Your erotic stories

When you open the door, the whole apartment is dark. You call out a name, knowing that your lover should be here... maybe he's asleep. You hit the light switch on the wall, but nothing happens. You flick it again. You can see the VCR blinking from the other side of the living room, so you know there's power. Well, maybe the bulb just burnt out.

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My name is Steve I'm 25 years old 6' 2" and very strong without being overly muscular thanks to martial arts growing up. I'm happy to finally be returning home from my trip a day early, hoping to surprise my lovely wife after traveling all week.

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Just as she always did, Lisa stopped in the doorway and told my son to go and start the car for her. And just like always, he did. Just like always, she made sure that Charlie wasn't looking and turned back to give me a goodbye kiss. And before she did, just like always, Lisa cupped my face in her hand and whispered in my ear, "You can take me if you want to."

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WE were at Mary and Huw's for a dinner party ... eight of us. Huw is a writer of modest achievement - so far as he always reminds us - who supplements his income lecturing at the local university. Mary, a striking woman in her early 40's, is a doctor.

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Sometimes I wake up at night and I can still feel her mouth on me. I wrap my arms around myself and ache to feel her body on mine, lick my fingers and wish I could taste her salty skin, find my hands inside my shorts and fool myself for just a minute that it is her hands on me, making me moan. Still, this is not nearly as difficult as being in her presence. To admire her, watching her move, studying every curve and remembering how my hands explored, no, loved every one of them. To talk with her, not hearing the sounds she makes, only seeing the shapes that form as they exit her lips, knowing how wonderful it felt to be inside her mouth.

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"Thanks for coming early with me, sweetie," I said. We were standing on the balcony overlooking the enormous atrium of the National Art Museum. Stephen smiled. "You know why I did," he said as he watched the male servers in their tight black uniforms below us. I patted his arm and smiled. "Whatever works for you."

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Daylight began to creep across the room. Reluctantly I woke up from my restless slumber. Memories of what had transpired last night came rushing back to me. Unbidden, tears started to flow, and I lay curled up in my bed, trembling with shame and pain. My battered body is a testament of how Papa had brutally raped me. I had lost count of the times he had taken me yesterday night.

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She had been my friend for years. We had watched each other grow up. We took baths together, compared breasts and traded clothes. She was my best friend. We were so close, that she asked me to do something for her she was scared to let her boyfriend do. Fuck her in the ass for the first time.

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I took my eyes off the road for just a moment and glanced over at him. He sat looking straight ahead, in the passengers seat. There was no apparent sign of emotion on his face but I knew his mind was fixed intently on what might be soon happening.

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She came home to an apparently empty house. Strange, though, since his car was in the garage. There was a note on the kitchen counter: I'm upstairs waiting. Go take a long, hot shower and put on the outfit that I left out. Don't worry. I'll make you dinner afterward. :^)

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