Your erotic stories

Down. Down. The subsurface wave of turbulent water the ship created as it tumbled over pushed me down. Deeper and deeper. I flailed about helplessly against the huge powerful weight of it, not even knowing which way was up, and then after what seemed an eternity of struggling, I couldn't hold my breath any longer.

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Yvonne and I were relaxing in bed after another great spanking and sex session. As we lay entwined in each other’s arms Yvonne said, “Don darling, tell me a story.” “What sort of story?” I replied innocently, knowing full well what the subject matter would be.

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Vanessa stood nervously before the elevator. She had just moved to Vancouver from a small town in Saskatchewan a little less than a year ago and her relatively new group of friends had been repeatedly telling her over the last few weeks that they had a ritual whenever someone turned twenty. They wouldn't give any details, only laughed mischievously.

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Adam Woods touched the test piece of rock maple with his wax stick and examined the filled nail hole to ensure that the color was the best match possible. It wasn’t. He put another nail in the hole and filled it with a pass of a different wax, then examined it. The process continued until he was sure the average viewer wouldn’t find the imperfectoin even when looking for it. He had a test for that too.

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is the most perfect specimen of humanity Dr. Kent has ever seen, and all she can think when she sees him is: what a waste. She has his specs on the pad in front of her: 6'5, 190 pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes, 28 years old; section: lambda, section of origin: delta. Even that brief outline caused a commotion among the other doctors when it arrived in her inbox yesterday. But numbers on a screen are one thing, and #B34123J's extraordinary physique right here in her exam room is another.

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Your heart is thumping, the adrenalin and anticipation beginning to be usurped by arousal. This whole scenario has an element of the surreal, and yet you stay fixed to this spot. He stirs behind you, moving close enough for his cologne to caress your senses, even if his hands are yet to.

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I had met Ryan through a friend; another fuck buddy actually. I was recently divorced and after years of sexual repression, I was finally at thirty-five sowing the wild oats that most people do in their twenties. The last fifteen years had been about being the good Christian wife; a role which I found stifling and unfulfilling. But fifteen years married to a depressed religious zealot had left me feeling rather low myself.

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It was in 1967 that I originally developed a life long affinity for silk. This was due in part to two people that my affinity was preserved for the rest of my life. I'm not sure why, but the love and appeal for the feel of it is ingrained within me now.

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Her parents called me cold. Not to my face of course, I heard them in one of those moments I wasn't supposed to. In a not so unguarded moment her mother screamed at me that I was a monster for taking there daughter away from them, her husband managed to calm her and move her away from me before apologizing. His eyes gave him away, he agreed all to well with his wife's opinion of me. But to do this now and on the day of Angie's funeral was simply not acceptable.

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The sharp rap on the door as the brass knocker banged urgently echoed down the corridor causing Jeff Lake to raise his eyes from his journal and look forlornly at the offending portal. He had just settled down to read an industry magazine, reclining back on the luxurious sofa, whiskey in hand. "God sakes! What is it now?" he muttered, putting down his glass and magazine and standing up.

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