, May's pet.

He will scatter, disappearing

Like a sigh, a farewell sigh of spring!

IN THE COUNTRY

I left the city; no movement is heard here,

The heavy clatter of wheels does not tire the ear,

And the former tenderness descends into my soul

Long-forgotten thoughts, long-faded dreams.

Caress meekly the gaze of variegated colors

In the blue distance of scattered valleys,

And captivating tales whisper over me

Trembling leaves of shy aspens.

Like a peaceful old age behind a happy youth,

Twilight descends after a weary day.

A little mist spreads over the golden field,

And mosquitoes curl in a fluttering column.

I look into the depths of heaven - I follow with a diligent gaze

Behind the marvelous play of floating clouds:

As changeable as life, they are with their dress

Capricious, like the deceit of infancy.

And a month between their scattered crowd

Turns white with a silver sickle, and around

Everything is embraced by a holy, bashful silence,

And the meadow is fragrant with the smell of grass.

And like a pale crepe of a mysterious veil,

Everything is wider, everything is bolder, half-darkness falls,

Towards the first stars blinked sadly

Slightly visible lights of a distant village.

And it seems that those lights with the stars at night

Thoughtfully carry on a silent conversation;

They are full of longing, earthly suffering,

But the stellar gaze flickers with a bright mystery! ..