Your erotic stories

My name is Michael - family and friends call me Mike. At that time I considered myself an unremarkable 23 year-old, English WASP with a degree in psychology and a post-graduate certificate in education. I was working through my last summer before starting teaching in a secondary school near my old home town. I was brought up with the 'protestant work ethic' and had always had a job of some description as I went through my further and higher education.

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Since I have been with my Master we have explored many limits and why I have them. One activity I have struggled with for a long time is due to past abuse from my ex-husband Dick, anal sex has not been an easy boundary for me to have tested.

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The first time Lara laid eyes on him had been in court. She had sat on the hard bench in the back row of the public gallery and watched him give his closing arguments on a Murder One case – Matricide. A chill shot up her spine as she pondered how anyone would contemplate killing their own mother. But the vehemence with which Ross de Marco stated his client's innocence was compelling.

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Chapter One A piercing clap of thunder shook the darkened room. The storm outside couldn't have been scripted any better by a Hollywood writer. Annalise shuddered as a chill passed through her body. She could feel her nipples stiffen, and not just from the chill. She had been waiting for him to come back since he had tied her spread eagled on the bed over a half hour ago.

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"Just take it," my best friend whispered in my ear before switching aisles. Like a pro, she pocketed a pack of gummy bears to go with a bag of chips. It stunned me that she could be so apathetic about the whole thing. Stealing? I'd never stolen anything in my life -- not even first base! Yet with nervous hands, I picked up a little baggie of Swedish fish, and looked towards the register. The man there was sitting with his feet up on the counter and his head down, staring into a home and gardening magazine.

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This may sound stupid, but the best lover I had in my life, was a short ugly guy whith a belly and a short dick. Let me tell you what he did to give me the greatest sex I ever had. I came to his apartment, we had a drink started a filthy conversation and suddenly he asked me to grab a chair and come to him. He was sitting on a sofa, put the chair in front of him took my hips in his arms and turned me around.

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My name is Kay. I'm a 31 year-old, happily un-married middle-class white woman with a marvelous life - except for being addicted to sex. Maybe it's only the risk factor that I'm addicted to. I honestly don't know, but I do know I'll sometimes take awful risks to anonymously and spontaneously fuck total strangers. There, now that I have that part out of the way maybe I can also be honest with the rest of what I want to explain.

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Denise's car followed mine home after work. She was behind me as I fumbled my keys in the lock of my apartment but didn't say anything until we were inside. She sat her purse down on the bar that separated my kitchen from my dining room and announced, "I like your apartment, Betty." She hesitated a moment and spoke again, "I know I was pretty aggressive at work today, and I am really excited to be here, and this is something I have looked forward to in my mind..."

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I took a new job a few weeks ago, at an upscale salon. I do mostly manicures and facials, but once in a while, I do a pedicure. Now, in all of my twenty-four years on this earth, I have never thought of feet as erotic, and I have never even dreamed of another woman! All of that changed yesterday. A young student from the near by university came in for a complete treatment, facial, manicure, pedicure and leg and foot massage.

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His cubicle was just across from mine. On a normal day, I would tune out his stories. But today, I was curious, and couldn't help but listen. Would last night's experience become part of his lexicon of lust? Would I become one of the nameless conquests he bragged of to anyone who would listen? Needless to say, the answer was yes. What follows is my account of what happened, with his version of events interjected here and there.

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