Your erotic stories

Jean sits on the edge of the bed, a hand on the belt buckle ready to undress. She glances up at Paul, the man she just met at the smoky saloon. His jeans are far enough down to see the bulging erection staining at his boxers. "Listen, there's something I need to tell you."

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She was on her knees in front of him, looking upwards, naked, seemingly penitent. His head, thirteen inches from his groin, was resting on her pink lower lip, the weight of it making her pout slightly. She looked apprehensive, she was unused to blowjobs and she didn't really know what to do. He was expressionless, entirely able to suppress the swell of excitement and power that was growing in every fibre of his body.

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I received my invitation from you in the post. I knew it was from you as I recognised your handwriting. It merely gave an address, a date and a dress code. It gave me a few days to prepare. After much anticipation the night finally arrived. I put on what the instructions told me: high heels, black stockings, a tight black skirt with a white blouse and black bra with a long overcoat on top.

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Must Love Dogs -- that's what the ad had said, and I do love dogs. But I had no idea that those three words would unlock the door to the strangest sexual adventure of my life. At the time, the sentence that had really caught my eye was the next one: "Only women need apply." I was no equal rights lawyer, but I was pretty sure employers couldn't discriminate based on sex.

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From the moment I read her ad on the message board I was hooked. Here was a woman who loved the thing I loved most. "GS" or Golden Showers for all not so educated. As I felt myself grow hard from just reading her words, I knew I had to contact her. I sat at my desk and the words on the screen blurred. I was transported back to my first time. I had met June in a bar that I frequented.

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Tom was sitting in coach seat 23B, the middle seat. The seats on either side of his were empty, for now. The passengers were streaming onto the plane in that herky-jerky hurry-up-and-wait mambo that is repeated a million times a day on every flight to everywhere. As each passenger approached, Tom silently evaluated them and put them into one of two categories.

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Rob ran past the fountain in the courtyard and pressed himself into the building's entrance to get out of the rain. He found her name immediately, an apartment on the second floor. He pressed the button and waited, hoping. Just before he was about to press again he heard her voice. He recognized it at once, even through the tinny intercom. "Oui?" she said. "Qui est-ce?"

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Even this late the party was in full swing. The smell of beer and sweat hung prominently in the air, and Dana was sweating profusely herself, while her face felt hot. A bit of fresh air was definitely called for. She made hasty excuses, and backed away from her group of friends, before wheeling her chair towards the wardrobe. She quickly picked through the jackets until she had located her own. Dana made her way towards the rather steep ramp. With a few good pushes, she managed to get to the top.

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In spite of everything, I was mostly hungry. Eight months of relentless effort led to the closure of 400 years worth of passionate murder and lifeless sleep. I had been the undoing of my siblings. My family. Four centuries of deepest love and conspiracy. And now I stood among men.

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The next day Salima and I were at lunch with Greg Samuels and Kate Thompson from finance discussing derivatives, equities and many other 'exciting' things. Now as important as this meeting was to my future progression within the company I honestly wasn't up to it in any way, shape or form. Salima had kept me up both in a mental and erectile state of frenzy until half 4 that very morning and I felt more like a walking corpse than a high flying corporate executive.

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