Your erotic stories

A young women returns to her hometown and uses her erotic charms to wreak revenge on her ex boyfriend and best friend the week of their impending wedding. I emerged from the shower with the moisture still trickling over my body, naked except for the fluffy white towel wrapped around my bust line. I had been planning this weekend for a long time; I wanted everything to be right. I opened my suitcase and surveyed the strategically sexy underwear I had chosen to bring with me to enhance my plan.

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One thing you should know, about me and the man I describe here, is that we've never really been 'together'. What we have had is more than ten years of friendship, the best and worst of shared experiences and, most importantly, the most insatiable, uncontrollable desire for each other that either of us had ever experienced. On this particular day, we were heading out to a concert, but I also happened to be introducing him to one of my best friends for the first time. I arrived at his place just as he was getting home from a run.

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I met Jen when I was 24. I was a bartender at a local bar and she was a regular customer. She was a stunning woman. 23 years old, long red hair, emerald green eyes, and a body to die for. Her breasts were a nice firm 38c, a nice flat stomach with a belly ring, long legs that lead to one of the most incredible heart shaped asses that I had ever seen. She was always showing off her body, in the shortest dresses and low cut blouses.

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We'd hardly had any traffic on the road that led out of town but the full moon had been our constant companion as it threw a ribbon of eerie light onto the narrow twisty path that led us into the countryside. The stillness was in sharp contrast to the lively scenes we'd passed as we'd driven through the suburbs where pumpkin lanterns decorated houses and kids wearing ghoulish costumes trawled the neighborhoods, trick or treating.

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The morning dawned clear and cold. I rolled over, feeling the flannel sheets rub against my naked form, and looked for you. As usual, you had left for your morning run, leaving me alone in the bed, the sun streaming through my window, lighting on the hunter green bedspread. I rolled over a little, and could still smell you on the pillow. I breathed in the warmth of your scent on the sheets, and smiled softly. It was then that I saw the note you'd pinned to the pillow.

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Marie rolled onto her back and stretched sensually. Her back arched as her hands and arms reached out above her head, her hard nipples, perched at the tip of her firm breasts, reaching up towards the sun. She relaxed, resting back on the towel that was still cool despite the heat of the late afternoon sun, her hands still above her head, her breasts taut on her chest.

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I typed it in an IM window. 'Come fuck me' it said. Her reply was simple. 'Yes, Master.' How many times had I typed that to her in role-playing chat when I was on the opposite coast of the country? I've even typed that when I was close enough for us to make it happen. I would be there with my laptop in the king-sized bed at my hotel in D.C., messaging her at her home in New York. Close, but far. 'Come fuck me,' I typed. 'Yes, Master,' she replied. Odd how the same words looked different this time -- that was last night.

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His majesty has thus far disposed of his previous queens for reasons which I have never fully understood, and probably never will. I, however as Queen Victoria II, have no intentions of becoming another one of his beheaded memories. Since his sexual appetite tends to sway with a frequency that is unfathomable, I always try to avoid displeasing him at any cost. I consider myself to be a bit of a voyeur when it comes to sexual matters, and probably because of that, I have been quite successful in avoiding the guillotine.

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A few months ago I was fortunate enough to come into a little money. Actually, it was quite a sum. My divorce had been settled, all payments to my ex-wife were finalised and my lawyer informed me that there was little she could do to get her hands on any of the new cash. It was all mine! Many ideas went through my head and, to be quite honest, it was nearly as much fun planning what I was going to do with the loot as it was actually spending it.

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Ralph Carson watched the people exit the plane at the Miami airport, looking for his niece, Cindy Johnson. She had just graduated from High School in Tampa, and was accepted at the University of Miami. He and Ellen offered their spare bedroom to the eighteen-year-old girl, since their condo was only a mile from the campus. Ralph was about six feet tall, slightly balding, but otherwise had a good physique for a man of forty-two.

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