Your erotic stories

Mike read the terse text message from his wife Sunny. She was working late, yet again, and had texted not to ask how his day went, but to demand he take care of dinner plans. Again. A second text amended the list: feed the dog, take all the trash out and start washing her work clothes. Sunny had been a real bitch lately, and he was getting tired of dealing with it. He knew part of it was hormonal.

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I was standing over my father's grave at Sunnycrest Cemetery as the cleric spouted empty words and prayers, and as my mother wept crocodile tears into her lace hankie. "Be strong, Lucinda," said my Great Aunt Martha, patting my mother's shoulder. Aunt Martha was my father's mother's sister.

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When Jill was born the medical staff looked at the baby's genitals and told the parents "You have a baby boy." The baby was named Jack, after his uncle and spent the next several years as a boy. Jack never got involved in sports with other boys, partly because of his small stature and partly because he felt more at home playing with girls.

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Although she was not technically a mother, Mother's Day was still one of Jillian's favorite days. Her husband always made sure that he and his boys did something special for her to show their appreciation for everything she did for them. She loved the men in her life and was happy to have them all. She thought of her stepsons as her own and knew they saw her as their mom just as much as their real one.

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"I cannot stand Cynthia and her more virginal than you attitude," announced Amelia, looking over at where the offender was currently flirting with a couple of boys. "I know what you mean," grumbled Marie. "The way she acts we're all sluts because we're not virgins. Just because we're not virgins doesn't mean we're free and easy. Or that we had any choice in the matter, anyway."

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I'm hearing words I never wanted to hear again, ever, in my life. Biopsy. Malignant. Cancer. I can't for the life of me remember leaving the doctor's office, but I'm sitting in my car, key in the ignition, door open, one foot on the concrete, and I can't breathe. The wound on my breast is throbbing, as if it knows that what was hidden beneath the flesh had evil intentions.

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“Connoisseur of fine women and fine desserts seeks lady who shares my interest. I take a long time to prepare my desserts and a long time enjoying them. What is your favorite topping?” Larry Randolph kept rereading the ad he’d placed in the personals. He was nervous, and he was watching the clock, which made the second hand seem to run all the slower. He had not expected to get an answer with his first ad – he really didn’t expect to find a person that was so fascinating to talk to over the Internet.

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Linda looked around the classroom, filled with over 200 first-year students. My God, she thought to herself, how am I going to get any personal attention out of this class? I enrolled in this university because it sold itself as having an average class size of 25. I guess I'll have to remind myself what an average is.

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It all happened during one of those three-day weekend parties - the kind where you take advantage of the extra day off of work to go out and have a bit more fun. Jessica and I had been going out together for about a month at this point, introduced by mutual friends at one of the local bars and we'd just kind of ended up together. Neither of us was a big partier or anything, but we did like hanging out and socializing after a long week, sharing stories and laughs about our day and gossiping about people we knew.

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iv. That night, after dinner, Kyle sat on his bunk, looking out onto the empty tier. In the cell next to him, he heard the breathy sound of a man either fucking or getting his cock sucked. He lay down and tried not to think about what would happen if Tyrone won the fight tonight. Kyle would belong to the man who won the duel. Tyrone's words came back to Kyle with the frightening clarity of coming doom - if you was my bitch I would of raped your virgin ass already and made you scream real loud.

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