Tempest Erotica

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Tempest Erotica
Note: It's getting harder and harder to find the content you might want on ASSTR. On the Author Profile page almost all of the authors have disappeared (including yours truly). I'm going to try to expand this Links page to help people find stuff that I think is worth looking up. I apologize if I miss something really good - but you can always send me suggestions (see below)! I will expand this list slowly as I have time and people help me.
Here's another way to find an author you once knew and admired. Go to the FTP list of all authors at this link: https://www.asstr.org/files/Authors . Find the author you want, or try some random new author. Unfortunately, the links on this page will only take you to the FTP (text-only) stories the various authors have posted over the years. If you want to go to the WEB SITE for a given author here's a trick. Click on the FTP link, which will take you to something akin to
https://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Alvo_Torelli/
then replace the text 'files/Authors/' with the single character '~' I.e.
https://www.asstr.org/~Alvo_Torelli/
Voila! You'll go to the web site (if there is one, lots of authors only have text stories posted). I hope this helps a few people find the stories they are looking for. Of course, the ASSTR search engine is still working and you can always try that too.
In addition to the Links below, you might want to check out my Lost Story Of The Week page.
Piper's Domain . ands down the best site for underage mind control stories. Many authors. Great contests and a fantastic web site (unlike Alvo's terrible site). Note : Piper's Domain is no longer active, but it is still an archive for a lot of good underage mc stories.
Chris Hailey . Solid underage stories by a collection of writers. A great site.
Torrid Tales of the Taboo . Lots of good underage stories by several authors. Note : Unfortunately , Lassiter's Torrid Tales site has disappeared IS BACK ! (If the site should disappear again, an intrepid reader pointed out that the site is archived HERE .)
Rose Eastman's page. Large collection of great stories by several authors.
Leslita I'm starting to appreciate some of the stories in this extensive collection. Lots of bestiality. But also a lot of junk. You have to pick and choose carefully to find the good stuff.
Georgie Porgie I like quite a bit of the stuff on this page, but not all. Some of it is just not my thing, but that's okay. Definitely worth a perusal. And given that there are some limericks here - how could I not include it on my links list?
Sterling's Erotic Stories A very prolific author with lots of interesting (and hot) ideas.
Renpe t Renpet is an interesting, serious writer. Lots of detail in intricate stories. Sometimes a bit hard to follow, but generally quite good.
Tempest A reader was kind enough to send me a link to an archive of Alan Tempest's great site. Rest in Peace, Alan
Admiral Cartwright There are only a few stories here, but they are well written and enjoyable. Note: AC also moved his site out of ASSTR, but the link here will take you to his site. He has a few guest authors as well.
Erotic Stories by Janus What I've read here so far is well written and original. Lots of stories going back at least a decade. Try " The Pillory ," one of my favorite fantasies.
Art Martin's Salacious Tales Another site with a LOT of content spanning over a decade of writing. I particularly like the short story Katie Blake - Schoolgirl Whore
WintermuteX An interesting collection of stories with contributions from my friends Clark and Lilly.
Chase Shivers This site specializes in multi-multi-multi chapter stories along with a lot of short stand-alone stories. I'm not very familiar with the site (yet). The total amount of content here is impressive!
Uncle Mickey Presents Lots of varied stories from the mind of Mike Dolan.
AnonyMPC. Long stories, short stories, Phil Phantom tribute stories. There's lots to explore here. Well written.
Bernd Lauert's Stories Text only, not well known to me (yet)
Jumping Hotdog's Fantastic Story Jamboree Well known to me from before Piper's Domain gave up the ghost.
The Devil's Outhouse Specializing in Dom/Sub, but I don't know these stores (yet). Warning for violence.
Stories by Maracorby About 30 stories. Inventive and interesting! I particularly like the Halloween story.
Les Histoires Taboues Suggested by a reader. This is an extensive site dedicated to underage stories by many authors, but all in French. It is not too difficult to run these stories individually through a translater program like Google translate. This is currently a very active site!
Marcus and Lil . Recommended by a reader (thanks Manny). New to me.
