Your erotic stories

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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He could hear them coming into the church. They were talking and laughing, turning on lights and pulling out chairs; they were getting ready to be good children of God. Well, most of them were. He eyed his telephone for the hundredth time in the past three days. His hand twitched to pick it up, and he nearly did. The laughter echoed through the darkened church again. Her laughter. He found himself standing and gathering the evening's lesson almost mechanically.

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Marlee Ramsey was still a looker: even in her mid-forties, with her round, extra-soft body, people often mistook her for ten years younger. More than that, people often were surprised at how she didn't see this in herself. None were more surprised than Seth Donovan. Seth was the best friend of Marlee's son, Zach. The two boys had grown up together, and now in their early twenties, were still a tight pair.

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