Your erotic stories

For as long as I can remember, I've been an ass man. Not that I fail to appreciate the beauty of a slender leg or plump breast and taut nipple. Far from it. But ever since I was a teenager, stroking my cock to the glossy images in girlie magazines, the primary object of my desire has been the soft, peachy fullness of a woman's bottom.

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Walking from the elevator I reread the address that I was given last week. I found myself on a row of professional looking offices, and while I could not imagine where I had thought that this practitioner might work, the deep pile carpet of the corridor had a soothing effect on my nerves and spirits. It was a long corridor and at last I came to an oak door with no identification other than a copper plate bearing the legend "Maxwell Diagnostic Center."

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She sat on the front porch swing, one long leg curled under her, the other pressed against the worn wooden boards of the porch, idly swinging herself back and forth as the sun's rays spread across the old house, bathing her and it in a fiery glow. The peach in her hand seemed to shimmer, as did the juice that ran down her chin when she took a hearty bite. She swiped at it with a finger and laughed, happy because he was on his way home.

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About once a week, my wife and I meet at home for a lunch-hour rendezvous. This is what my life has come to; twenty years with Brenda, two kids in middle school, both of us working, and it seems the only time that we have enough energy for a decent fuck is over the lunch hour. How sad is that? Like most men, I am good to go in the morning, but Brenda is usually sound asleep until the alarm goes off; by then it is too late.

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I don't know what it was with Emma, but just about everything was a first for her. She'd never smoked pot until the night we met. She'd never sixty-nined until about three hours later, when I spent an enjoyably frantic ten minutes with her lovely breasts mashed against my stomach, her skilled mouth doing a real number on me as I tried to return the favour.

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Let's get this out of the way right off. I'm a cheating, asshat, bastard. There is no other way to put it so don't bother with the lame comments telling me what I already know after you read this. I have no redeeming qualities after what I did. I used to be married; you'll soon see why I'm not anymore. In my defense, and maybe the men that read this will agree, I couldn't help myself... what was placed before me was too tempting, beyond my capacity to resist.

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Chad peeked into the study where his wife was busy pouring over her dissertation for school. He was so proud of her. Over the years that they had been married, she had put herself through college; first with a bachelor’s degree and then later, when she was teaching, through a master’s degree. Now she was busy working on her doctorate degree and watching from the partially open doorway, Chad couldn’t help but feel his love for her overwhelm him.

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Bree removed her undies, twirled them on a finger and discarded them on the table. It was our first game of strip gin rummy. I watched Bree do a little spin as I scooped up my winnings; a sexy, little, black lace thong. I was surprised, but delighted, to see that she had decided to try something new. Gone was Bree's wispy blonde, but always neatly manicured, triangle of hair. In its place...nothing. Nothing, but smooth, clean, hairless skin.

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Damon: I'll bet you'll get up to some trouble in Cabo. I smirked at the text that flashed up on our chat-log from the computer screen. He was always teasing me. Ashleigh: No trouble. At least not the good kind of trouble. I'm going with my boyfriend don't forget. There was a pause, and while I anticipated his next words, I took a sip of the vodka soda I was prone to drinking while I spent my online hours chatting with my favorite virtual stranger, DamonX.

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I open the screen door to the apartment. It's hot, making the screen door necessary to keep cool inside. Standing on the doorstep I peer into the gloom but cannot see anyone in the lounge room. The TV is blaring away, but to no audience. I shrug and then enter. I am quiet as I pad down the carpeted hallway to the lounge where I drop my bag silently. Turning to the left there is another small hall with doors closed at each end. I walk over to the right hand door and push it halfway open.

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