Your erotic stories

My girlfriend and me are a couple of kinky freaks who like to go what we call "slutting". That's when we find ourselves a foxy young babe or two, usually but not always dykes like us, bring them home, and then get real down and dirty until the wee, wee hours of the morning. One night last week we had picked up this delicious looking young lesbian model at a dyke bar we frequent, a gorgeous African-American knockout with silky mocha-hued skin.

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Patrice Mueller couldn't suppress a resigned sigh as she looked around the living room. It wasn't that it was dirty; it was that it looked fine. The whole house looked fine: a tastefully appointed exemplar of a white bread middle class dwelling. It was tidy, warm and cozy without a hint of ostentation.

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Misty strode confidently into the student center at her university that spring afternoon. She had just gotten out of her least favorite class, and had in her hands the test from last week. The surprising "97%" was written on the top in a red pen. Now she could just check her mail, and sit down and read for a few hours until dinnertime with her friends.

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I first met Saskia at an art class. I was posing nude and she was one of the students. When I got the chance to see her painting I let out a gasp. Unlike the others it was clearly me, but me as she interpreted me. My hair, quite blonde in real life was jet black in her painting, but she had captured the way it was styled so beautifully. My skin tone was a lot paler too, much more like hers and my lips were bright red, also like hers.

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It has been a while since I have had any type of ongoing sexual relationship. I divorced my husband a few years ago. In order to make ends meet, work takes up a big part of my life now, that and concentrating on my son. He is about to start college, so I think I am getting that empty nest syndrome. The one you hear so much about and say, "No, not me. A quiet house will be wonderful."

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Well, the woman in the mirror certainly looks too young to be attending the wedding of her son this weekend and truthfully, thirty-seven really is far too young to have a twenty year old. Come to think of it, twenty was far too young to be getting married. But then, you were married younger.

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Feeling very nervous as she stood backstage with the others, Diana Watson had so many butterflies in her stomach by then that she was deathly afraid that she might throw up ay any moment. Uncomfortably squeezed into her very best dress - one that she had not worn for many years, since before a sedentary life added more than a few extra pounds to her once slender figure - Diana had to work hard to resist the impulse to run a restive hand through the hair she'd had professionally coiffed at the beauty parlor earlier that day.

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I wake in the morning, wrapped in silken sheets. Instinct has me curling my arms close around me. The slide of the sheets causes me to shiver slightly. The newness of the material feels wrong against skin that has felt only rough fabrics. I run my fingers over the scars on my left arm, reassuring myself with a familiar gesture as the night before slowly unfolds in my mind.

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You probably haven't heard of the Isle of Sula. Not unless you're one of the eco-tourists who come trekking oot here, or one of the estimated 27,000 members worldwide of Clan MacCuilish. That's about 15 times the current population of the island, probably no more than 40 of whom were born with the MacCuilish name. Basically, we're a tiny wee island towards the south of that thin rocky spine off the coast of Scotland known as the Western isles, or Eilean Siar in Gaelic.

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Jamie couldn't believe how she had gotten herself into this situation. The situation being that she was on all fours, licking the asshole of a tight-bodied Asian girl, while she was receiving the fucking of her life from a gorgeous Latina. It felt like that girl was going to split her in half with the strap-on that she was plowing into Jamie's sloppy wet cunt.

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