Your erotic stories

Alex glanced in the rearview mirror at the couple in the back seat. Ted and Ann had been going at it the whole way, like a couple of teenagers. "Hey," he said, only half in jest, "Can't you two keep your hands off each other for even two minutes?" "What's the matter?" cooed Ann, "Haven't you ever seen two people in love before?" "I've seen lots of people IN love," he responded, "but that doesn't mean I need to watch them MAKING love!" "Ahh, you're just jealous," Ted laughed.

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"Come on Brian, seriously. What do you want for your birthday?" Rachel pressed. She'd been after him for a hint, some idea of what he wanted or needed. And though his birthday was still several weeks away, there really wasn't anything he could come up with. Brian and Rachel had known one another for several years. Theirs was a "platonic" though very friendly relationship.

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Thursday night, 10 pm. The waiting queue were shuffling their feet in the cold out on the footpath, waiting for the doors of the Stroke Bar to open. Hot new band-of-the-month The Suspected were playing a gig there tonight, and all the regular patrons, plus more, had turned up. Rosemary jumped up and down on the spot, trying to warm herself up, wishing for a moment that she put some warmer clothes on, but quickly brushing that thought away with a private grin as she saw the looks she attracted from her fellow queuers, enjoying the subtle attention.

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Sandy stopped and considered whether she should proceed with the daring plan that she had pondering. Both Greg and Phil were in the spa. She had been talking to them in the pub after their football game and told them that her parents were out of town. This left her with the house to herself and so she suggested that perhaps they'd like to come back and have a spa to help rejuvenate their tired muscles before watchinga video or something.

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Lisa and I had been awakened by the sound of my alarm clock, which I wanted to fire through the window but had a second thought about it, when she realized it was Saturday and we weren't working. "Joe. Did you set that for any specific reason?'

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"Good luck on the sting Craig, we've all got things we need to do here," said Officer Mike Rutledge. "Thanks, we need to clean these streets up they're getting more decrepit each night," replied Officer Craig Stanford as he left the police station. He parked his car in his usual sentry position where he's been quite successful over the last few weeks busting drug runners and prostitutes.

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I moaned loudly as the phone's ringing refused to stop. I rolled twice toward the sound, tossing blankets to the side as I did, and reached up to grab the phone. "Hmmmm?" I voiced into the receiver. "Ms. Calista Holiday?" a deep voice asked. "Yes," I responded. "This is Aidan Conner. I must regretfully inform you of the death of your great-aunt, Faye Michaels." The man's vaguely familiar accent registered, but his words didn't.

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I had only been out of work for a week, and already I was getting bored. And that's a bad thing for me . . . to be bored. It's how I always get into trouble. Okay, it's one of the ways I get into trouble. So here I am, back home in the mountains of Tennessee, and I need something to do. It's beautiful here, and very secluded.

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I am Frank Stokes, 64 years old, retired from an executive position in a large corporation. My wife of 35 years passed away 3 years ago. I live in Brentwood, a golfing community, in the Atlanta area. There are three 18 hole golf courses. One easy course, one a little more difficult and the third, for experts, more difficult. Lots of sand traps, water and longer. I play the middle course.

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For years, while we made love, we had shared the joint fantasy of having a lot of guys with us while we fucked. I admit it had, at least initially, been mostly my idea. But, as time rolled on, it seems to me it was you who generally brought it up. I'd always joked and said that six was my absolute minimum; one for my mouth, one for each breast, one for my cunt, one for my ass and the extra for whatever particular whim I may desire.

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