Mistral : Mistral is one of the MANY authors posting within Histoires_Fr (see below in the Collections section). Try this story if your French is good: Les Grandes Vacances . This author is also running an interesting external site that catologues daily updates to ASSTR stories, and provides an RSS news feed with your favorite author's updates.
Kenna Recommended by a reader. Lots of lolita bondage stories in Word (.doc) format. Featured on my lost story of the week page. Try the very long story Simon Says.
Broadsword's Stories. New to me, looks quite intresting. Long stories, consensual, preteen.
Forgottenidol: The stories of Forgotteidol. Text only. Home of the infamous Becky Plays Bitch series. Recommended by a friend.
Red Rose Collection : This is a "collection" on ASSTR but it seems to consist only of stories by "Red Rose." Hard core Mf, incest, mostly ncon. New to me, but interesting.
Daddycums : Quite a few good stories. Check out Ghostly Consumation (a lost story of the week). Nothing new here since about 2012.
The Kristen Archive The best of all of the formal "collections" on ASSTR. This Archive stopped updating back in about 2015.
Lolliwood Studios In its heyday (2011-2013) this was a fantastic site that published stories sent in by anyone. The site went static in mid 2013 when the owner suffered "death by overwork" (hopefully that was metaphorical), but the archive of stories is still available on ASSTR and the search function works.
Old Joe's Collection One of the better collections, but nothing new here since about 2004.
Histoires_Fr : This is a huge archive of stories from the present all the way back to 1999. But everything here is in French. I sure wish my French was better!
Libertine : A good collection with a "best of" section and quite a few old novels (some with covers).
List of Collections All the other formal collections that are listed on ASSTR. None of these are being updated, but there is still a lot to peruse.
Please let me know if you want to comment on the links or suggest other links. You can email me here: ediestud69@protonmail.com or use the comment form below.

By Tempesterotica
Tempesterotica's stories

Copyright 2021
Story codes: Mf 14, Mg 10, Mfg, fg, 1st, pedo, oral, heavy petting, mast, con, romantic, long
Summary: Jay, a recent college graduate and winner of a Powerball lottery, purchases a luxury RV to visit all of the lower forty-eight states. The final leg of his journey presents him with the start of a new journey, and he discovers that all the magic isn't confined to the Magic Kingdom.
Word count: 35,103
I've lived alone ever since I graduated from Wazu. That's Washington State University in Pullman, Washington—the Cougars—where I earned a degree in Construction Management. It's my choice since I've never been much of a people person—in fact, I was what you might describe as a loner. My first year in college was challenging since I was required to live on campus. My roommate was an outgoing type, and he always had friends coming and going, wanting to be friendly, I guess. And he was always trying to fix me up with a date which I always managed to avoid.
It wasn't that I didn't like girls—I did, and had dated a couple in high school. I dated one girl, Emma, for six months before the end of my junior year of college. She wanted to have sex, and I wasn't ready for that. It wasn't like I was gay or anything, it was that I looked on sex as a sort of commitment—once we did it, I felt that I would be obligated to her and I valued my freedom too much.
I began to believe that, given my unease around people, I might never meet a girl, fall in love, get married and have children. I thought that was okay with me I was content with my own company. I could daydream though, and I would sometimes imagine meeting a beautiful girl and falling in love with her.
In my sophomore year of college, I managed to find enough part-time work to allow me to rent a one-bedroom apartment since my scholarship only paid for tuition. Because my grandparents were unable to help with room, board, and books, a job became a must. They had done enough for me by raising me after my parents were killed in a car crash when I was seven. I loved them dearly and I didn't want to impose on them any further.
The thought of getting a job after school weighed heavily on me during my senior year. A job meant working alongside people—people who I didn't know and didn't particularly want to know. I bummed around for a while after graduation while living with my grandparents. Then, one day I was in a convenience store, and on a whim bought a single Powerball Lottery ticket with machine-generated numbers. Unbelievably I won. The money bought me the freedom for which I yearned. It also allowed me to do something that I always wanted to do. To travel the country and visit all of the lower forty-eight States. After giving my grandparents enough money to live out their days in comfort, I began to research motorhomes. I finally settled on one from Marathon Coach—a high-end RV manufactured in Oregon.
