Your erotic stories

Dressed all in white she was the sweetest thing. He had to be gentle with her. Lightly he pulled her to him, and kissed her. She yielded, opened her mouth to receive him and placed a hand on his shoulder. His lips barely touched hers, yet they felt so sensual. Hardly touching her, his lips teased her, making her want more.

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The warm afternoon sun felt good on Nancy Horne's legs. So did the feeling of her husband's hand on her inner thigh and his fingers lazily caressing her soft skin. She smiled, looking down at Bill's hand on her, just below where he had pulled the hem of her skirt up to uncover her shapely, tanned legs. Her golden blonde hair shimmered in the sun and her brown eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement. When Nancy saw her husband's hand begin to disappear under her skirt and inch towards her damp panties she placed her hand on his wrist, stopping him.

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A glorious night in London. My first glimpse of London - how alive it is at night! A light meal following some sightseeing and people-watching. I had a delightful concoction of beef, chicken, and mango at a Chinese restaurant. The theater - a thriller with a twist and a lesson. A rambling stroll from Trafalgar Square to Piccadilly.

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A few days ago, I got a call from Gabrielle, inviting me over. We are good friends and sometimes go places together but when she invites me to her apartment, it is always for the purpose of making love, and that is fine with me. Gabrielle is very pretty, beautiful, even, in her late thirties with a flat stomach and muscular thighs from kickboxing and working out six days a week. She has short brown hair, impish green eyes and, I think, a great figure even though her breasts are rather small.

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Dawn sat on the edge of her bed feeling more awkward than she ever could remember. She looked down at her legs, encased in the white silk stockings and shuddered. Her hands twitched nervously from place to place and she longed to stick them into her pockets, but the short swing skirt she wore had no pockets.

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To be honest, I never actually considered this to be a fetish, until I met Kathy anyway. I think most guys (and some women too) enjoy squirting, cumming, watching their spunk spurting against a pair of luscious breasts. They don't have to be large one's either, just breasts. And not like it's an all the time thing either, just once in a while, that dirty, naughty, somewhat kinky mood hits. And you want to squirt on a pair of nice looking titties.

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She was to meet him at the city park on the east side of town, at 4:30. When he told her to be ready for anything, she just laughed. He was always saying crazy things to make her laugh; she never expected that this time he was deadly serious. She was to be dressed in his favourite outfit, the loose skirt and shirt he liked her to wear for his convenience.

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The shame, the paranoia, the guilt, I'd experienced it all in high school. I'd watch the other guys in the shower out of the corner of my eye, terrified I'd get an erection and be betrayed. After that you'd think I'd grow up and come out of the closet, but I pretended to myself as much as anyone else that I wasn't gay. I dated, I had sex, I got my first apartment, and still I looked at other guys out of the corner of my eye.

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It had been about an hour since the card game in the kitchen had broken up, and I noticed that we didn't play as long as we used to. Maybe that was because the other two players were getting older, although my mother is only 50 and her brother Butch is just a couple years older.

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The fourth book was the one that really took off. It was recommended both by Larry King and by Oprah, and my agent said he had never seen such a reaction—and that it would be a while before it ever happened again. It was a surprise to me, too. I didn't think the way that I had written about the old south would have been so well-received. I had anticipated that the book would have been too stuffy, since I felt like it was over-researched. And that it would have been too scandalous.

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