Your erotic stories

There are fifteen candles strategically placed throughout the room, one for every year they have been together. They lie on the bed, side by side. Their fingers are laced together and are wedged between their two steaming bodies. Beads of perspiration glisten upon his chest hair.

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To be honest, I can’t really pinpoint where my fetish for hairy women began. As a kid, I can remember looking at old photos of Victorian woman in lingerie, and thinking they looked slightly strange with the thick patches of hair in their armpits, and when I did see the occasional woman with hairy pits in real life, I thought it unusual rather than exciting.

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Even as a child Jane had always loved the feel of certain materials against her skin. Her first sexual feeling was caused by her wearing a plastic apron of her mothers. She felt her nipples harden and was worried because she thought she had wet herself as she was wet between her legs.

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Mike couldn't wait to get home. Working third shift at his new job was tiring, but he would be able to get on another shift soon. He looked at his watch, and he knew it would only be another few minutes before he got to Ron and Lisa's house. They were friends of his wife, Jeannie, and he was staying with them until they moved to the new city he was working in. Both Ron and Lisa were teachers, and very well respected in the community. They were not nearly as wild as Mike and Jeannie, but very nice, nonetheless.

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Dave Rollands, is a 30 something year old, lean built, 5’11” happily married man. He is wearing what he usually wears when he goes out with the guys on Thursday nights: sneakers, jeans, and buttoned shirt. He has two secrets. One of them is wearing the frilly white French cut panties with the sexy, white stockings carefully hidden underneath his manly clothes.

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We left the car by the side of the country road and headed off towards the forest by the familiar path beaten into the earth. Tall summer grass paraded beside us as we neared the edge of the woods. Wrens, finches, robins and red-wing black birds played all around us while crickets sawed their legs together. The pillowy clouds were a little grey, and light rain was forecasted, but it was too perfect a day to let go to waste because of a forecast.

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I was so damn glad to be home. Work had sucked all fucking week long, and I was looking forward to a weekend of not really doing much of anything. If the wife pulled out her "to do" list, I'd simply refuse and deal with whatever repercussions I had to. At the moment, my sole plan was to get inside, put on some comfortable clothes, grab a beer and take root in front of the TV.

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Jenni had come to work at my office as the payroll manager about a year ago. She was in her early thirties, married with a couple of kids. She had silky, straight brown hair, shoulder-length and cut in bangs, green eyes and wore glasses. She was hardly a great beauty, there was something about her face I found attractive.

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Nick dropped his keys onto the table beside the front door, it had been a long day and he was really looking forward to a relaxing bath and his evening meal. He removed his coat and turned to hang it on the hook on the other side of the door, his wife's coat was already there since she always got home before he did.

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Rain soaked me through, the chill of the air magnified by the clinging of my wet clothes. I was coming straight from work, a small-time paper, and was following a lead. Aaron Black, it seemed, did not want to be found. He’d returned no phone calls, and I couldn’t find him on the net. I’d had to test the resources of my paper’s staff, convincing them that there was a story in Black, a business or human interest.

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