Your erotic stories

The numbers came up wrong for the third time and I slammed my fist down on the desk. This taking work home thing was NOT going well. The budget forecast was due two days from now and I had three, maybe four days of work to do to get it done. I heard the front door open and heard someone walk in. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ashley walk in from her shopping trip and waved over my head.

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This happened when I was in college and shared a duplex with a friend and fellow student at the beach. It was summertime and we both worked at a hot-spot bar at the beach. It was a great summer. We spent our days at the beach and nights working at a place where it didn't even seem like working sometimes. It was the 70s when disco was hot, and the place was crawling with girls down for the week from Ohio and New Jersey. They just wanted to drink and get laid and we were happy to accommodate.

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This time when he kissed her there was something different about it. Something more behind the pressure of his lips on hers, one of his broad hands splayed across her lower back, pulling her against him, the other on the back of her neck, controlling her movements. She shuddered when his tongue pressed past her teeth, licking like flames inside her mouth, and she opened her lips further to accept his assault. She didn't know what had brought this on;

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Last night after we made love and you left me, I replayed our conversation in my head. We've known each other for a long time, so I admit that it surprised me to hear you say that sometimes you have a hard time telling me your desires. It seems like you're embarrassed, or ashamed. I don't ever want you to feel that way. You can trust me, you know.

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I recall the exact moment when I realised that my friend John's girlfriend, who's name is Emma, had fantastic, sexy little feet. We were out shopping; we being myself, Jim Hodges and a few others. Those being John, Emma and my girlfriend at the time, Joanna. Joanna and I finished that very night to be honest, but she's not really an integral part of the story anyway.

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It's a warm spring morning and I'm sitting with my husband in the patio area of a local coffee shop. The warm air feels wonderful and we sit in a quiet silence reading different sections of the newspaper and snacking on coffee and scones. It's quiet except for the occasional bird singing or car driving past. We're comfortable - comfortable in with our meal, in our surroundings, with our middle age status in life, and in our marriage. Maybe we're a little too comfortable.

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Ted cruised slowly through his old neighborhood. Much had changed, but the Carmichael house still stood. He smiled, remembering the Carmichael girls, Cynthia, and Ann. Cynthia was his age, Ann four years younger. He’d worshipped Cynthia, but he lived in a ramshackle farmhouse across the creek, while they were well-to-do. Her father disapproved of him, and he was shy, so he’d worshipped at a distance.

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That Tammy Burt and I were friends, good friends, was a fact, but I was never quite sure how it started. Okay, a shared love of programming helped, as did the fact that Tammy and her divorced mom lived just a block away, but at the time our friendship began, Tammy was only twelve and I was sixteen. Four years in middle teens was a lifetime!

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"What do you think of him," I asked, pointing to an older man with a combover. "He looks like he won't spit on our food." "Ugh, I hope not. He looks like the kind to talk about his grandkids to us for twenty minutes and then forget to take our order."

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I had an experience when I was nineteen and in college that I’ll never forget. My college was not a “commuter college”. Most of us lived on or near campus and there weren’t any restrictions on overnight guests so hooking up with coeds was my favorite pastime. I had more than my share of luck my first semester because word quickly got out that I sported a solid ten inches.

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