Your erotic stories

"Hey guys, just hold on to my beer would you, I've got to go pee. I'm so full I'm bursting." A gang of us had come down from the campus to O'Malley's Bar, down on Victoria Road. O'Malley's is one of those bars that caters for a wide range of customers, from us university types, the art school arty kids, and the occasional corporate suit kicking out at the end of a long week doing whatever they do up in the city.

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I started this a long time ago. I've finished it up and hope you enjoy it. It's a little different than my other work. You know you want me. You've been thinking about me ever since you saw me. I'm the cute young mother with gorgeous breasts you saw at the mall. I'm the fit looking soccer mom at the grocery store with the perfect ass.

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Jay Starly was the kind of man others saw as perfect, tall, dark and handsome, born to wealth and prestige, he had it all. By thirty he was the vice president of his families company and by thirty-five he was CEO. Jay could have any woman he desired it seemed but he was never satisfied with the throng of beautiful women he met at parties and in business.

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I can still remember the first time I asked her if I could do it. I had always had a fascination for tasting my own semen, you see. My wife Megan had indulged me certain levels of satisfaction in this matter but refused to let me give her oral after sex. She said it was "gross".

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Have you ever wondered what your own cum tasted like? If you're like me, you have. Since I was a young man, I've been fascinated by it and wonder how it tasted. I would jerk off and tell myself that I was going to taste it. I couldn't wait to try it. The problem was that as soon as I came, I changed my mind.

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If you'd asked me if I would want to watch my girlfriend fuck another man in front of me a year ago, I'd have promptly punched you in the jaw. The idea would have disgusted me, as I'd heard of cuckolds and thought that they had to all be subs, and maybe even closeted homosexuals.

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He wondered if this would be the day as he lay there and let her strap him down to the table. She sat down next to him when she was done, pulling a small table next to her. Silently she traced her nails across his skin. Stopping occasionally to tweak his nipples. After a few minutes she stopped and broke the silence. "Shall we begin?" "Yes. Please Mistress, please." His eyes were fixed upon her. Rarely though would she ever look him in the eye.

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"I don't understand," my neighbor said, her dark brown eyes wide open as she struggled to comprehend what was going on. What had started out just like the last few nights, an innocent game of rummy in the kitchen of her modest little apartment had changed dramatically in the last few minutes due to my actions and words. My words had come easy because they were what was going on through my mind even since I had met Tara a few months ago, but even though I was the one that said them I couldn't believe that I had actually said them aloud.

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I had been the area manager for a group of restaurants for about five years, having been promoted through the ranks from having been a waiter as a summer job. The restaurants were pretty basic family establishments, you would know the sort where you would take your mum and dad at the weekend for an inexpensive meal.

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I do not like to go to company parties. Not Fourth of July, not Christmas, not New Years. Anytime. I just don't like them. They're usually very boring, often embarrassing as people do and say things with careless abandon. Part of my dislike is admittedly my fault -- I don't like to drink alcohol. So as other people are loosening up while getting blitzed, I'm just standing around watching them.

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