Your erotic stories

I was leaving to go out for the night, my mother reminded me that Lucy's house was being fumigated for termites and that she would be spending the night. I felt my cock twinge with excitement the minute I heard those words come out of my mother's mouth. Lucy was my next-door neighbor. She was 45 and beautiful. About 5'3, 110 pounds, Latin with bronze skin. I had always fantasized fucking her from behind while she spoke in Spanish; telling me to "fuck her harder.”

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Steve Cooper had been separated from his wife for nine months now. The thirty-eight year old had been married for 12-years and was shocked to learn that his wife had been cheating on him with a co-worker. Now he lived alone and hadn’t dated anyone since his wife had left him. When Steve first saw Arcey he was instantly attracted to her. He knew that the Latino girl had no interest in him.

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He pulls slowly past her house, noting with satisfaction that the windows are dark. She's either sleeping, or at least back in her room. All he needs to do is figure out how to get in quietly. He circles the cul-de-sac, then coasts his motorcycle into the drive...cutting the engine as soon as he's off the road. He steps off the bike, and removes his helmet and coat. He'll keep the soft leather gloves on, he decides.

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I wake up. My room is darker than I've ever seen it, pitch black with no moonlight slipping in through the drapes. I start to move my hand to search for the candle on the bedside table and find that I can't – my arm doesn't respond. The sensation brings me wide awake and I try moving my legs, panic setting in when I can't shift them and realize I have lost the power of movement. I want to open my mouth to cry out for help but a tightly stretched fabric muffles my lips.

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His eyes were closed, a vain token of propriety: if he didn't see what was happening, was he really responsible? Around his finger her mouth closed, warm, wet, sucking. He felt her teeth graze over the hardness of his wedding band, then those hot, soft lips closed about his finger, retreating slowly towards his fingertip with a delicious, unfamiliar suction. What am I doing? There is a reason I've worn this band for fifteen years.

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Carl was a large young man, heavily built but in the manner of a fit sportsman rather than an overweight desk jockey. He looked slow and his smooth forehead seemed unlikely to ever be wrinkled by deep thoughts. A casual onlooker would assume him to be a dumb jock, unfit for anything other than manual labour when he wasn't playing sport.

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I took a long sip of my dirty martini and leaned into the bar, staring resentfully down towards the end of it. My boyfriend of three years, Ryan, was still engaged in conversation, feeding his ego with clever banter. I noticed the familiar animated expressions, grand gestures, and overly enthused laughter that captivated the small crowd of people he was talking to. I sighed heavily, and settled back onto my bar stool and played with the spear of olives in my drink.

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The cigarette burned my fingers, damn it, how long had I been holding it without taking a drag. The tiny filter slipped from my fingers and sparked briefly as it came to rest on the ground, on the hard pavement outside the apartment complex. I had been watching the complex for what, two hours now? What did it matter, I filled my lungs with the midnight air and felt enriched by its scent.

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I've always been a gadget guy. As a kid I was the one who took all his toys apart and put them back together. I built a bike with two frames and a long chain so I could ride around taller than the other kids. When I was old enough I bought two junk cars and made one good car from them. Building stuff and fixing stuff so it was better than when it was new has always been fun for me.

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It's unusual for me to escort a prisoner alone, but we are in the middle of a shift change, it's a quiet night on the cell block, and besides the other guards like to bust my balls about equal rights and this gave them the opportunity to crack a few jokes. I'm the only female guard that works this cellblock, and getting picked on is just another hazard in the work place. Frank Pascua, who is leaving for the night, wished me good luck as he pulled on his jacket.

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