Your erotic stories

Just a regular Saturday night at my house, sitting in my computer room chatting to some online friends I had made. My wife came in the room and sits beside me, watching and reading the chatroom, she leans over and whispers in my ear. Do you want to come to bed with me or sit in here all night? With that question she leans over and grabs my cock through my shorts and smiles.

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I'm a 31 year old dentist and my clinic has a high turnover of young dental assistants (almost entirely female). My current girl is a stunning 20 year old called Grace. She is blonde with bright green eyes and looks like something out of a fashion magazine. While she is professional and polite, she is also a rich snob who has been spoilt by her wealthy father. Why she bothers to have a job is a mystery to me but to her credit she is one of the best assistants I've had so far.

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I blame the color of money. No not green! I mean the movie Color of Money. Paul Newman before he became the king of salad dressing, Tom Cruise when he was still more...sane, I guess. And the still young, hot-as-hell Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, oh my god the ass on that woman. She was a fantasy of mine from the first time I saw that movie till...

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The summer was drawing to a close; long, balmy nights were growing shorter and sweaters began to feature in the costumes of the young and cool. Kate sat alone at the top of a small hill, watching the sunset and waiting for her boyfriend, Ben to arrive. One by one, the stars began to prickle through the hazy sky, peppering Kate's view with constellations she didn't understand, but loved all the same.

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Sabine was walking through the autumn sun. The leaves were swirling down from the trees in the afternoon breeze, occasionally one would tangle in her long red hair. She moved along, paying little attention to her surroundings, lost in her thoughts. Would he be here tonight? He promised he would be. Well, he promised he would try.

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I was so glad to be on the way home. It wasn't a particularly long or difficult date; I was just ready to be home – home to my loving wife of fifteen years. I know it's a cliché, but my wife really is my best friend. They say that a strong marriage is built on good communication. Well, we have a very strong marriage. We talked about everything – all the time. We would send each other short e-mails or text messages several times a day and usually when my wife came home from work we would often sit on the couch just talking for 30-45 minutes as we decompressed (I get home an hour before she does most days).

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"How long is it since you last had sex?" Sarah asked Rachel. "Too long," Rachel replied. "It's a couple of years since I split up from my boyfriend, and I haven't gone out with anyone since then for long enough to end up sleeping with them." "Well that's not a problem," Sarah said. "Just go out to a club, find a guy, take him home, let him fuck you. Easy."

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Breeding season was always a bitch. Jasper knocked down another drink as he took in his surroundings. He wasn't generally a fan of women - he preferred his fuck toys to be men, but breeding season came with the overwhelming urge to mate. He needed to fuck his cubs into some bitch, and unfortunately, she couldn't be a werewolf. Women of his own species couldn't carry cubs to term - they lost them at the first change. This meant that males had to outsource, and as the leader of the pack, he needed to find a woman to pump his cubs into.

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"Ooh, I just have to have those black ones!" "Yes, Imelda, but don't you already have 18 pairs of black pumps, on top of the 14 pairs of black slides, and the six pairs of black flats?" I offered, trying not to sound overly sarcastic. I knew this because I kept a running count, a count which never decreased.

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Bad day. ‘Bad day’ didn’t even begin to encompass the events of Jim’s Friday afternoon. As well-paid upper-level manager of a huge accounting firm, he had to depend on a lot of different people to get a job done; the office was a finely-tuned machine. But when someone didn’t do their job, everything broke down. Luckily, Jim’s managerial style kept this from happening very often.

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