Your erotic stories

Sundays have always been their favorite time together. And a rainy Sunday morning is perfection to them both. She curled her leg around his waist and stretched her lithe body straight, her limbs shaking at the end of the motion, until she again rests her head on her fluffy pillow. A crack of thunder makes them both jump and she snuggles closer to him, enjoying the warmth of his body against hers, the new morning endless.

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1. Watching Rani reach. It all started innocently enough as far as I was concerned. I would stop at a gas station on my way to work and pick up the morning paper and a cup of coffee. The only reason I began stopping at this particular place was that it was easy to get in and out of. The reason I continued to go there was Rani.

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It's a bit of a librarian look, the way I wear my hair at work. All coiled up on my head, and stuck through with several of those Japanese-looking hair spikes. Not a strand is out of place, and the hair is wound and wrapped tightly into a bun roughly the size of one of those Kaiser rolls the bun it makes is easily the size of one of those Kaiser rolls.

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Its genesis occurred more than 25 years ago, before I even knew my wife, Louise and lay dormant until a few months ago. We get together every Friday evening with Roy and Jill, our friends of more than 15 years, alternately hosting dinner followed by a movie. On this particular occasion Roy had something to show us before the main feature.

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Maggie woke up in an amorous mood that morning. She bounded out of bed, fed the kids breakfast and got them off to the school bus in record time. She was looking forward to jumping back in bed with her husband when he entered the kitchen. Maggie was disappointed to see Keith had already showered and dressed.

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It was late and I was bored with the television, so I turned to the Internet for something to occupy my mind. I knew that I should be upstairs asleep by now because I had to get up for work in a few short hours, but I was still jazzed up from drinking cup after cup of Coca-Cola. It was after midnight already and I wasn't even the slightest bit tired.

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Winding down from a tense business meeting, I sat in my car eating a fresh sandwich from the farmer's market I had stopped at on the way home. I was experiencing the release and wind-down that comes from completing something difficult. It was an early Fall day and the sun was warm as it passed through the sun roof, the food was delicious, and I found a radio station that was actually playing music instead of advertising.

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There wasn't an adult in the land that didn't know what her family did. There wasn't a tabloid editor on Fleet Street that hadn't paid out hard cash for sex tapes containing her or her family. They were notorious; famous almost. Salacious details of the exploits became Internet folklore, the stuff of legend.

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Abigail Moran shifted nervously in her seat. The clock on the wall showed only five more minutes until her last class of high school was over. Ms. Fitch wasn’t really teaching anything today so much as chatting about the upcoming summer break. To Abigail, it was nerve racking! She snapped her bubble gum in frustration.

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I Mirrors should be banned, I thought, tilting my head slightly to one side. They're awake, you know, and exist to torment women who appear too fat, too short, too tall, too...anything. Each should be seized, in on-going raids by some would-be federal agency, a Department of Imagery or something, which if it doesn't already exist, ought to be mandated by Congress to protect females everywhere.

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