Your erotic stories

"Oh, my God! I'm so sorry." His voice was a soft rush as he apologized for letting the door of the shop close on her, banging her hand in it. He grabbed her hand in his and held it firmly. "I didn't realize you were behind me. I'm so oblivious." He rubbed her hand between his, as he would his own if he'd hurt it. She felt a little jolt of electricity race up her arm and looked up into his bright blue eyes. Another jolt raced down her body. She was sure they had never met before but he seemed strangely familiar.

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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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"No. No. No. Maybe if I was drunk. No. No." Reaching my hands up and placing them lazily behind my head, I reclined against the large oak tree at my back and continued to check out the steady stream of girls walking past me. "No. Yes. No." I said to myself, as a trio of eighteen year olds made their way past, casting a few flirtatious glances my way.

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Amanda reclined on the couch, lost in her book as Greg bounded down the steps and headed for the door. A duffle bag containing his soccer gear was slung over his shoulder. "You're not going out to play soccer in this downpour, are you?" Amanda asked as she looked up from her book. Her voice tinged with a hint of annoyance. "Yup, you know the league plays rain or shine." Greg replied.

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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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As you will no doubt have read "Nurse Leslie -- First Fist", you will have had a peek into my life with my sexy little vixen. Let me back track a bit here and start at the beginning. Leslie is a lovely woman, ten years my senior and unable to have children. This came as somewhat of a disappointment to me when I discovered it after we had been dating about two weeks. I had always wanted kids -- but, man, she was so damn sexy. Her whole body just oozed sexual excitement.

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My pussy is so wet right now. Just thinking about being fucked up the ass has me so wet. I like all the work it takes to get my ass open and ready to be fucked. Wet, lubed fingers sliding in and out while my pussy is being massaged by a stiff dick. Then a butt plug: large and stretching. Makes me moan in pain/pleasure. My pussy dripping. Your dick sliding in and out of my wetness while my ass is opening.

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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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