Your erotic stories

I knew he had been planning something unusual for several days before he broached the subject - there was just something in his manner that suggested he was thinking, analyzing, and preparing some new exploit. It's one of the things I love about him - he's always working out new things to try and new experiences for us to share. He finally came out with his latest idea as we were rinsing the dinner dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.

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I'd read about it on some online porn story site. OK. I'd read it several times and I couldn't get it out of my head! It was the most erotic thing and I know I would never have even considered doing it before that damn story. I had been so turned on I jacked off to the story twice that night and several times since then!

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A single sunbeam slipped between the curtains and illuminated the crumpled sheets on the bed. The fabric shifted slightly as one of the occupants moved. "Happy Birthday," Fiona cooed as she lay on her side, looking at Frank. "Thank you," Frank replied. Fiona slipped out of bed. Frank could see the silhouette of her body as she stepped into the sunbeam and it passed through her translucent sleepwear. He watched her walk to the closet and retrieved a neatly wrapped box with a red bow on top of it. She brought it back to the bed and offered it to him.

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The neighbour had moved out in a hurry, and that wasn't the least of it. The movers that had come following his departure had seemed equally hurried about the transfer of his belongings. They had arrived during the day, when most people were at school, at work, or out running errands, and a dozen large men in leather jackets had moved the entire contents of the house into a truck in under an hour. On this fairly quiet suburban street, people noticed things like that.

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About a year and a half so ago my wife Debra decided that I needed to get into better shape. Why wives do things like that beats me, hell it can't be to keep me able to work longer. I don't work at all. I guess it's just because she does love me, it can't be for my money. I don't have any of that, either. I did have money and stuff once, but things I had planned on having in my old age just never panned out.

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Skyler pulled the truck over to the side of the gravel road and stepped out. He didn't have much of a cell signal to begin with, and he knew it was worse inside the truck. The call went through, and his father answered in a weary voice, "Hello?"

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I stood in front of my bedroom door and I struck a pose. I had already received several compliments about the dress I had chosen to wear for our special night. I was glad of that, as it had cost me a week's pay. When I showed it to my date, the smile made it worth every penny. My high heels had invoked a similar reaction, making the hundreds of dollars I spent on those worthwhile. I invested a lot to look good for my date, but the end result would be so worth it.

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He came rushing through the kitchen. "I'm late." he said flatly, slamming his briefcase down onto the table. "Would it be too much trouble for you to be something resembling a wife? You know? The good kind, you wake me up with a smile, make sure my clothes are neatly pressed, have dinner on the table for me, as well as breakfast."

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"You know, I never thought I'd ever say this, but divorce really does agree with you," Cindy said as she trimmed another inch off my shiny mane of auburn hair so that it fell softly above my shoulders. If she was talking about the overall way I was looking, then she was right. The new style she'd created with the wispy fringe accentuating my deep blue eyes was indeed flattering and my return to the gym was showing pleasing results.

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A beautiful, outraged, and thirty-nine year old brunette with an elfin face, full lips, clean white skin that dove past her neck into an ample vertical line of cleavage, and authentic silk stockings – the seams of which climbed upward in a perfectly straight line from her trim ankles to disappear under the hem of her professional, side-slit skirt – swept down the long, richly carpeted corridor of the sixty-ninth floor like a small tornado, sweeping a cheap imitation dynasty pitcher from an expensive walnut sidetable with a vicious blow from her open hand and pausing not at all as it cracked like an egg on the plastered wall and tumbled to the floor.

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