Your erotic stories

I thought I could feel the individual rays of sun on my chest, heating my skin and hopefully contributing to the tan I was working on that summer. Even through my eyelids the Greek sun shone a bright white. Sweat dripped down my temples. While I'd been at the beach for an hour and a half already, I'd only been tanning for 20 of those minutes, and I knew I had maybe 5 more, hopefully 10, before I had to jump in the Mediterranean to cool off.

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I was pissed off. More pissed off than I could ever remember being. I wanted to kill him, put his neck between my fingers and squeeze until I felt better. I wanted to curl up with Ben, Jerry, and Cherry Garcia until it didn't hurt anymore. I couldn't believe it, how could he? What was wrong with me? I put the jeep into park inches from the garage door, put my forehead on the steering wheel, and tried not to bawl right there in front of everybody.

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"I'm not sucking your dick!" the hot redhead wearing the warbonnet screamed at the president of I Felta Thi. "Well, I'm not giving you a ride home then, you snotty cock-teasing bitch," he snapped. "There are plenty of other chicks here who will blow me and say, 'Thank you, sir, for giving me the opportunity.' You can walk home for all I care."

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Dave and I had been married for eight years when he gave me an erotic novel. He had bought me the little short stories but this book was much larger than those were. I didn't want to seem too anxious to read it, so I made myself wait for a little while. I am an avid reader and the idea of a purely erotic novel had me excited so I finally gave in and kicked back to read.

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'Thanks, Harry,' she smiled up at me, as I set a mug of tea down on her bedside table. 'Can I have a kiss, as well?' I set my mug down next to hers and bent to kiss her. She giggled and quickly kicked off the duvet. 'I meant on these lips,' she said, spreading her legs and arching her back. I grinned and knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed. Sliding a hand under each of her buttocks, I pulled her towards me, catching her scent as I did so.

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Kevin Wilson sighed deeply as he watched the sun rise above the distant rim of the Atlantic Ocean. Ordinarily, he would be renewed by the appearance of the reddish-yellow globe on the horizon, but today only reminded him that another day of dull boredom had arrived. Ten years ago, Kevin wouldn't have even considered rising this early to view sunrises, even in this incredibly beautiful and isolated section of North Carolina's Outer Banks. Ten years ago, Kevin and his bride, Anne, would have been rumpling the sheets and screaming out their passions as Kevin pounded Anne from behind.

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He picked up the envelope, knowing what it contained and struggling to figure out how to justify its existence at the front counter to his friends. "Hmmm, this must be the fax I was waiting for at the office yesterday, " he said, "shit, I may have to do some work tonight." His friends groaned, rolling their eyes, commenting on his inability to have fun even while on vacation. He smiled.

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This is my first submission. It is a chapter from a much longer story I'm working on. It is essentially a true story, with names and events modified to ensure the privacy of those involved. It is very detailed, a story of unrequited love and missed opportunity, romantic and tender but also intense it its anal themes. It's the story of my brief time with Catherine, a woman I fell in love with and think of often.

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For years, while we made love, we had shared the joint fantasy of having a lot of guys with us while we fucked. I admit it had, at least initially, been mostly my idea. But, as time rolled on, it seems to me it was you who generally brought it up. I'd always joked and said that six was my absolute minimum; one for my mouth, one for each breast, one for my cunt, one for my ass and the extra for whatever particular whim I may desire.

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John glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 6 in the evening, and Gina, his beautiful bride, was expected home shortly. He placed a bookmark in his novel and rose to check on dinner. He could hear the pasta happily bubbling away on the stove. Moving towards the oven, he flicked on the oven light and bent down to look at the pork roast that was slowly cooking its way to perfection. John and his wife had one rule for their marriage: The one who does the cooking gets to control the events of the evening for the same amount of time as it takes that person to make the meal.

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