"You're going to love this rig," the RV salesman said as he hit the button on the key fob to unlock the side door to one of Marathon's luxury models. "It has double slide-outs, marble floors, a large master bedroom with en suite, one guest room, a large main bathroom, and a big living/dining/kitchen area. It has a generator and solar panels on the roof. How cool is that? But, in my opinion, the best selling point is the dish on the roof that automatically tracks the satellite so your traveling companions can watch television while you're on the move."
"Sure, you can. It's equipped with a towing hitch and the wiring hookup. It even has a connection for the provided remote camera so you can put one in the back of the Mini that displays where the built-in rearview camera normally does."
"What's the price," I asked—not that it mattered since I was going to buy it anyway, but the frugal me couldn't help but bargain.
"One million six hundred fifty thousand," the salesman replied, not believing that a person my age could afford it.
"Err . . . sure," the salesman replied a little hesitatingly as he saw his commission being eroded. But it wasn't every day that he sold one of these expensive motorhomes.
"How about a million six hundred even?"
The salesman rubbed his chin. "I'm not sure I could go that low. How about I drop the price twenty-five thousand and waive the document fees?"
"Okay, you've got yourself a deal," I said and shook his hand.
Within an hour, and one year after graduation to the day, I was on the road in my new Marathon Coach. I hit the on-ramp to I-5 southbound just outside of Seattle and headed south toward Oregon about a hundred and eighty miles away. Even though the RV was almost forty-six feet long, it drove almost like an SUV. The rear and side mounted cameras gave me an all-encompassing view. The captain style driver's seat was pneumatically sprung and very comfortable for long distance driving.
Several hours later I reached Vancouver and crossed the bridge over the Columbia River into Portland. On the outskirts of Portland, I made a stop to stock up on things like towels, bed linen, cooking utensils, cutlery and dishes. I hadn't brought many clothes so I decided to find a mall where I could stop for the night and do some shopping. Two hours later I exited I-5 and headed for the Valley River Center in Eugene, home of The University of Oregon Ducks. The following morning I grabbed two Egg McMuffins and a small coffee and took a quick side trip to the City of Springfield, the home of Matt Groening's fictional Simpson Family.
For years I had wanted to drive down US 101 to northern California's Coastal Redwood groves, so I jogged back through Eugene and took State Route 126 west to Florence, on the coast. I got there about eleven o'clock, so I stopped at The Krab Kettle for a delicious lunch of Dungeness Crab which was in season. Then I spent the afternoon cruising down Highway 101 through lovely small coastal towns, and with an unbroken view of the beautiful Pacific Ocean on my right. I left the front side windows open so that I could immerse myself in the fresh salty air.
I crossed into California in the late afternoon. Since I was born in Texas, crossing into California technically meant it was four States down, forty-four to go. I drove through Crescent City and then historic Eureka before stopping for the night at The Riverwalk RV Park on the Eel River, surrounded by beautiful Redwoods.
The next day I drove south on 101 through beautiful wooded country. I stopped three different times to walk through Coastal Sequoia Groves. The trees rose to several hundred feet and the overlapping branches created soft filtered lighting. I felt as if I was in huge natural cathedrals that brought a deep sense of peace to me.
For the next two years, I toured the United States, racking up thousands of miles. I had met many nice people but none that I wanted to make friends with. I was just three States shy of visiting all of the lower forty-eight. Only South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida remained. On a gorgeous early September morning, I started the engine and pulled out of the Crabtree Valley Mall parking lot on the southern outskirts of Raleigh, North Carolina at nine-thirty. Ten minutes later, I took the ramp onto the Raleigh Beltline and twenty minutes after that, merged onto I-40 westbound.
South of Charlotte, I crossed the State line and entered South Carolina, checking State number forty-six off my list. I stopped for lunch at a McDonalds in Columbia then continued heading south on I-26. It was late afternoon when I pulled off the highway on the outskirts of Charleston and headed for a shopping mall. I needed some clothes, and the large parking lot offered a place to stay for the night—something I had done a lot if an RV park wasn't handy. I parked as far away from the mall as I could. There was a wooded area between the mall parking lot and that of the grocery store next door, which was convenient since I needed to refill the fridge, the freezer, and the pantry with groceries.
