Your erotic stories

Suzanne Waters woke up just in time to see Kayla Lane exiting the motel room. Seeing the pretty 18-year-old dressed in a short black skirt and a tight fitting red tee-shirt affirmed Suzanne's notion that Kayla wasn't simply making a run to the vending machines, especially since Kayla had been in a pair of pajamas when Suzanne went to bed less than an hour ago. Suzanne jumped out of bed and grabbed the pair of jeans draped over the chair in the corner and quickly sliding them up her long, sexy, legs.

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My name is Steve. I am now married to the most beautiful woman in the world. Just ask her she will certainly confirm it is true. This one is a keeper. I work construction; we build bridges and other large structures. I work out of town most of the time. While I own my home I rarely get to spend much time there. That is until the last job the company sent me to. I now work in town at the office, with only an occasional day or 2 out of town. Now the wife comes with me.

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It's not in my nature to be violent. Really, it's not. Sure, I yell, swear, and slam doors, but to me these are just casual little outlets for minor irritations that go no further. But to actually physically harm someone? That would take a lot. I can count on one hand the number of times I actually feared I'd do someone bodily harm. Only twice did I actually go through with it: one man I had grabbed by the throat until my friends pulled me off, the other I punched twice in the face before his bloody nose told me things went too far.

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Richard nudged the door open with his knee, slowly shoving forward trying not to spill the gin and tonics he held. Once he was the other side his ass swung at the door, closing it. "Here look at this for a mouthful," he walked over to where his wife was sat at the computer, putting the two glass's down he lent over her shoulder, "And what mouthful of fuck fantasy are your little perverts telling you now?"

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The stewardess was being very slow. Annoyed that she was being put on hold, Miranda Davis turned and looked over her shoulder for the woman she had ordered a glass of wine from nearly fifteen minutes ago. The man sitting next to her, who had been buried in a book until now, glanced over with her movement.

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"I am uncertain of the formalities, but one imagines our allegiance to your demon mother has been automatically transferred to the new incumbent...." The blonde woman trailed off. Her companion, a stunning brunette, glared at her through narrowed eyes. "The old queen was weak, I kept her that way. It was only through my influence at her court that you were ever granted access." She replied, menacingly.

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On Caitlin's thirtieth birthday, she woke to find a letter on her husband's pillow. "Open at 10 AM," it said. She looked at the clock. It was 8:15. She looked back at the envelope, and considered it. If she opened it now, there was absolutely no way Richard could know. Right? As logical as that seemed, Caitlin didn't trust that. Richard had a way of knowing these things.

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The second estate agent was in his forties. He had a heavy, ponderous look about him and a blue shadow round his jaws as if her were poorly shaved. His name was Cheetham. It was he who watched her. She looked to be early twenties, seemed nervous, as if she was unsure of herself. They'd been married three months. The husband's name was Christopher. He was in a wheel chair.

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You know what it is like when you are fast asleep & you hear the phone start – are you dreaming it or not? Well I opened my eyes to look at the bedside clock to see it was just after midnight & the phone was actually ringing, I wasn’t dreaming. “Hello,” I said groggily.

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Erica was a smart lady in her late thirties. Trim figure, short black hair, always dressed immaculately. Attractive in a cold way. Untouchable - none of the rest of us would ever be allowed near her. And formidable. Not formidable in an unpleasant way, but someone who had to run things. Chair things. Be in charge of things, and enjoyed the status that went with it. Sometimes the things she ran were run to feed her ego, rather than for the benefit of the organisation or members.

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