Your erotic stories

I winced as the tip of the very realistic dildoe pressed against the opening of my ass. Twelve inches long and almost two inches in diameter this was the largest object I had ever attempted to experience anally. Even though the fake cock was greased, and I had already used my fingers to stretch the anal opening, its entry was difficult. Inward then back out; each time pressing a little deeper while I pushed outward as if having a bowel movement.

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A few days ago, I got a call from Gabrielle, inviting me over. We are good friends and sometimes go places together but when she invites me to her apartment, it is always for the purpose of making love, and that is fine with me. Gabrielle is very pretty, beautiful, even, in her late thirties with a flat stomach and muscular thighs from kickboxing and working out six days a week. She has short brown hair, impish green eyes and, I think, a great figure even though her breasts are rather small.

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I walked into my dorm room and sighed in relief. It smelled like beer, sweat and sex, but at least it was quiet. It was Friday night and my roommate Matt went out earlier with his girlfriend Sandra. They liked to party heavily, especially on the weekend. They also both liked to fuck like rabbits when they got back from a night out and usually they were so drunk they didn't care if they had an audience or not, or more likely, didn't notice. The good news was that they tended to get it over with fast and pass out.

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Imagine a lazy sunday morning. you are reading the paper in the kitchen, leaning your elbows on the counter, propping your head on your hands. Your parents are away so we are both wearing only robes to keep the winter chill off our bodies. In my hands I am carrying a pair of beautiful red heeled shoes, the kind with ribbons that lace up your leg like a corset, and a bottle of mineral oil.

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Sarah looked around her suite at the island resort. It was luxurious, with marble in the bathroom and a balcony looking out to the ocean. She unpacked quickly then she lay on the double bed and stared at the ceiling with tears in her eyes. This was the bed she had been going to share with Roger, her fiancée until two months ago when he had called off their marriage.

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I opened the door to the plush real estate office late on this gorgeous Autumn Saturday afternoon with a full-blown hard-on ready and willing to go. No, it wasn't that I was that excited about some pending coastal resort home purchase, not that there's anything wrong with that. The object of my arousal on this particular visit was the anticipation of finding my real estate agent girlfriend, Mikki, waiting for me in an unoccupied office, with the idea that I would have her writhing on the conference room table within minutes, my cock buried deep inside of her.

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I stood in formation in the hot, stuffy gymnasium: at ease, but hard as hell. The third local official of the day was basically reiterating everything the previous two had said: how proud everyone was of us, that we'd done good work, etcetera, etcetera. I knew I shouldn't feel so fucking ready to get the fuck out of there, but I'd just spent the last thirteen months, seven weeks and four days, thousands and thousands of miles away from the woman of my dreams.

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I can't believe I'm the only guy who loves his wife, fancies his wife and desires his wife so much, he wants someone else to fuck her. Some guys might understand what I'm saying and others might think I'm making excuses for the fact that I can't possibly love her if I have thoughts such as these. The thoughts would have remained fantasies as my wife, Ellie, would never have entertained the thought of going with another man.

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You are on the phone and I cannot resist. I am drawn to the sound of your voice, just like Peaches-the-cat, and just as predisposed to purr as she is. You are sitting in your chair, staring sightlessly at the computer monitor as you talk. 'Ah, good,' I think, 'its not work-related.' I long to touch you and I do so, running my fingers over your bare shoulders and down your chest.

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Our small kitchen was a bustle of activity, my own rushed, anxious movements contrasting with Hanna's relaxed calm. She sat down at the small breakfast bar in her fluffy white robe and began to delicately segment her pink grapefruit, a cup of tea gently steaming beside her. As usual however I was running late, standing with a bowl of cornflakes in one hand and a spoon in the other, forcing mouthful after mouthful hurriedly down, all the while trying to avoid milky splashes on my shirt.

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