Your erotic stories

"I'm not sure what you want me to do?" The Man questioned after the woman had laid out her story to him. Mr. R had already heard it sometime before but stayed in the room for the retelling. "The man has already struck. There is nothing to be salvaged here." "I want revenge," Valerie Coombs responded intently. The Man knew of her vaguely; she'd been a fashion model and spokeswomen for a variety of products when she was younger, but that had been years ago.

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Another day at the office, finished. I was so thankful that it was Friday. I paid the cabby and then opened the cab door, struggling to pull my briefcase and Kenneth Cole purse out of the door before the overzealous cab driver zoomed off to find another fare. I had barely slammed the door when he raced off, going to make another dollar in the Big Apple. I cursed as I tripped over the curb, almost snapping the heel off my shoe. The cold New York wind whipped my long hair across my face, stinging my cheeks. I swore that one day I was going to move, but nowhere else paid as much for Interior Design as New Yorkers did. I climbed the 9 stairs to the front door of my building where Arthur, the doorman, stood waiting.

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Thinking back on it now, I guess it was because I was pissed off with Jeff that I let it happen. We'd argued that morning. I can't even remember what about. He wasn't my favourite person right then. "Bedrooms upstairs," the assistant estate agent said – the older of the two, clearly the junior of the team. Dick Glover, of Glover and Glover Real Estate Agents, looked the part: sharp creases, white teeth, lot of bowing, sparkling eyes.

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Still hurt by the rampage that she had just endured, Elise wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to gather her thoughts. She still could not believe what had just happened and that she had actually enjoyed most of it. She sniffled and grabbed some Kleenex from the living room table as she pondered what her next move would be. The feelings that brewed inside of her made her sick, she felt violated and angry. Between her legs though, told a different story. Her privates were still dripping wet with passion and she felt strangely fine down below.

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Jeannie and I were just hanging out around the pool like most 18-year olds do the first summer after they leave high school, but before they land a job or run off to college for the next four years. Jeannie and I had plans for Berkley. Together. We did everything together and had since we were children. We even wore the same clothing. Perfect size 10s in a world that valued size 4s.

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Don't get me wrong. I love a good sexy scenario as much as the next horny young woman. But even I knew this was completely unacceptable. I was your typical rebellious girl. My parents had divorced when I was little, and I refused to bother with anyone of their partners. I didn't see the point in pretending to like people I had nothing in common with and who, as far as I knew, were only bothering with me to please my parents.

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Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Heather McCormick and I'm a thirty-something m.i.l.f. living in suburban Atlanta, Georgia. The story I'm about to tell you is the God's honest truth, and I wouldn't lie, because lying is a sin. Six months ago I was a slovenly 158 pounds of bored, impetuous, spoiled housewife. Now I am a svelte 115 pounds thanks to the Wulfwinter Weight Loss Clinic. Here's my story.

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It was 1849 Martha Petersen was just turned 18. She was the only child of Swedish immigrants who were slain by Indians on the trek west. Martha had been raised by the Cooper family, a childless couple on the wagon train that Martha's family had joined for the journey to a new life. Martha was a beautiful natural blonde girl, with blue eyes and stood at 5ft 2in.

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Five days on the road, and Sam and Dave were now ready for their break. They'd just dropped off their last trailer and were finally heading home for a long weekend. After dragging those trailers around all week, the unhitched prime-mover seemed to respond like a racing car. Sam had his foot down and was hitting the high numbers until Dave warned him to slow it down.

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Ally was everything Jackson had ever wanted in a woman. Well, really, he didn't so much want a woman, as he wanted a slave. He didn't want to deal with the hassle of a relationship. He disliked having to account for his time, and talk about how his day went, and buy presents and flowers, and all the other nonsense that went into dating someone.

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