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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It all began with a "Hi" on the internet. Matt approached the innocent looking Sandy and struck up a conversation online. She was hesitant at first but eventually she opened up to talking with him. As talk progressed they slowly moved to the topic of sex and desires. Just before Matt had to leave she revealed that she enjoys being dominant in the bedroom. This perked his ears and his interest dramatically. They said their goodbyes and agreed to talk later.

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It was Sarani and me at the table, and Wygotzki and Cherkov playing cards by the door, keeping an eye on the dirt track leading up to the cabin. We were waiting for the batch to arrive, but it wouldn't be in for hours. Needless to say, we were bored. Somehow, we began talking about sex.

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My sexual awakening really began when I finally gave in and revealed to my husband my desire to be submissive. No, not the master/slave scenarios that seem to be so predominant and to my mind borders on abuse. No, not the spank me until I cry and can't sit down for a week activities that would label me a masochist. No, I don't want to be violently raped, even by my own husband in the name of sexual freedom. What I was looking for was to be able to surrender completely to my husband and allow him to have his way with me, over and over again.

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Cole sat nervously in the waiting area. He'd arrived for his interview the customary ten minutes in advance. He'd waited patiently for the expected fifteen minutes. Which had turned to thirty, which had turned to forty five minutes. "I'm sorry Sir." the receptionist said. She was a pretty blond in a tight skirt and heels which accentuated her legs. "I'm sure it won't be too much longer."

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He sat in a dimly lit café absentmindedly picking at the dirt under his nails. It was 4:21, thirty-nine minutes before she was supposed to be there. They agreed to meet for an early dinner, nothing too formal. They would talk for a bit and see how things went. Sex was implied but not required. Sex was not a virgin topic for them.

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I don't go to "the club" very often. Going there usually leaves me with this vaguely guilty-dirty feeling. I can never seem to pin down the reason for the feeling. I mean gees, what does anyone care what I do with my own body, or anyone else's for that matter? Consenting adults and all that. I'm pretty open about sex, and very tolerant of other people's turn-ons, no matter how kinky or weird they may be.

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Brian was sipping coffee and taking in the vista of the Long Island Sound from the oversized sun room at the rear of his mansion in Old Field. The room was what he had built the entire house around, and he had cleared out trees and brush in order to afford himself an unobstructed view of the water. There were few things in life that made him as happy as the sight of the water and the ever present smell of the salt air.

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Nancy placed a package on Laura's desk just as Laura looked up. Highlighter poised in the air, Laura questioned, "What's this?" Nancy sighed and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "It's a package, Laura. Honestly, how did you become partner?" Laura laughed, turning the box around to read the label.

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I was 23 when I met Pat, who was 42 at the time. We were work colleagues and got on really well. Pat had dark hair hanging lustrously loose and a super pair of legs. She wore skirts every day and my gaze often followed her legs and ass around the room at work, or in the bar.

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