I never did purchase a Mini to tow behind my motorhome and, to be honest, I didn't miss it. I did, however, buy a bicycle that was stowed on the rack at the rear of the RV. It was a five-minute bike ride to the mall entrance. An hour later, I came out with two bags of clothes and managed with some difficulty to return to my motorhome. After cutting off all the tags, I put the clothes in my master closet which was fitted out with drawers and shoe racks as well as hanging space. I removed some of my older clothes and put them in a trash bag to drop off at a homeless shelter.
I knew there was no way I was going to carry grocery bags and ride my bike at the same time. And because it was just before dusk, I didn't particularly want to take the path through the wooded area that separated the mall parking lot from that of the grocery store. So, I took the long way 'round to get to the grocery store entrance.
Fifty minutes later, loaded down with four of the green cloth grocery bags printed with Harris Teeter, the name of grocery store chain that was started during the Great Depression, I headed to the four-lane highway— the same way I had come earlier. To my left, the pathway that was a shortcut through the wooded area tempted me.
"Damn it," I cursed. I was tired, and I didn't feel like walking on the grassy highway shoulder with four heavy bags having to look into the headlights of oncoming vehicles. I turned left and headed into the wooded area. The path was not straight; it curved around trees, and there were tall bushes on either side. I could just see the Mall parking lot lights through the trees. I stumbled over tree roots a few times, cursing myself for not driving the RV to the store. Then I heard a noise to my right. It sounded like whispering. I stopped and cocked my ear in the direction from where the whispering came.
A few steps later, I looked to my right into a small clearing; I could barely make out what looked like cardboard boxes of the type in which new washing machines and dryers are packed. As I moved closer, I could see a small pair of dirty sneakers poking out from inside one of the corrugated cardboard boxes. I heard more whispering but, because I was closer, I could barely make out a girl's voice.
"Shush, Dakota," the voice said, "we don't know who it is. It could be that man who tried to snatch you outside the grocery store this morning."
The voice sounded like it belonged to a young girl. I speculated that the two girls were living it rough and wondered where their parents were. Had they run away from home? Had their parents abandoned them? Why are they sitting in a cardboard box in a wooded area between a shopping mall and a Harris Teeter? I decided to find out since this was no place for a couple of young girls. There were too many predatory men looking for young girls to potentially abduct, rape, or worse still; rape then murder.
"Who's there," I said. There was no response. "Come on out, I won't hurt you," I said a little louder this time.
"No, Kim," a second girl's voice whispered, "don't go out there."
"It doesn't sound like him," the girl called Kim whispered her reply.
A few moments later, the girl called Kim scrambled out of the cardboard box and stood up. Under the dirt and grime, I could see that she was a very pretty girl with blonde hair that was disheveled and streaked with dirt; there were bits of leaves and twigs stuck in it here and there. She was around five-five and wore a dirty, yellow cotton dress with short sleeves and the dirty pair of sneakers I had seen a few moments ago. Her bare arms and legs were equally dirty, and there was grime under her fingernails.
"You got any spare change, mister?" Kim asked.
"I do, but tell me why you're out here. It's getting dark, and it's not safe to be here all by yourself."
"I'm not by myself; my sister's here with me."
As I put the grocery bags down, I could see Kim looking at them. I wondered when she and her sister had last eaten.
"Where are your mother and father?"
"We don't have a dad, and Mom made us get out of her boyfriend's car three days ago."
"Dunno. Said she was going away to live with him. His name's Frank, and he told mom that he didn't want any kids living with him. Mom does drugs."
"I saw the two of them shooting up. She told Dakota and me that we cost her too much money to feed and clothe. I think she wanted more money to buy drugs for her and Frank."
"That's terrible, Kim. Your name is Kim, right?"
"Uh-huh. It's Kimber, but I go by Kim, and my sister's name is Dakota."
"Why don't you tell Dakota to come on out. I'm not here to hurt either of you."
It was getting darker by the minute, but I could make out Dakota's face as she scrambled out of the cardboard box and stood up. She was much younger than Kimber but had the same blonde hair. She was wearing a tee shirt, shorts, and sandals, and she
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